OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 
Of  ILLINOIS 

SA'b 

H'M 


BOOKSTACXS 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 


University  of  Illinois  Library 


Hoy  o >?  i 


S3 


L161— H41 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 
University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


https://archive.org/details/worksofnathaniel01hawt 


The  Apple  Orchard.  See  page  87. 


WORKS 


OF 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

43iofic  <£bition. 

AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS.  — ENGLISH 
NOTE  BOOKS. 

FOUR  VOLUMES  IN  ONE. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 
Etoerst&e  Pass,  UDamirilijre. 


Copyright,  1868,  1870, 

By  SOPHIA  HAWTHORNE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Ei) t Biberstbe  Preag  : 

H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company, 
Cambridge. 


H3I 

)tlOa, 


T 

-4- 


4 


PASSAGES 

FROM 

THE  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


VOL.  I. 


cs 


i ^ : 

: 

r 

^5 


-r  " ■ 


PASSAGES 

FROM 

HAWTHORNE’S  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


Salem,  June  15,  1835.  — A walk  down  to  the  Jum 
per.  The  shore  of  the  coves  strewn  with  bunches  of 
sea-weed,  driven  in  by  recent  winds.  Eel-grass,  rolled 
and  bundled  up,  and  entangled  with  it,  — large  marine 
vegetables,  of  an  olive  color,  with  round,  slender,  snake- 
like stalks,  four  or  five  feet  long,  and  nearly  two  feet 
broad  : these  are  the  herbage  of  the  deep  sea.  Shoals 
of  fishes,  at  a little  distance  from  the  shore,  discernible 
by  their  fins  out  of  water.  Among  the  heaps  of  sea- 
weed there  were  sometimes  small  pieces  of  painted 
wood,  bark,  and  other  driftage.  On  the  shore,  with 
pebbles  of  granite,  there  were  round  or  oval  pieces  of 
brick,  which  the  waves  had  rolled  about  till  they  resem- 
bled a natural  mineral.  Huge  stones  tossed  about,  in 
Bvery  variety  of  confusion,  some  shagged  all  over  with 
sea-weed,  others  only  partly  covered,  others  bare.  The 
old  ten-gun  battery,  at  the  outer  angle  of  the  Juniper, 
very  verdant,  and  besprinkled  with  white-weed,  clover, 
and  buttercups.  The  juniper-trees  are  very,  aged  and 
decayed  and  moss-grown.  The  grass  about  the  hospital 
is  rank,  being  trodden,  probably  by  nobody  but  myself 

VOL.  I A 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


2 


[1835. 


There  is  a representation  of  a vessel  under  sail,  cut 
with  a penknife,  on  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Returning  by  the  almshouse,  I stopped  a good  while 
to  look  at  the  pigs,  — - a great  herd,  — who  seemed  to 
be  just  finishing  their  suppers.  They  certainly  are 
types  of  unmitigated  sensuality,  — some  standing  in  the 
trough,  in  the  midst  of  their  own  and  others’  victuals, 
— some  thrusting  their  noses  deep  into  the  food,  — 
some  rubbing  their  backs  against  a post,  — some  hud- 
dled together  between  sleeping  and  waking,  breathing 
hard,  — all  wallowing  about ; a great  boar  swaggering 
round,  and  a big  sow  waddling  along  with  her  huge 
paunch.  Notwithstanding  the  unspeakable  defilement 
with  which  these  strange  sensualists  spice  all  their 
food,  they  seem  to  have  a quick  and  delicate  sense  of 
smell.  What  ridiculous-looking  animals ! Swift  him- 
self could  not  have  imagined  anything  nastier  than 
what  they  practise  by  the  mere  impulse  of  natural 
genius.  Yet  the  Shakers  keep  their  pigs  very  clean, 
and  with  great  advantage.  The  legion  of  devils  in  the 
herd  of  swine,  — what  a scene  it  must  have  been  ! 

Sunday  evening,  going  by  the  jail,  the  setting  sun 
kindled  up  the  windows  most  cheerfully ; as  if  there 
were  a bright,  comfortable  light  within  its  darksome 
stone  wall. 


June  18.  — A walk  in  North  Salem  in  the  decline  of 
yesterday  afternoon,  — beautiful  weather,  bright,  sunny, 
with  a western  or  northwestern  wind  just  cool  enough, 
and  a slight  superfluity  of  heat.  The  verdure,  both  of 
trees  and  grass,  is  now  in  its  prime,  the  leaves  elastic, 
all  life.  The  grass-fields  are  plenteously  bestrewn  with 


AMERICAN  NOTE-HOOKS. 


IS35.J 


b 


wliite-weed,  large  spaces  looking  as  white  as  a sheet  of 
snow,  at  a distance,  yet  with  an  indescribably  warmer 
tinge  than  snow,  — living  white,  intermixed  with  living 
green.  The  hills  and  hollows  beyond  the  Cold  Spring 
copiously  shaded,  principally  with  oaks  of  good  growth* 
and  some  walnut-trees,  with  the  rich  sun  brightening  in 
the  midst  of  the  open  spaces,  and  mellowing  and  fad- 
ing into  the  shade,  — and  single  trees,  with  their  cool 
spot  of  shade,  in  the  waste  of  sun  : quite  a picture  of 
beauty,  gently  picturesque.  The  surface  of  the  land  is 
so  varied,  with  woodland  mingled,  that  the  eye  cannot 
reach  far  away,  except  now  and  then  in  vistas  perhaps 
across  the  river,  showing  houses,  or  a church  and  sur- 
rounding village,  in  Upper  Beverly.  In  one  of  the 
sunny  bits  of  pasture,  walled  irregularly  in  with  oak- 
shade,  I saw  a gray  mare  feeding,  and,  as  I drew  near 
a colt  sprang  up  from  amid  the  grass,  — a very  small 
colt.  He  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  I tried  to  startle 
him,  so  as  to  make  him  gallop  ; but  he  stretched  his 
long  legs,  one  after  another,  walked  quietly  to  his 
mother,  and  began  to  suck,  — just  wetting  his  lips,  not 
being  very  hungry.  Then  he  rubbed  his  head,  alter- 
nately, with  each  hind  leg.  He  was  a graceful  little 
beast. 

I bathed  in  the  cove,  overhung  with  maples  and  wal- 
nuts, the  water  cool  and  thrilling.  At  a distance  it 
sparkled  bright  and  blue  in  the  breeze  and  sun. 
There  were  jelly-fish  swimming  about,  and  several  left 
to  melt  away  on  the  shore.  On  the  shore,  sprouting 
amongst  the  sand  and  gravel,  I found  samphire,  grow- 
ing somewhat  like  asparagus.  It  is  an  excellent  salad 
at  this  season,  salt,  yet  with  an  herb-like  vivacity,  and 


4 AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l83£ 

very  tender.  I strolled  slowly  through  the  pastures, 
watching  my  long  shadow  making  grave,  fantastic  ges- 
tures in  the  sun.  It  is  a pretty  sight  to  see  the  sun- 
shine brightening  the  entrance  of  a road  which  shortly 
becomes  deeply  overshadowed  by  trees  on  both  sides. 
At  the  Cold  Spring,  three  little  girls,  from  six  to  nine, 
were  seated  on  the  stones  in  which  the  fountain  is  set, 
and  paddling  in  the  water.  It  was  a pretty  picture, 
and  would  have  been  prettier,  if  they  had  shown  bare 
little  legs,  instead  of  pantalets.  Very  large  trees  over- 
hung them,  and  the  sun  was  so  nearly  gone  down  that 
a pleasant  gloom  made  the  spot  sombre,  in  contrast 
with  these  light  and  laughing  little  figures.  On  per- 
ceiving me,  they  rose  up,  tittering  among  themselves. 
It  seemed  that  there  was  a sort  of  playful  malice  in 
those  who  first  saw  me ; for  they  allowed  the  other  tc 
keep  on  paddling,  without  warning  her  of  my  approach. 
I passed  along,  and  heard  them  come  chattering  be- 
hind. 

June  22. — I rode  to  Boston  in  the  afternoon  with 
Mr.  Proctor.  It  was  a coolish  day,  with  clouds  and 
intermitting  sunshine,  and  a pretty  fresh  breeze.  We 
stopped  about  an  hour  at  the  Maverick  House,  in  the 
sprouting  branch  of  the  city,  at  East  Boston,  — a stylish 
house,  with  doors  painted  in  imitation  of  oak  ; a large 
bar ; bells  ringing ; the  bar-keeper  calls  out,  when  a 
bell  rings,  ‘‘Number — ” ; then  a waiter  replies,  “Num- 
ber — answered  ” ; and  scampers  up  stairs.  A ticket 
is  given  by  the  hostler,  on  taking  the  horse  and  chaise, 
which  is  returned  to  the  bar-keeper  when  the  chaise  is 
wanted.  The  landlord  was  fashionably  dressed,  with 


1835.  J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  5 

the  whitest  of  linen,  neatly  plaited,  and  as  courteous  as 
a Lord  Chamberlain.  Visitors  from  Boston  thronging 
the  house,  — some  standing  at  the  bar,  watching  the 
process  of  preparing  tumblers  of  punch,  — others  sit- 
ting at  the  windows  of  different  parlors,  — some  with 
faces  flushed,  puffing  cigars.  The  bill  of  fare  for  the 
day  was  stuck  up  beside  the  bar.  Opposite  this  princi- 
pal hotel  there  was  another,  called  “ The  Mechanics,” 
which  seemed  to  be  equally  thronged.  I suspect  that 
the  company  were  about  on  a par  in  each  ; for  at  the 
Maverick  House,  though  well  dressed,  they  seemed  to 
be  merely  Sunday  gentlemen,  — mostly  young  fellows, 
— clerks  in  dry-goods  stores  being  the  aristocracy  of 
them.  One,  very  fashionable  in  appearance,  with  a 
handsome  cane,  happened  to  stop  by  me  and  lift  up  his 
foot,  and  I noticed  that  the  sole  of  his  boot  (which  was 
exquisitely  polished)  was  all  worn  out.  I apprehend 
that  some  such  minor  deficiencies  might  have  been  de- 
tected in  the  general  showiness  of  most  of  them. 
There  were  girls,  too,  but  not  pretty  ones,  nor,  on  the 
■whole,  such  good  imitations  of  gentility  as  the  young 
men.  There  were  as  many  people  as  are  usually  col- 
lected at  a muster,  or  on  similar  occasions,  lounging 
about,  without  any  apparent  enjoyment ; but  the  obser- 
vation of  this  may  serve  me  to  make  a sketch  of  the 
mode  of  spending  the  Sabbath  by  the  majority  of  un- 
married, young,  middling-class  people,  near  a great 
town.  Most  of  the  people  had  smart  canes  and  bosom- 
pins. 

Crossing  the  ferry  into  Boston,  we  went  to  the  City 
Tavern,  where  the  bar-room  presented  a Sabbath  scene 
of  repose,  — stage-folk  lounging  in  chains  half  asUep, 


f> 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1835. 


smoking  cigars,  generally  with  clean  linen  and  othei 
niceties  of  apparel,  to  mark  the  day.  The  doors  and 
blinds  of  an  oyster  and  refreshment  shop  across  the 
street  were  closed,  but  I saw  people  enter  it.  There 
were  two  owls  in  a back  court,  visible  through  a 
window  of  the  bar-room,  — speckled  gray,  with  dark- 
olue  eyes,  — the  queerest-looking  birds  that  exist,  — 
bo  solemn  and  wise,  — dozing  away  the  day,  much  like 
the  rest  of  the  people,  only  that  they  looked  wiser  than 
any  others.  Their  hooked  beaks  looked  like  hooked 
noses.  A dull  scene  this.  A stranger,  here  and  there, 
poring  over  a newspaper.  Many  of  the  stage-folk  sit- 
ting in  chairs  on  the  pavement,  in  front  of  the  door. 

We  went  to  the  top  of  the  hill  which  formed  part  of 
Gardiner  Greene’s  estate,  and  which  is  now  in  the  pro- 
cess of  levelling,  and  pretty  much  taken  away,  except 
the  highest  point,  and  a narrow  path  to  ascend  to  it. 
It  gives  an  admirable1  view  of  the  city,  being  almost  as 
high  as  the  steeples  and  the  dome  of  the  State  House, 
and  overlooking  the  whole  mass  of  brick  buildings  and 
slated  roofs,  with  glimpses  of  streets  far  below.  It  was 
really  a pity  to  take  it  down.  I noticed,  the  stump  of  a 
very  large  elm,  recently  felled.  No  house  in  the  city 
could  have  reared  its  roof  so  high  as  the  roots  of  that 
tree,  if  indeed  the  church-spires  did  so. 

On  our  drive  home  we  passed  through  Charlestown. 
Stages  in  abundance  were  passing  the  road,  burdened 
with  passengers  inside  and  out  ; also  chaises  and 
barouches,  horsemen  and  footmen.  We  are  a commu 
nity  of  Sabbath-breakers ! 

Angus * 31  — A drive  to  Nahant  yesterday  afternoon 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


7 


1^.] 


Slopped  at  Rice’s,  and  afterwards  walked  down  to  the 
steamboat  wharf  to  see  the  passengers  land.  It  is 
strange  how  few  good  faces  there  are  in  the  world, 
comparatively  to  the  ugly  ones.  Scarcely  a single 
comely  one  in  all  this  collection.  Then  to  the  hotel. 
Barouches  at  the  doors,  and  gentlemen  and  ladies  going 
to  drive^  and  gentlemen  smoking  round  the  piazza 
The  bar-keeper  had  one  of  Benton’s  mint-drops  for  a 
bosom-brooch ! It  made  a very  handsome  one.  I 
crossed  the  beach  for  home  about  sunset.  The  tide 
was  so  far  down  as  just  to  give  me  a passage  on  the 
hard  sand,  between  the  sea  and  the  loose  gravel.  The 
sea  was  calm  and  smooth,  with  only  the  surf- waves 
whitening  along  the  beach.  Several  ladies  and  gentle- 
men on  horseback  were  cantering  and  galloping  before 
and  behind  me. 

A hint  of  a story,  — some  incident  which  should 
bring  on  a general  war ; and  the  chief  actor  in  the 
incident  to  have  something  corresponding  to  the  mis- 
chief he  had  caused. 

September  7.  — A drive  to  Ipswich  with  B At 

the  tavern  was  an  old,  fat,  country  major,  and  another 
old  fellow,  laughing  and  playing  off  jokes  on  each  other, 
— one  tying  a ribbon  upon  the  other’s  hat.  One  had 
been  a trumpeter  to  the  major’s  troop.  Walking  about 
town,  we  knocked,  for  a whim,  at  the  door  of  a dark 
old  house,  and  inquired  if  Miss  Hannah  Lord  lived 
there.  A woman  of  about  thirty  came  to  the  door, 
with  rather  a confused  smile,  and  a disorder  about  the 
bosom  of  her  dress,  as  if  she  had  been  disturbed  while 


H AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1835. 

nursing  her  child.  She  answered  us  with  great  kind* 
ness. 

Entering  the  burial-ground,  where  some  masons  were 
building  a tomb,  we  found  a good  many  old  monuments, 
and  several  covered  with  slabs  of  red  freestone  or  slate, 
and  with  arms  sculptured  on  the  slab,  or  an  inlaid 
circle  of  slate.  On  one  slate  grave-stone,  of  the  Rev. 
Nathl.  Rogers,  there  was  a portrait  of  that  worthy, 
about  a third  of  the  size  of  life,  carved  in  relief,  with 
his  cloak,  band,  and  wig,  in  excellent  preservation,  all 
the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat  being  cut  with  great  mi- 
nuteness, — the  minister’s  nose  being  on  a level  with 
his  cheeks.  It  was  an  upright  grave-stone.  Return- 
ing home,  I held  a colloquy  with  a young  girl  about  the 
right  road.  She  had  come  out  to  feed  a pig,  and  was 
a little  suspicious  that  we  were  making  fun  of  her,  yet 
answered  us  with  a shy  laugh  and  good-nature,  — the 
pig  all  the  time  squealing  for  his  dinner. 

Displayed  along  the  walls,  and  suspended  from  the 
pillars  of  the  original  King’s  Chapel,  were  coats-of- 
arms  of  the  king,  the  successive  governors,  and  other 
distinguished  men.  In  the  pulpit  there  was  an  hour- 
glass on  a large  and  elaborate  brass  stand.  The  organ 
was  surmounted  by  a gilt  crown  in  the  centre,  sup- 
ported by  a gilt  mitre  on  each  side.  The  governor’s 
pew  had  Corinthian  pillars,  and  crimson  damask  tapes- 
try. In  1727  it  was  lined  with  china,  probably  tiles. 

Saint  Augustin,  at  mass,  charged  all  that  were  ac 
cursed  to  go  out  of  the  church.  “ Then  a dead  body 
arose,  and  went  out  of  the  church  into  the  churchyard. 


i835.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


9 


with  a white  cloth  on  its  head,  and  stood  there  till  mass 
was  over.  It  was  a former  lord  of  the  manor,  whom  a 
curate  had  cursed  because  he  refused  to  pay  his  tithes. 
A justice  also  commanded  the  dead  curate  to  arise,  and 
gave  him  a rod  ; and  the  dead  lord,  kneeling,  received 
penance  thereby.”  He  then  ordered  the  lord  to  go  again 
to  his  grave,  which  he  did,  and  fell  immediately  to  ashes. 
Saint  Augustin  offered  to  pray  for  the  curate,  that  he 
might  remain  on  earth  to  confirm  men  in  their  belief; 
but  the  curate  refused,  because  he  was  in  the  place  of 
rest. 

A sketch  to  be  given  of  a modern  reformer,  — a type 

the  extreme  doctrines  on  the  subject  of  slaves,  cold 
water,  and  other  such  topics.  He  goes  about  the  streets 
haianguing  most  eloquently,  and  is  on  the  point  of 
making  many  converts,  when  his  labors  are  suddenly 
intei  rupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  keeper  of  a mad- 
house, whence  he  has  escaped.  Much  may  be  made  of 
this  idea. 

A change  from  a gay  young  girl  to  an  old  woman ; 
the  melancholy  events,  the  effects  of  which  have  clus- 
tered around  her  character,  and  gradually  imbued  it 
with  their  influence,  till  she  becomes  a lover  of  sick- 
chamhers,  tak'ng  pleasure  in  receiving  dying  breaths 
and  in  laying  out  the  dead ; also  having  her  mind  full 
of  funeral  remin/scences,  and  possessing  more  acquaint- 
ances beneath  the  burial  turf  than  above  it. 

A well-concerted  train  of  events  to  be  thrown  into 
confusion,  by  some  misplaced  circumstance,  unsuspected 
1* 


10  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [183*. 

till  the  catastrophe,  yet  exerting  its  influence  from  be* 
ginning  to  end. 

Qn  the  common,  at  dusk,  after  a salute  from  two 
field-pieces,  the  smoke  lay  long  and  heavily  on  the 
ground,  without  much  spreading  beyond  the  original 
space  over  which  it  had  gushed  from  the  guns.  It  was 
about  the  height  of  a man.  The  evening  clear,  but 
with  an  autumnal  chill. 

The  world  is  so  sad  and  solemn,  that  things  meant  in 
jest  are  liable,  by  an  overpowering  influence,  to  become 
dreadful  earnest,  — gayly  dressed  fantasies  turning  to 
ghostly  and  black-clad  images  of  themselves. 

A story,  the  hero  of  which  is  to  be  represented  as 
naturally  capable  of  deep  and  strong  passion,  and  look- 
ing forward  to  the  time  when  he  shall  feel  passionate 
love,  which  is  to  be  the  great  event  of  his  existence. 
But  it  so  chances  that  he  never  falls  in  love  , and  al- 
though he  gives  up  the  expectation  of  so  doing,  and 
marries  calmly,  yet  it  is  somewhat  sadly,  with  senti- 
ments merely  of  esteem  for  his  bride.  The  lady  might 
be  one  who  had  loved  him  early  in  life,  but  whom  then, 
in  his  expectation  of  passionate  love,  he  had  scorned. 

The  scene  of  a story  or  sketch  to  be  laid  within  the 
light  of  a street-lantern ; the  time,  when  the  lamp  is 
near  going  out ; and  the  catastrophe  to  be  simultaneous 
with  the  last  flickering  gleam. 


The  peculiar  weariness  and  depression  of  spirits 


1835.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


11 


which  is  felt  after  a day  wasted  in  turning  over  a mag- 
azine or  other  light  miscellany,  different  from  the  state 
of  the  mind  after  severe  study ; because  there  has 
been  no  excitement,  no  difficulties  to  be  overcome,  but 
the  spirits  have  evaporated  insensibly. 

To  represent  the  process  by  which  sober  truth  grad- 
ually strips  off  all  the  beautiful  draperies  with  which 
imagination  has  enveloped  a beloved  object,  till  from  an 
angel  she  turns  out  to  be  a merely  ordinary  woman. 
This  to  be  done  without  caricature,  perhaps  with  a 
quiet  humor  interfused,  but  the  prevailing  impression  to 
be  a sad  one.  The  story  might  consist  of  the  various 
alterations  in  the  feelings  of  the  absent  lover,  caused  by 
successive  events  that  display  the  true  character  of  his 
mistress ; and  the  catastrophe  should  take  place  at  their 
meeting,  when  he  finds  himself  equally  disappointed  in 
her  person  ; or  the  whole  spirit  of  the  thing  may  here 
be  reproduced. 

Last  evening,  from  the  opposite  shore  of  the  North 
River,  a view  of  the  town  mirrored  in  the  water,  which 
was  as  smooth  as  glass,  with  no  perceptible  tide  or  agi- 
tation, except  a trifling  swell  and  reflux  on  the  sand, 
although  the  shadow  of  the  moon  danced  in  it.  The 
picture  of  the  town  perfect  in  the  water,  — towers  of 
churches,  houses,  with  here  and  there  a light  gleaming 
near  the  shore  above,  and  more  faintly  glimmering  un- 
der water,  — all  perfect,  but  somewhat  more  hazy  and 
indistinct  than  the  reality.  There  were  many  clouds 
flitting  about  the  sky  ; and  the  picture  of  each  could  be 
traced  in  the  water,  — the  ghost  of  what  was  itself  un 


12 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[183; 


substantial.  The  rattling  of  wheels  heard  long  arid  far 
through  the  town.  Voices  of  people  talking  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  the  tones  being  so  distinguishable  in 
all  their  variations  that  it  seemed  as  if  what  was  there 
said  might  be  understood ; but  it  was  not  so. 

Two  persons  might  be  bitter  enemies  through  life,  and 
mutually  cause  the  ruin  of  one  another,  and  of  all  that 
were  dear  to  them.  Finally,  meeting  at  the  funeral  of 
a grandchild,  the  offspring  of  a son  and  daughter  mar- 
ried without  their  consent, — and  who,  as  well  as  the 
child,  had  been  the  victims  of  their  hatred,  — they 
might  discover  that  the  supposed  ground  of  the  quarrel 
was  altogether  a mistake,  and  then  be  wofully  recon 
ciled. 

Two  persons,  by  mutual  agreement,  to  make  their 
wills  in  each  other’s  favor,  then  to  wait  impatiently  for 
one  another’s  death,  and  both  to  be  informed  of  the  de- 
sired event  at  the  same  time.  Both,  in  most  joyous 
sorrow,  hasten  to  be  present  at  the  funeral,  meet,  and 
find  themselves  both  hoaxed. 

The  story  of  a man,  cold  and  hard-hearted,  and  ac- 
knowledging no  brotherhood  with  mankind.  At  his 
death  they  might  try  to  dig  him  a grave,  but,  at  a little 
space  beneath  the  ground,  strike  upon  a rock,  as  if  the 
earth  refused  to  receive  the  unnatural  son  into  her 
bosom.  Then  they  would  put  him  into  an  old  sepul- 
chre, where  the  coffins  and  corpses  were  all  turned  to 
dust,  and  so  he  would  be  alone.  Then  the  body  would 
petrify  ; and  he  having  died  in  some  characteristic  act 


A MBJKIC AN  NOvTE-BOOKS. 


13 


£835.  J 


and  expression,  he  would  seem,  through  endless  ages  of 
death,  to  repel  society  as  in  life,  and  no  one  would  be 
buried  in  that  tomb  forever. 


Cannon  transformed  to  church-bells. 


A person,  even  before  middle  age,  may  become  musty 
and  faded  among  the  people  with  whom  he  has  grown 
up  from  childhood  ; but,  by  migrating  to  a new  place, 
he  appears  fresh  with  the  effect  of  youth,  which  may  be 
communicated  from  the  impressions  of  others  to  his  own 
feelings. 

In  an  old  house,  a mysterious  knocking  might  be 
heard  on  the  wall,  where  had  formerly  been  a door- 
way, now  bricked  up. 

It  might  be  stated,  as  the  closing  circumstance  of  a 
tale,  that  the  body  of  one  of  the  characters  had  been 
petrified,  and  still  existed  in  that  state. 

A young  man  to  win  the  love  of  a girl,  without  any 
serious  intentions,  and  to  find  that  in  that  love,  which 
might  have  been  the  greatest  blessing  of  his  life,  he  had 
conjured  up  a spirit  of  mischief  which  pursued  him 
throughout  his  whole  career,  — and  this  without  any  re- 
vengeful purposes  on  the  part  of  the  deserted  girl. 

Two  lovers,  or  other  persons,  on  the  most  private 
business,  to  appoint  a meeting  in  what  they  supposed  to 
be  a place  of  the  utmost  solitude,  and  to  find  it  thronged 
with  people. 


14 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1835. 


October  17. — Some  of  the  oaks  are  now  a deep 
brown  red  ; others  are  changed  to  a light  green,  which, 
at  a little  distance,  especially  in  the  sunshine,  looks  like 
the  green  of  early  spring.  In  some  trees,  different 
masses  of  the  foliage  show  each  o**  these  hues.  Some  of 
the  walnut-trees  have  a yet  more  delicate  green.  Oth 
ers  are  of  a bright  sunny  yellow. 

Mr. was  married  to  Miss last  Wednesday. 

Yesterday  Mr.  Brazer,  preaching  on  the  comet,  ob- 
served that  not  one,  probably,  of  all  who  heard  him, 

would  witness  its  reappearance.  Mrs. shed  tears. 

Poor  soul ! she  would  be  contented  to  dwell  in  earthly 
love  to  all  eternity ! 

Some  treasure  or  other  thing  to  be  buried,  and  a tree 
planted  directly  over  the  spot,  so  as  to  embrace  it  with 
*ts  roots. 

A tree,  tall  and  venerable,  to  be  said  by  tradition  U 
have  been  the  staff  of  some  famous  man,  who  happen?! 
to  thrust  it  into  the  ground,  where  it  took  root. 

A fellow  without  money,  having  a hundred  and  sev 
enty  miles  to  go,  fastened  a chain  and  padlock  to  hi 
iegs,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  in  a field.  He  was  appre 
hended,  and  carried  gratis  to  a jail  in  the  town  whither 
he  desired  to  go. 

An  old  volume  in  a large  library,  — every  one  to  be 
afraid  to  unclasp  and  open  it,  because  B was  said  to  be 
a book  of  magic. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1835.] 


15 


A ghost  seen  by  moonlight ; when  the  moon  was 
out,  it  would  shine  and  melt  through  the  airy  substance 
of  the  ghost,  as  through  a cloud. 


Prideaux,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  during  the  sway  of 
the  Parliament  was  forced  to  support  himself  and  his 
family  by  selling  his  household  goods.  A friend  asked 
him,  “ How  doth  your  lordship  ? ” “ Never  better  in  my 

life,”  said  the  Bishop,  “ only  I have  too  great  a stomach  ; 
for  I have  eaten  that  little  plate  which  the  sequestrators 
left  me.  I have  eaten  a great  library  of  excellent  books. 
1 have  eaten  a great  deal  of  linen,  much  of  my  brass, 
some  of  my  pewter,  and  now  I am  come  to  eat  iron  ; 
and  what  will  come  next  I know  not.” 


A scold  and  a blockhead,  — brimstone  and  wood,  — 
a good  match. 

i 

To  make  one’s  own  reflection  in  a mirror  the  subject 
of  a story. 

In  a dream  to  wander  to  some  place  where  may  be 
heard  the  complaints  of  all  the  miserable  on  earth. 

Some  common  quality  or  circumstance  that  should 
bring  together  people  the  most  unlike  in  all  other 
respects,  and  make  a brotherhood  and  sisterhood  of 
them, — -the  rich  and  the  proud  finding  themselves  in 
the  same  category  with  the  mean  and  the  despised. 

A person  to  consider  himself  as  the  prime  mover  oi 
certain  remarkable  events,  but  to  discover  that  his  ac 


16  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1835. 

tions  have  not  contributed  in  the  least  thereto.  Anoth’ 
er  person  to  be  the  cause,  without  suspecting  it. 

October  25.  — A person  or  family  long  desires  some 
particular  good.  At  last  it  comes  in  such  profusion 
as  to  be  the  great  pest  of  their  lives. 

A man,  perhaps  with  a persuasion  that  he  shall  make 
his  fortune  by  some  singular  means,  and  with  an  eager 
longing  so  to  do,  while  digging  or  boring  for  water,  to 
strike  upon  a salt-spring. 

To  have  one  event  operate  in  several  places,  — as, 
for  example,  if  a man’s  head  were  to  be  cut  off  in  one 
town,  men’s  heads  to  drop  off  in  several  towns. 

Follow  out  the  fantasy  of  a man  taking  his  life  by 
instalments,  instead  of  at  one  payment,  — say  ten  years 
of  life  alternately  with  ten  years  of  suspended  animation. 

Sentiments  in  a foreign  language,  which  merely  con- 
vey the  sentiment  without  retaining  to  the  reader  any 
graces  of  style  or  harmony  of  sound,  have  somewhat  of 
the  charm  of  thoughts  in  one’s  own  mind  that  have  not 
yet  been  put  into  words.  No  possible  words  that  we 
might  adapt  to  them  could  realize  the  unshaped  beauty 
that  they  appear  to  possess.  This  is  the  reason  that 
translations  are  never  satisfactory,  — and  less  so,  I 
should  think,  to  one  who  cannot  than  to  one  who  can 
pronounce  the  language. 


A person  to  be  writing  a tale,  and  to  find  that  it 


1836.  | AMETWO A N NOTE-BOOKS.  17 

shapes  itself  against  his  intentions  ; that  the  characters 
act  otherwise  than  he  thought ; that  unforeseen  events 
occur  ; and  a catastrophe  comes  which  he  strives  in 
vain  to  avert.  It  might  shadow  forth  his  own  fate,  — 
he  having  made  himself  one  of  the  personages. 

It  is  a singular  thing,  that,  at  the  distance,  say,  of  five 
feet,  the  work  of  the  greatest  dunce  looks  just  as  well 
as  that  of  the  greatest  genius,  — that  little  space  being 
all  the  distance  between  genius  and  stupidity. 

Mrs.  Sigourney  says,  after  Coleridge,  that  “ poetry  haa 
been  its  own  exceeding  great  reward.”  For  the  writ- 
ing, perhaps  ; but  would  it  be  so  for  the  reading  ? 

Four  precepts:  To  break  off  customs  ; to  shake  ofi 
spirits  ill-disposed ; to  meditate  on  youth  ; to  do  noth- 
ing against  one’s  genius. 

Salem,  August  31,  1836.  — A walk,  yesterday,  down 
to  the  shore,  near  the  hospital.  Standing  on  the  old 
grassy  battery,  that  forms  a semicircle,  and  looking  sea- 
ward. The  sun  not  a great  way  above  the  horizon,  yet 
so  far  as  to  give  a very  golden  brightness,  when  it  shone 
out.  Clouds  in  the  vicinity  of  the  sun,  and  nearly  all 
the  rest  of  the  sky  covered  with  clouds  in  masses,  not  a 
gray  uniformity  of  cloud.  A fresh  breeze  blowing  from 
land  seaward.  If  it  had  been  blowing  from  the  sea,  it 
would  have  raised  it  in  heavy  billows,  and  caused  it  to 
dash  high  against  the  rocks.  But  now  its  surface  was 
not  at  all  commoved  with  billows  ; there  was  only  rough- 
ness enough  to  takeoff  the  gleam,  and  give  it  the  aspect 


18 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


r ism 


of  ron  after  cooling.  The  clouds  above  added  to  the 
black  appearance.  A few  sea-birds  were  flitting  over 
the  water,  only  visible  at  moments,  when  they  turned 
their  white  bosoms  towards  me,  — as  if  they  were  then 
first  created.  The  sunshine  had  a singular  effect.  The 
clouds  would  interpose  in  such  a manner  that  some 
objects  were  shaded  from  it,  while  others  were  strongly 
illuminated.  Some  of  the  islands  lay  in  the  shade,  dark 
and  gloomy,  while  others  were  bright  and  favored  spots. 
The  white  light-house  was  sometimes  very  cheerfully 
marked.  There  was  a schooner  about  a mile  from  the 
shore,  at  anchor,  laden  apparently  with  lumber.  The 
sea  all  about  her  had  the  black,  iron  aspect  which  I 
have  described ; but  the  vessel  herself  was  alight. 
Hull,  masts,  and  spars  were  all  gilded,  and  the  rigging 
was  made  of  golden  threads.  A small  white  streak  of 
foam  breaking  around  the  bows,  which  were  towards  the 
wind.  The  shadowiness  of  the  clouds  overhead  made 
the  effect  of  the  sunlight  strange,  where  it  fell. 

September.  — The  elm-trees  have  golden  branches  in- 
termingled with  their  green  already,  and  so  they  had  on 
the  first  of  the  month. 

To  picture  the  predicament  of  worldly  people,  if  ad- 
mitted to  paradise. 

As  the  architecture  of  a country  always  follows  the 
earliest  structures,  American  architecture  should  be  a 
refinement  of  the  log-house.  The  Egyptian  is  so  of 
tiie  cavern  and  mound  ; the  Chinese,  of  the  tent ; the 
Gothic,  of  overarching  trees  ; the  Greek,  of  a cabin. 


f 836 , J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


19 


“ Though  we  speak  nonsense,  God  will  pick  out  the 
meaning  of  it,”  — an  extempore  prayer  by  a New  Eng- 
land divine. 

In  old  times  it  must  have  been  much  less  customary 
than  now  to  drink  pure  water.  Walker  emphatically 
mentions,  among  the  sufferings  of  a clergyman’s  wife 
and  family  in  the  Great  Rebellion,  that  they  were 
forced  to  drink  water,  with  crab-apples  stamped  in  it  to 
relish  it. 

Mr.  Kirby,  author  of  a work  on  the  History,  Habits, 
and  Instincts  of  Animals,  questions  whether  there  may 
not  be  an  abyss  of  waters  within  the  globe,  communicat- 
ing with  the  ocean,  and  whether  the  huge  animals  of  the 
Saurian  tribe  — great  reptiles,  supposed  to  be  exclu- 
sively antediluvian,  and  now  extinct — may  not  be  in- 
habitants of  it.  He  quotes  a passage  from  Revelation, 
where  the  creatures  under  the  earth  are  spoken  of  as 
distinct  from  those  of  the  sea,  and  speaks  of  a Saurian 
fossil  that  has  been  found  deep  in  the  subterranean 
regions.  He  thinks,  or  suggests,  that  these  may  be  the 
dragons  of  Scripture. 

The  elephant  is  not  particularly  sagacious  in  the  wild 
6tate,  but  becomes  so  when  tamed.  The  fox  directly 
the  contrary,  and  likewise  the  wolf. 

A modern  Jewish  adage,  — “ Let  a man  clothe  him* 
self  beneath  his  ability,  his  children  according  to  hi* 
ability,  and  his  wife  above  his  ability.” 

It  is  said  of  the  eagle,  that,  in  however  long  a flight* 


20 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1836. 

he  is  never  seen  to  clap  his  wings  to  his  sides.  He 
seems  to  govern  his  movements  by  the  inclination  of 
his  wings  and  tail  to  the  wind,  as  a ship  is  propelled  by 
the  action  of  the  wind  on  her  sails. 

In  old  country-houses  in  England,  instead  of  glass  for 
windows,  they  used  wicker,  or  fine  strips  of  oak  dis- 
posed checkerwise.  Horn  was  also  used.  The  windows 
of  princes  and  great  noblemen  were  of  crystal ; those  of 
Studley  Castle,  Holinshed  says,  of  beryl.  There  were 
seldom  chimneys  ; and  they  cooked  their  meats  by  a 
fire  made  against  an  iron  back  in  the  great  hall. 
Houses,  often  of  gentry,  were  built  of  a heavy  timber 
frame,  filled  up  with  lath  and  plaster.  People  slept  on 
rough  mats  or  straw  pallets,  with  a round  log  for  a pil- 
low ; seldom  better  beds  than  a mattress,  with  a sack  of 
chaff  for  a pillow. 

October  25.  — A walk  yesterday  through  Dark  Lane, 
and  home  through  the  village  of  Danvers.  Landscape 
now  wholly  autumnal.  Saw  an  elderly  man  laden 
with  two  dry,  yellow,  rustling  bundles  of  Indian  corn- 
stalks,— a good  personification  of  Autumn.  Another 
man  hoeing  up  potatoes.  Rows  of  white  cabbages  lay 
ripening.  Fields  of  dry  Indian  corn.  The  grass  has 
still  considerable  greenness.  Wild  rose-bushes  devoid 
of  leaves,  with  their  deep,  bright  red  seed-vessels. 
Meeting-house  in  Danvers  seen  at  a distance,  with  the 
sun  Alining  through  the  windows  of  its  belfry.  Bar- 
berry-bushes, — the  leaves  now  of  a brown  red,  still 
juicy  and  healthy ; very  few  berries  remaining,  mostly 
frost-bitten  and  wilted.  All  among  the  yet  green  grass, 


1836.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


21 


dry  stalks  of  weeds.  The  down  of  thistles  occasionally 
seen  flying  through  the  sunny  air. 

In  this  dismal  chamber  fame  was  won.  (Salem, 
Union  Street.) 

Those  who  are  very  difficult  in  choosing  wives  seem  as 
it  they  would  take  none  of  Nature’s  ready-made  works, 
but  want  a woman  manufactured  particularly  to  their 
order. 

A council  of  the  passengers  in  a street : called  by 
somebody  to  decide  upon  some  points  important  to  him. 

Every  individual  has  a place  to  fill  in  the  world,  and 
is  important  in  some  respects,  whether  he  chooses  to  be 
90  or  not. 

A Thanksgiving  dinner.  All  the  miserable  on  earth 
are  to  be  invited,  — as  the  drunkard,  the  bereaved  par- 
ent, the  ruined  merchant,  the  broken-hearted  lover,  the 
poor  widow,  the  old  man  and  woman  who  have  outlived 
their  generation,  the  disappointed  author,  the  wounded, 
sick,  and  broken  soldier,  the  diseased  person,  the  infidel, 
the  man  with  an  evil  conscience,  little  orphan  children 
or  children  of  neglectful  parents,  shall  be  admitted  to  the 
table,  and  many  others.  The  giver  of  the  feast  goes  out 
to  deliver  his  invitations.  Some  of  the  guests  he  meets 
in  the  streets,  some  he  knocks  for  at  the  doors  of  their 
houses.  The  description  must  be  rapid.  But  who  must 
be  the  giver  of  the  feast,  and  what  his  claims  to  preside  ? 
X man  who  has  never  found  out  what  he  is  fit  for,  who 


22  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1836. 

has  unsettled  aims  or  objects  in  life,  and  whose  mind 
gnaws  him,  making  him  the  sufferer  of  many  kinds  or 
misery.  He  should  meet  some  pious,  old,  sorrowful 
person,  with  more  outward  calamities  than  any  other, 
and  invite  him,  with  a reflection  that  piety  would  make 
all  that  miserable  company  truly  thankful. 

Merry , in  “ merry  England,”  does  not  mean  mirthful 
but  is  corrupted  from  an  old  Teutonic  word  signifying 
famous  or  renowned. 

In  an  old  London  newspaper,  1678,  there  is  an  adver 
tisement,  among  other  goods  at  auction,  of  a black  girl, 
about  fifteen  years  old,  to  be  sold. 

We  sometimes  congratulate  ourselves  at  the  moment 
of  waking  from  a troubled  dream : it  may  be  so  the 
moment  after  death. 

The  race  of  mankind  to  be  swept  away,  leaving  all 
their  cities  and  works.  Then  another  human  pair  to  be 
placed  in  the  world,  with  native  intelligence  like  Adam 
and  Eve,  but  knowing  nothing  of  their  predecessors  or 
of  their  own  nature  and  destiny.  They,  perhaps,  to  be 
described  as  working  out  this  knowledge  by  their  sym- 
pathy with  what  they  saw,  and  by  their  own  feelings. 

Memorials  of  the  family  of  Hawthorne  in  the  church 
of  the  village  of  Dundry,  Somersetshire,  England.  The 
church  is  ancient  and  small,  and  has  a prodigiously  high 
tower  of  more  modern  date,  being  erected  in  the  time 
of  Edward  IV.  It  serves  as  a landmark  for  an  amaz- 
ing extent  of  country. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


25 


1836.] 

A singular  fact,  that,  when  man  is  a brute,  he  is  the 
most  sensual  and  loathsome  of  all  brutes. 

A snake,  taken  into  a man’s  stomach  and  nourished 
there  from  fifteen  years  to  thirty-five  tormenting  him 
most  horribly.  A type  of  envy  or  some  other  evil  pas- 
sion. 


A sketch  illustrating  the  imperfect  compensations 
which  time  makes  for  its  devastations  on  the  person,  — 
giving  a wreath  of  laurel  while  it  causes  baldness,  hon- 
ors for  infirmities,  wealth  for  a broken  constitution,  — ■ 
and  at  last,  when  a man  has  everything  that  seems  de- 
sirable, death  seizes  him.  To  contrast  the  man  who  has 
thus  reached  the  summit  of  ambition  with  the  ambitious 
youth. 

Walking  along  the  track  of  the  railroad,  I observed 
a place  where  the  workmen  had  bored  a hole  through 
the  solid  rock,  in  order  to  blast  it ; but,  striking  a spring 
of  water  beneath  the  rock,  it  gushed  up  through  the 
hole.  It  looked  as  if  the  water  were  contained  within 
the  rock. 

A Fancy  Ball,  in  which  the  prominent  American 
writers  should  appear,  dressed  in  character. 

A lament  for  life’s  wasted  sunshine. 

A new  classification  of  society  to  be  instituted.  In- 
stead of  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  they  are  to  be 
classed,  — First,  by  their  sorrows:  for  instance,  when- 
ever there  are  any,  whether  in  fair  mansion  or  ho\el, 


24 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[me. 


who  are  mourning  the  loss  of  relations  and  friends,  and 
who  wear  black,  whether  the  cloth  be  coarse  or  super- 
fine, they  are  to  make  one  class.  Secondly,  all  who 
have  the  same  maladies,  whether  they  lie  under  damask 
canopies  or  on  straw  pallets  or  in  the  wards  of  hospi- 
tals, they  are  to  form  one  class.  Thirdly,  all  who  are 
guilty  of  the  same  sins,  whether  the  world  knows  them 
or  not ; whether  they  languish  in  prison,  looking  for- 
ward to  the  gallows,  or  walk  honored  among  men,  they 
also  form  a class.  Then  proceed  to  generalize  and 
classify  the  whole  world  together,  as  none  can  claim 
utter  exemption  from  either  sorrow,  sin,  or  disease  ; 
and  if  they  could,  yet  Death,  like  a great  parent,  comes 
and  sweeps  them  all  through  one  darksome  portal, — 
all  his  children. 

Fortune  to  come  like  a pedler  with  his  goods, — 
as  wreaths  of  laurel,  diamonds,  crowns  ; selling  them, 
but  asking  for  them  the  sacrifice  of  health,  of  integrity, 
perhaps  of  Mfe  in  the  battle-field,  and  of  the  real  pleas- 
ures of  existence.  Who  would  buy,  if  the  price  were  to 
be  paid  down  ? 

* 

The  dying  exclamation  of  the  Emperor  Augustus, 
“ Has  it  not  been  well  acted  ? ” An  essay  on  the 
misery  of  being  always  under  a mask.  A veil  may  be 
needful,  but  never  a mask.  Instances  of  people  who 
wear  masks  in  all  classes  of  society,  and  never  take 
them  off  even  in  the  most  familiar  moments,  though 
sometimes  they  may  chance  to  slip  aside. 

The  various  guises  under  which  Ruin  makes  his  ap- 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


25 


1636.  j 


proaches  to  his  victims  : to  the  merchant,  in  the  guise 
of  a merchant  offering  speculations;  to  the  young  heir, 
a jolly  companion  ; to  the  maiden,  a sighing,  sentimen- 
talist lover. 

What  were  the  contents  of  the  burden  of  Christian 
in  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress  ? He  must  have  been  taken 
for  a pedler  travelling  with  his  pack. 


To  think,  as  the  sun  goes  down,  what  events  have 
happened  in  the  course  of  the  day,  — events  of  ordi- 
nary occurrence  : as,  the  clocks  have  struck,  the  dead 
have  been  buried. 

Curious  to  imagine  what  murmurings  and  discontent 
would  be  excited,  if  any  of  the  great  so-called  calam- 
ities of  human  beings  were  to  be  abolished,  — as,  for 
instance,  death. 

Trifles  to  one  are  matters  of  life  and  death  to  an- 
other. As,  for  instance,  a farmer  desires  a brisk  breeze 
to  winnow  his  grain ; and  mariners,  to  blow  them  out 
of  the  reach  of  pirates. 

A recluse,  like  myself,  or  a prisoner,  to  measure  time 
by  the  progress  of  sunshine  through  his  chamber. 

Would  it  not  be  wiser  for  people  to  rejoice  at  all 
that  they  now  sorrow  for,  and  vice  versa  ? To  put  on 
bridal  garments  at  funerals,  and  mourning  at  weddings  ? 
For  their  friends  to  condole  with  them  when  they  at* 
tained  riches  and  honor,  as  only  so  much  care  added  ? 

VOL.  i.  2 


26  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [lb3G 

If  in  a village  it  were  a custom  to  bang  a funeral 
garland  or  other  token  of  death  on  a house  where  some 
one  had  died,  and  there  to  let  it  remain  till  a death 
occurred  elsewhere,  and  then  to  hang  that  same  gar- 
land over  the  other  house,  it  would  have,  methinks,  a 
strong  effect. 

No  fountain  so  small  but  that  Heaven  may  be  im- 
aged in  its  bosom. 

Fame  ! Some  very  humble  persons  in  a town  may 
be  said  to  possess  it,  — as,  the  penny-post,  the  town- 
crier,  the  constable,  — and  they  are  known  to  every- 
body ; while  many  richer,  more  intellectual,  worthier 
persons  are  unknown  by  the  majority  of  their  fellow- 
citizens.  Something  analogous  in  the  world  at  large. 

The  ideas  of  people  in  general  are  not  raised  higher 
than  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  All  their  interests  ex- 
tend over  the  earth’s  surface  in  a layer  of  that  thick- 
ness. The  meeting-house  steeple  reaches  out  of  their 
sphere. 

Nobody  will  use  other  people’s  experience,  nor  has 
any  of  his  own  till  it  is  too  late  to  use  it. 

Two  lovers  to  plan  the  building  of  a pleasure-house 
on  a certain  spot  of  ground,  but  various  seeming  acci- 
dents prevent  it.  Once  they  find  a group  of  miserable 
children  there;  once  it  is  the  scene  where  crime  is 
plotted ; at  last  the  dead  body  of  one  of  the  lovers  or 
of  a dear  friend  is  found  there  ; and,  instead  of  a plea* 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


27 


1*36.] 

ure-house,  they  build  a marble  tomb.  The  moral, — 
that  there  is  no  place  on  earth  fit  for  the  site  of  a pleas- 
ure-house, because  there  is  no  spot  that  may  not  have 
been  saddened  by  human  grief,  stained  by  crime,  or  hal- 
lowed by  death.  It  might  be  three  friends  who  plan 
it,  instead  of  two  lovers ; and  the  dearest  one  dies. 

Comfort  for  childless  people.  A married  couple  with 
ten  children  have  been  the  means  of  bringing  about  ten 
funerals. 

A blind  man  on  a dark  night  carried  a torch,  in  or- 
der that  people  might  see  him,  and  not  run  against  him, 
and  direct  him  how  to  avoid  dangers. 

To  picture  a child’s  (one  of  four  or  five  years  old) 
reminiscences  at  sunset  of  a long  summer’s  day,  — - 
his  first  awakening,  his  studies,  his  sports,  his  little  fits 
of  passion,  perhaps  a whipping,  etc. 

The  blind  man’s  walk. 

To  picture  a virtuous  family,  the  different  members 
examples  of  virtuous  dispositions  in  their  way ; then 
introduce  a vicious  person,  and  trace  out  the  relations 
that  arise  between  him  and  them,  and  the  manner  in 
which  all  are  affected. 

A man  to  flatter  himself  with  the  idea  that  he  would 
not  be  guilty  of  some  certain  wickedness,  — as,  for  in- 
stance, to  yield  to  the  personal  temptations  of  the  Devil, 
— yet  to  find,  ultimately,  that  he  was  at  that  very  time 
committing  that  same  wickedness. 


28 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1836. 


What  would  a man  do,  if  he  were  compelled  to  live 
always  in  the  sultry  heat  of  society,  and  corni  never 
bathe  himself  in  cool  solitude  ? 

A girl's  lover  to  be  slain  and  buried  in  her  flower- 
garden,  and  the  earth  levelled  over  him.  That  partic- 
ular spot,  which  she  happens  to  plant  with  some  pecu- 
liar variety  of  flowers,  produces  them  of  admirable 
splendor,  beauty,  and  perfume  ; and  she  delights,  with 
an  indescribable  impulse,  to  wear  them  in  her  bosom, 
and  scent  her  chamber  with  them.  Thus  the  classic 
fantasy  would  be  realized,  of  dead  people  transformed 
to  flowers. 

Objects  seen  by  a magic-lantern  reversed.  A street, 
or  other  location,  might  be  presented,  where  there  would 
be  opportunity  to  bring  forward  all  objects  of  worldly 
interest,  and  thus  much  pleasant  satire  might  be  the 
result. 

The  Abyssinians,  after  dressing  their  hair,  sleep  with 
their  heads  in  a forked  stick,  in  order  not  to  discom- 
pose it. 

At  the  battle  of  Edge  Hill,  October  23,  1642,  Cap- 
tain John  Smith,  a soldier  of  note,  Captain  Lieutenant 
to  Lord  James  Stuart’s  horse,  with  only  a groom,  at- 
tacked a Parliament  officer,  three  cuirassiers,  and  three 
arquebusiers,  and  rescued  the  royal  standard,  which 
they  had  taken  and  were  guarding.  Was  this  the  Vir- 
ginian Smith  ? 

Stephen  Gowans  supposed  that  the  bodies  of  Adam 


1636.] 


AMERICA  it  NOTE-BOOKS. 


29 


and  Eve  were  clothed  in  robes  of  light,  which  vanished 
after  their  sin. 

Lord  Chancellor  Clare,  towards  the  close  of  his  life, 
went  to  a viljage  church,  where  he  might  not  be  known, 
to  partake  of  the  Sacrament. 

A missionary  to  the  heathen  in  a great  city,  to  de- 
scribe his  labors  in  the  manner  of  a foreign  mission. 

In  the  tenth  century,  mechanism  of  organs  so  clumsy, 
that  one  in  Westminster  Abbey,  with  four  hundred  pipes, 
required  twenty-six  bellows  and  seventy  stout  men. 
First  organ  ever  known  in  Europe  received  by  King 
Pepin,  from  the  Emperor  Constantine  in  757.  Water 
boiling  was  kept  in  a reservoir  under  the  pipes ; and, 
the  keys  being  struck,  the  valves  opened,  and  steam 
rushed  through  with  noise.  The  secret  of  working 
them  thus  is  now  lost.  Then  came  bellows  organs, 
first  used  by  Louis  le  Debonnaire. 

After  the  siege  of  Antwerp,  the  children  played 
marbles  m the  streets  with  grape  and  cannon  shot. 

A shell,  in  falling,  buries  itself  in  the  earth,  and,  when 
it  explodes,  a large  pit  is  made  by  the  earth  being 
blown  about  in  all  directions,  — large  enough,  some- 
times, to  hold  three  or  four  cart-loads  of  earth.  The 
holes  are  circular. 

A French  artillery-man  being  buried  in  his  military 
cloak  on  the  ramparts,  a shell  exploded,  and  unburied 

him. 


80  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l83fx 

In  the  Netherlands,  to  form  hedges,  young  trees  are 
interwoven  into  a sort  of  lattice-work  ; and,  in  time, 
they  grow  together  at  the  point  of  junction,  so  that  the 
fence  is  all  of  one  piece. 

To  show  the  effect  of  gratified  revenge.  As  an  in- 
stance, merely,  suppose  a woman  sues  her  lover  for 
breach  of  promise,  and  gets  the  money  by  instalments, 
through  a long  series  of  years.  At  last,  when  the  mis- 
erable victim  were  utterly  trodden  down,  the  triumpher 
would  have  become  a very  devil  of  evil  passions, — they 
having  overgrown  his  whole  nature ; so  that  a far 
greater  evil  would  have  come  upon  himself  than  on  his 
victim. 

Anciently,  when  long-buried  bodies  were  found  un- 
decayed in  the  grave,  a species  of  sanctity  was  attrib- 
uted to  them. 

Some  chimneys  of  ancient  halls  used  to  be  swept  by 
having  a culverin  fired  up  them. 

At  Leith,  in  1711,  a glass  bottle  was  blown  of  the 
capacity  of  tvro  English  bushels. 

The  buff  and  blue  of  the  Union  were  adopted  by  Fox 
and  the  Whig  party  in  England.  The  Prince  of  Wales 
wore  them. 

In  1621,  a Mr.  Copinger  left  a certain  charity,  an 
almshouse,  of  which  four  poor  persons  were  to  partake, 
after  the  death  of  his  eldest  son  and  his  wife.  It  was  a 


1836.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE -ROOKS. 


31 


tenement  anu  y£rd.  The  parson,  headboroughs,  and  his 
five  other  sons  were  to  appoint  the  persons.  At  the 
time  specified,  however,  ali  but  one  of  his  sons  were 
dead ; and  he  was  in  such  poor  circumstances,  that  he 
obtained  the  benefit  of  the  charity  for  himself,  as  one  of 
the  four. 

A town  derk  arranges  the  publishments  thz  are 
given  in,  according  to  his  own  judgment. 

To  make  a story  from  Robert  Raikes  seeing  dirty 
children  at  play,  in  the  streets  of  London,  and  inquiring 
of  a woman  about  them.  She  tells  him  that  on  Sundays, 
when  they  were  not  employed,  they  were  a great  deal 
worse,  making  the  streets  like  hell ; playing  at  church, 
&c.  He  was  therefore  induced  to  employ  women  at  a 
shilling  to  teach  them  on  Sundays,  and  thus  Sunday- 
schools  were  established. 

To  represent  the  different  departments  of  the  United 
States  government  by  village  functionaries.  The  War 
Department  by  watchmen,  the  law  by  constables,  the 
merchants  by  a variety  store,  &c. 

At  the  accession  of  Bloody  Mary,  a man,  coming  in- 
to a house,  sounded  three  times  with  his  mouth,  as  with 
a trumpet,  and  then  made  proclamation  to  the  family. 
A bonfire  was  built,  and  little  children  were  made  to 
carry  wood  to  it,  that  they  might  remember  the  circum- 
stance in  old  age.  Meat  and  drink  were  provided  at 
the  bonfires. 

To  describe  a boyish  combat  with  snowballs,  and  the 


32 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BO OJ£S. 


[1836. 


victorious  leader  to  have  a statue  of  snow  erected  to 
him.  A satire  on  ambition  and  fame  to  be  made  out 
of  this  idea.  It  might  be  a child’s  story. 

Our  body  to  be  possessed  by  two  different  spirits; 
bo  that  half  of  the  visage  shall  express  one  mood,  and 
the  o*her  half  another. 

An  old  English  sea-captain  desires  to  have  a fast- 
sailing ship,  to  keep  a good  table,  and  to  sail  between 
the  tropics  without  making  land. 

A rich  man  left  by  will  his  mansion  and  estate  to  a 
poor  couple.  They  remove  into  it,  and  find  there  a 
darksome  servant,  whom  they  are  forbidden  by  will  to 
turn  away.  He  becomes  a torment  to  them ; and,  in 
the  finale,  he  turns  out  to  be  the  former  master  of  the 
estate. 

Two  persons  to  be  expecting  some  occurrence,  and 
watching  for  the  two  principal  actors  in  it,  and  to  find 
that  the  occurrence  is  even  then  passing,  and  that  they 
themselves  are  the  two  actors. 

There  is  evil  in  every  human  heart,  which  may  re- 
main latent,  perhaps,  through  the  whole  of  life ; but  cir- 
cumstances may  rouse  it  to  activity.  To  imagine  such 
circumstances.  A woman,  tempted  to  be  false  to  her 
husband,  apparently  through  mere  whim,  — or  a young 
man  to  feel  an  instinctive  thirst  for  blood,  and  to  com- 
mit murder.  This  appetite  may  be  traced  in  the  popu- 
larity of  criminal  trials.  The  appetite  might  be  ob- 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


38 


1836.] 


served  first  in  a child,  and  then  traced  upwards,  mani- 
festing itself  in  crimes  suited  to  every  stage  of  life. 

The  good  deeds  in  an  evil  life,  — the  generous,  nolle, 
and  excellent  actions  done  by  people  habitually  wicked, 
— to  ask  what  is  to  become  of  them. 

A satirical  article  might  be  made  out  of  the  idea  of 
an  imaginary  museum,  containing  such  articles  as 
Aaron’s  rod,  the  petticoat  of  General  Hawion,  the  pistol 
with  which  Benton  shot  Jackson,  — and  then  a dio- 
rama, consisting  of  political  or  other  scenes,  or  done  in 
wax-work.  The  idea  to  be  wrought  out  and  extended. 
Perhaps  it  might  be  the  museum  of  a deceased  old  man. 

An  article  might  be  made  respecting  various  kinds 
^ ruin,  — ruin  as  regards  property,  — ruin  of  health,  — 
ruin  of  habits,  as  drunkenness  and  all  kinds  of  debauch- 
ery. — ruin  of  character,  while  prosperous  in  other  re- 
spects, — ruin  of  the  soul.  Ruin,  perhaps,  might  be  per- 
sonified as  a demon,  seizing  its  victims  by  various 
bolds. 

An  article  on  fire,  on  smoke.  Diseases  of  the  mind 
and  soul,  — even  more  common  than  bodily  diseases. 


Tarleton,  of  the  Revolution,  is  said  to  have  been  one 
ftf  the  two  handsomest  men  in  Europe,  — the  Prince 
of  Wales,  afterwards  George  IV.,  being  the  other. 
Some  authorities,  however,  have  represented  him  as 
ungainly  in  person  and  rough  in  manners.  Tarleton 
was  originally  bred  to  the  law,  but  quitted  law  for 
2*  <3 


34 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


the  army  early  in  life.  He  was  son  to  a mayor  of 
Liverpool,  born  in  1754,  of  ancient  family.  He  wrote 
his  own  memoirs  after  returning  from  America.  After- 
wards in  Parliament.  Never  afterwards  distinguished 
in  arms.  Created  baronet  in  1818,  and  died  childless  in 
1833.  Thought  he  was  not  sufficiently  honored  among 
more  modern  heroes.  Lost  part  of  his  right  hand  in 
battle  of  Guildford  Court  House.  A man  of  pleasure  in 
England. 


It  would  be  a good  idea  for  a painter  to  paint  a pic- 
ture of  a great  actor,  representing  him  in  several  differ- 
ent characters  of  one  scene,  — Iago  and  Othello,  for  in- 
stance. 

Maine , July  5,  1837.  — Here  I am,  settled  since  night 

before  last  with  B , and  living  very  singularly. 

He  leads  a bachelor’s  life  in  his  paternal  mansion,  only 
a small  part  of  which  is  occupied  by  a family  who  serve 
him.  He  provides  his  own  breakfast  and  supper,  and 
occasionally  his  dinner  ; though  this  is  oftener,  I believe, 
taken  at  the  hotel,  or  an  eating-house,  or  with  some  of 
his  relatives.  I am  his  guest,  and  my  presence  makes 
no  alteration  in  his  way  of  life.  Our  fare,  thus  far,  has 
consisted  of  bread,  butter,  and  cheese,  crackers,  herrings, 
boiled  eggs,  coffee,  milk,  and  claret  wine.  He  has  an- 
other inmate,  in  the  person  of  a queer  little  Frenchman, 
who  has  his  breakfast,  tea,  and  lodging  here,  and  finds 

his  dinner  elsewhere.  Monsieur  S does  not  appear 

to  be  more  than  twenty-one  years  old,  — a diminutive 
figure,  with  eyes  askew,  and  otherwise  of  an  ungainly 
physiognomy ; he  is  ill-dressed  also,  in  a coarse  blue 


>837.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


35 


coat,  thin  cotton  pantaloons,  and  unbrushed  boots  ; alto- 
gether with  as  little  of  French  coxcombry  as  can  well 
be  imagined,  though  with  something  of  the  monkey  as- 
pect inseparable  from  a little  Frenchman.  He  is,  nev- 
ertheless, an  intelligent  and  well-informed  man,  appar- 
ently of  extensive  reading  in  his  own  language,  — a 
philosopher,  B tells  me,  and  an  infidel.  His  insig- 

nificant personal  appearance  stands  in  the  way  of  his 
success,  and  prevents  him  from  receiving  the  respect 
which  is  really  due  to  his  talents  and  acquirements ; 
wherefore  he  is  bitterly  dissatisfied  with  the  country  and 

Its  inhabitants,  and  often  expresses  his  feelings  to  B 

(who  has  gained  his  confidence  to  a certain  degree)  in 
very  strong  terms. 

Thus  here  are  three  characters,  each  with  something 
out  of  the  common  way,  living  together  somewhat  like 

monks.  B , our  host,  combines  more  high  and 

admirable  qualities,  of  that  sort  which  make  up  a gentle- 
man, than  any  other  that  I have  met  with.  Polished,  yet 
natural,  frank,  open,  and  straightforward,  yet  with  a 
delicate  feeling  for  the  sensitiveness  of  his  companions ; 
of  excellent  temper  and  warm  heart;  well  acquainted 
with  the  world,  with  a keen  faculty  of  observation,  which 
he  lias  had  many  opportunities  of  exercising,  and  never 
varying  from  a code  of  honor  and  principle  which  is 
really  nice  and  Wgid  in  its  way.  There  is  a sort  of 
philosophy  developing  itself  in  him  which  will  not  im- 
possibly cause  him  to  settle  down  in  this  or  some  other 
equally  singular  course  of  life.  He  seems  almost  to 
have  made  up  his  mind  never  to  be  married,  which 
I wonder  at ; for  he  has  strong  affections,  and  is  fond 
both  ol  women  and  children. 


36 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837 


Tho  little  Frenchman  impresses  me  very  strongly,  too, 
— so  lonely  as  lie  is  here,  struggling  against  the  world, 
with  bitter  feelings  in  his  breast,  and  yet  talking  with  the 
vivacity  and  gayety  of  his  nation  ; making  this  his  home 
from  darkness  to  daylight,  and  enjoying  here  what  little 
domestic  comfort  and  confidence  there  is  for  him ; and 
then  going  about  all  the  livelong  day,  teaching  French 
to  blockheads  who  sneer  at  him,  and  returning  at  about 
ten  o’clock  in  the  evening  (for  I was  wrong  in  saying  he 
supped  here,  — he  eats  no  supper)  to  his  solitary  room 

and  bed.  Before  retiring,  he  goes  to  B ’s  bedside, 

and,  if  he  finds  him  awake,  stands  talking  French,  ex- 
pressing his  dislike  of  the  Americans,  — “ Je  hais,je 
hais  les  Yankees  ! ” — thus  giving  vent  to  the  stifled  bit 
terness  of  the  whole  day.  In  the  morning  I hear  him 
getting  up  early,  at  sunrise  or  before,  humming  to  him- 
self, scuffling  about  his  chamber  with  his  thick  boots,  and 
at  last  taking  his  departure  for  a solitary  ramble  till 
breakfast.  Then  he  comes  in,  cheerful  and  vivacious 
enough,  eats  pretty  heartily,  and  is  off  again,  singing 
French  chansons  as  he  goes  down  the  gravel-walk.  The 
poor  fellow  has  nobody  to  sympathize  with  him  but 

B , and  thus  a singular  connection  is  established 

between  two  utterly  different  characters. 

Then  here  is  myself,  who  am  likewise  a queer  char- 
acter in  my  way,  and  have  come  to  spend  a week  or 
two  with  my  friend  of  half  a lifetime,  — the  longest 
space,  probably,  that  we  are  ever  destined  to  spend  to- 
gether; for  Fate  seems  preparing  changes  for  both  of 
us.  My  circumstances,  at  least,  cannot  long  continue 
as  they  are  and  have  been  ; and  B , too,  stands  be- 

tween high  prosperity  and  utter  ruin. 


1837. J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  37 

X think  1 should  soon  become  strongly  attached  to 
our  way  of  life,  so  independent  and  untroubled  by  the 
forms  and  restrictions  of  society.  The  house  is  very 
pleasantly  situated,  — half  a mile  distant  from  where 
the  town  begins  to  be  thickly  settled,  and  on  a swell  of 
land,  with  the  road  running  at  a distance  of  fifty  yards, 
and  a grassy  tract  and  a gravel-walk  between.  Beyond 
the  road  rolls  the  Kennebec,  here  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  wide.  Putting  my  head  out  of  the  window,  I 
can  see  it  flowing  steadily  along  straightway  between 
wooded  banks  ; but  arriving  nearly  opposite  the  house, 
there  is  a large  and  level  sand  island  in  the  middle 
of  the  stream  ; and  just  below  the  island  the,  current  is 
further  interrupted  by  the  works  of  the  mill-dam,  which 
is  perhaps  half  finished,  yet  still  in  so  rude  a state  that 
it  looks  as  much  like  the  ruins  of  a dam  destroyed  by 
the  spring  freshets  as  like  the  foundations  of  a dam  yet 
to  be.  Irishmen  and  Canadians  toil  at  work  on  it,  and 
the  echoes  of  their  hammering  and  of  the  voices  come 
across  the  river  and  up  to  this  window.  Then  there  is 
a sound  of  the  wind  among  the  trees  round  the  house  ; 
and,  when  that  is  silent,  the  calm,  full,  distant  voice  of 
the  river  becomes  audible.  Looking  downward  thither, 
I see  the  rush  of  the  current,  and  mark  the  different 
eddies,  with  here  and  there  white  specks  or  streaks 
of  foam ; and  often  a log  comes  floating  on,  glistening 
in  the  sun,  ,as  it  rolls  over  among  the  eddies,  having 
voyaged,  for  aught  I know,  hundreds  of  miles  from  the 
wild  upper  sources  of  the  river,  passing  down,  down, 
between  lines  of  forest,  and  sometimes  a rough  clearing, 
till  here  it  floats  by  cultivated  banks,  and  will  so  on  pass 
by  the  village.  Sometimes  a long  raft  of  boards  comes 


38 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837 


along,  requiring  the  nicest  skill  in  navigating  it  through 
the  narrow  passage  left  by  the  mill-dam.  Chaises  and 
wagons  occasionally  go  over  the  road,  the  riders  ail 
giving  a passing  glance  at  the  dam,  or  perhaps  alight- 
ing to  examine  it  more  fully,  and  at  last  departing  with 
ominous  shakes  of  the  head  as  to  the  result  of  the  en- 
terprise. My  position  is  so  far  retired  from  the  river 
and  mill-dam,  that,  though  the  latter  is  really  rather  a 
scene,  yet  a sort  of  quiet  seems  to  be  diffused  over  the 
whole.  Two  or  three  times  a day  this  quiet  is  broken 
by  the  sudden  thunder  from  a quarry,  where  the  work- 
men are  blasting  rocks  ; and  a peal  of  thunder  sounds 
strangely  in  such  a green,  sunny,  and  quiet  landscape, 
with  the  blue  sky  brightening  the  river. 

I have  not  seen  much  of  the  people.  There  have 
been,  however,  several  incidents  which  amused  me, 
though  scarcely  worth  telling.  A passionate  tavern- 
keeper,  quick  as  a flash  of  gunpowder,  a nervous  man, 
and  showing  in  his  demeanor,  it  seems,  a consciousness 
of  his  infirmity  of  temper.  I was  a witness  of  a scuf- 
fle of  his  with  a drunken  guest.  The  tavern-keeper, 
after  they  were  separated,  raved  like  a madman,  and  in 
a tone  of  voice  having  a drolly  pathetic  or  lamentable 
sound  mingled  with  its  rage,  as  if  he  were  lifting  up 
his  voice  to  weep.  Then  he  jumped  into  a chaise 
which  was  standing  by,  whipped  up  the  horse,  and 
drove  off  rapidly,  as  if  to  give  his  fury  vent  in  that 
way. 

On  the  morning  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  two  printer’s 
apprentice-lads,  nearly  grown,  dressed  in  jackets  and 
very  tight  pantaloons  of  check,  tight  as  their  skins,  so 
that  they  looked  like  harlequins  or  circus-elcwn«,  ye* 


1837.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  32 

appeared  to  think  themselves  in  perfect  propriety,  witk 
a very  calm  and  quiet  assurance  of  the  admiration  of 
the  town.  A common  fellow,  a carpenter,  who,  on  the? 
strength  of  political  partisanship,  asked  B ’s  assist- 

ance in  cutting  out  great  letters  from  play-bills  in  order 
to  print  “ Martin  Van  Buren  Forever  ” on  a flag;  but 

B refused.  B— — seems  to  be  considerably  of  a 

favorite  with  the  lower  orders,  especially  with  the  Irish- 
men and  French  Canadians,  — the  latter  accosting  him 
in  the  street,  and  asking  his  assistance  as  an  interpreter 
in  making  their  bargains  for  work. 

I meant  to  dine  at  the  hotel  with  B to-day ; 

but  having  returned  to  the  house,  leaving  him  to  do 
some  business  in  the  village,  I found  myself  unwill- 
ing to  move  when  the  dinner-hour  approached,  and 
therefore  dined  very  well  on  bread,  cheese,  and  eggs 
Nothing  of  much  interest  takes  place.  We  live  very  com- 
fortably in  our  bachelor  establishment  on  a cold  shoul- 
der of  mutton,  with  ham  and  smoked  beef  and  boiled 
eggs,  and  as  to  drinkables,  we  had  both  claret  and 
brown  sherry  on  the  dinner-table  to-day.  Last  evening 
we  had  a long  literary  and  philosophical  conversation 

with  Monsieur  S . He  is  rather  remarkably  well- 

informed  for  a man  of  his  age,  and  seems  to  have  very 
just  notions  on  ethics,  etc.,  though  damnably  perverted 
as  to  religion.  It  is  strange  to  hear  philosophy  of  any 
sort  from  such  a boyish  figure.  “We  philosophers,” 
he  is  fond  of  saying,  to  distinguish  himself  and  his 
brethren  from  the  Christians.  One  of  his  oddities  is 
chat,  while  steadfastly  maintaining  an  opinion  that  he  is 
a very  small  and  slow  eater,  and  that  we,  in  common 
with  other  Yankees,  eat  immensely  and  fast,  he  actually 


40 


AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS. 


[1837. 


eats  both  faster  and  longer  than  we  do,  and  devours, 
as  B avers,  more  victuals  than  both  of  us  together. 

Saturday , July  8 th.  — Yesterday  afternoon,  a stroh 

with  B up  a large  brook,  he  fishing  for  trout,  and 

I looking  on.  The  brook  runs  through  a valley,  on 
dne  side  bordered  by  a high  and  precipitous  bank ; on 
the  other  there  is  an  interval,  and  then  the  bank  rises 
upward  and  upward  into  a high  hill  with  gorges  and 
ravines  separating  one  summit  from  another,  and  here 
and  there  are  bare  places,  where  the  rain-streams  have 
washed  away  the  grass.  The  brook  is  bestrewn  with 
stones,  some  bare,  some  partially  moss-grown,  and 
sometimes  so  huge  as  — once  at  least  — to  occupy 
almost  the  whole  breadth  of  the  current.  Amongst 
these  the  stream  brawls,  only  that  this  word  does  not 
express  its  good-natured  voice,  and  “ murmur  ” is  too 
quiet.  It  sings  along,  sometimes  smooth,  with  the 
pebbles  visible  beneath,  sometimes  rushing  dark  and 
swift,  eddying  and  whitening  past  some  rock,  or  under- 
neath the  hither  or  the  farther  bank ; and  at  these 

places  B cast  his  line,  and  sometimes  drew  out  a 

trout,  small,  not  more  than  five  or  six  inches  long. 
The  farther  we  went  up  the  brook,  the  wilder  it  grew, 
The  opposite  bank  was  covered  with  pines  and  hem- 
locks, ascending  high  upwards,  black  and  solemn.  One 
knew  that  there  must  be  almost  a precipice  behind,  yet 
we  could  not  see  it.  At  the  foot  you  could  spy,  a little 
way  within  the  darksome  shade,  the  roots  and  branches 
of  the  trees  ; but  soon  all  sight  was  obstructed  amidst 
the  trunks.  On  the  hither  side,  at  first  the  bank  was 
bare,  then  fringed  with  alder-bushes,  bending  and  dip* 


1837.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  41 

ping  into  the  stream,  which,  farther  on,  flowed  through 
the  midst  of  a forest  of  maple,  beech,  and  other  trees, 
its  course  growing  wilder  and  wilder  as  we  proceeded. 
For  a considerable  distance  there  was  a causeway,  built 
long  ago  of  logs,  to  drag  lumber  upon  ; it  was  now  de- 
cayed and  rotten,  a red  decay,  sometimes  sunken  down 
in  the  midst,  here  and  there  a knotty  trunk  stretching 
across,  apparently  sound.  The  sun  being  now  low 
towards  the  west,  a pleasant  gloom  and  brightness  were 
diffused  through  the  forest,  spots  of  brightness  scattered 
upon  the  branches,  or  thrown  down  in  gold  upon  the 
last  year’s  leaves  among  the  trees.  At  last  we  came  to 
where  a dam  had  been  built  across  the  brook  many 
years  ago,  and  was  now  gone  to  ruin,  so  as  to  make  the 
spot  look  more  solitary  and  wilder  than  if  man  had 
never  left  vestiges  of  his  toil  there.  It  was  a frame- 
work of  logs  with  a covering  of  plank  sufficient  to  ob- 
struct the  onward  flow  of  the  brook ; but  it  found  its 
way  past  the  side,  and  came  foaming  and  struggling 
along  among  scattered  rocks.  Above  the  dam  there 
was  a broad  and  deep  pool,  one  side  of  which  was  bor- 
dered by  a precipitous  wall  of  rocks,  as  smooth  as  if 
hewn  out  and  squared,  and  piled  one  upon  another, 
above  which  rose  the  forest.  On  the  other  side  there 
was  still  a gently  shelving  bank,  and  the  shore  was  cov- 
ered with  tall  trees,  among  which  I particularly  re- 
marked a stately  pine,  wholly  devoid  of  bark,  rising 
white  in  aged  and  majestic  ruin,  thrusting  out  its  bark- 
less arms.  It  must  have  stood  there  in  death  many 
years,  its  own  ghost.  Above  the  dam  the  brook  flowed 
through  the  forest,  a glistening  and  babbling  water-path, 
illuminated  by  the  sun,  which  sent  its  rays  almost 


42  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [183^ 

straight  along  its  course.  It  was  as  lovely  and  wild 
and  peaceful  as  it  could  possibly  have  been  a hundred 
years  ago  ; and  the  traces  of  labors  of  men  long  departed 
added  a deeper  peace  to  it.  I bathed  in  the  pool,  and 
then  pursued  my  way  down  beside  the  brook,  growing 
dark  with  a pleasant  gloom,  as  the  sun  sank  and  the 

water  became  more  shadowy.  B says  that  there 

was  formerly  a tradition,  that  the  Indians  used  to  go  up 
this  brook,  and  return,  after  a brief  absence,  with  large 
masses  of  lead,  which  they  sold  at  the  trading-stations 
in  Augusta  ; whence  there  has  always  been  an  idea  that 
there  is  a lead  mine  hereabouts.  Great  toadstools  were 
under  the  trees,  and  some  small  ones  as  yellow  and 
almost  the  size  of  a half-broiled  yolk  of  an  egg.  Straw- 
berries were  scattered  along  the  brookside. 

Dined  at  the  hotel  or  Mansion  House  to-day.  Men 
were  playing  checkers  in  the  parlor.  The  Marshal  of 
Maine,  a corpulent,  jolly  fellow,  famed  for  humor.  A 
passenger  left  by  the  stage,  hiring  an  express  onward. 
A bottle  of  champagne  was  quaffed  at  the  bar. 

July  9th.  — Went  with  B — — to  pay  a visit  to  the 
shanties  of  the  Irish  and  Canadians.  He  says  that  they 
sell  and  exchange  these  small  houses  among  themselves 
continually.  They  may  be  built  in  three  or  four  days, 
and  are  valued  at  four  or  five  dollars.  When  the  turf 
that  is  piled  against  the  walls  of  some  of  them  becomes 
covered  with  grass,  it  makes  quite  a picturesque  object. 
It  was  almost  dusk  — just  candle-lighting  time  — when 
we  visited  them.  A young  Frenchwoman,  with  a baby 
in  her  arms,  came  to  the  door  of  one  of  them,  smiling, 
and  looking  pretty  and  happy.  Her  husband,  a dark, 


<837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


43 


black-haired,  lively  little  fellow,  caressed  the  child, 
laughing  and  singing  to  it;  and  there  was  a red-bearded 
Irishman,  who  likewise  fondled  the  little  brat.  Then 
we  could  hear  them  within  the  hut,  gabbling  merrily, 
and  could  see  them  moving  about  briskly  in  the  candle- 
light, through  the  window  and  open  door.  An  old 
Irishwoman  sat  in  the  door  of  another  hut,  under  the 
influence  of  an  extra  dose  of  rum,  — she  being  an  old 
lady  of  somewhat  dissipated  habits.  She  called  to 

B , and  began  to  talk  to  him  about  her  resolution 

not  to  give  up  her  house : Tor  it  is  his  design  to  get  her 
out  of  it.  She  is  a true  virago,  and,  though  somewhat 
restrained  by  respect  for  him,  she  evinced  a sturdy  de- 
sign to  remain  here  through  the  winter,  or  at  least  for 
a considerable  time  longer.  He  persisting,  she  took  her 
stand  in  the  doorway  of  the  hut,  and  stretched  out  her 
fist  in  a very  Amazonian  attitude.  “ Nobody,' ” quoth 
she,  “ shall  drive  me  out  of  this  house,  till  my  praties 
are  out  of  the  ground.”  Then  would  she  wheedle  and 
laugh  and  blarney,  beginning  in  a rage,  and  ending  as  if 
she  had  been  in  jest.  Meanwhile  her  husband  stood  by 
very  quiet,  occasionally  trying  to  still  her ; but  it  is  to 
be  presumed,  that,  after  our  departure,  they  came  to 
blows,  it  being  a custom  with  the  Irish  husbands  and 
wives  to  settle  their  disputes  with  blows ; and  it  is  said 
the  woman  often  proves  the  better  man.  The  different 
families  also. have  battles,  and  occasionally  the  Irish 
fight  with  the  Canadians.  The  latter,  however,  are 
much  the  more  peaceable,  never  quarrelling  among 
themselves,  and  seldom  with  their  neighbors.  They 
al*e  frugal,  and  often  go  back  to  Canada  with  consider- 
able sums  of  money.  B has  gained  much  influence 


44  AMERICAN  NO  1 E-BOOKS.  fl837 

both  with  the  Irish  and  the  French  —with  the  latter 
by  dint  of  speaking  to  them  in  their  own  language.  Re 
is  the  umpire  in  their  disputes,  and  their  adviser,  and 
they  look  up  to  him  as  a protector  and  patron-friend. 
I have  been  struck  to  see  with  what  careful  integrity 
and  wisdom  he  manages  matters  among  them,  hitherto 
having  known  him  only  as  a free  and  gay  young  man. 
He  appears  perfectly  to  understand  their  general  char- 
acter, of  which  he  gives  no  very  flattering  description 
In  these  huts,  less  than  twenty  feet  square,  he  tells  me 
that  upwards  of  twenty  people  have  sometimes  been 
lodged. 

A description  of  a young  lady  who  had  formerly  been 
insane,  and  now  felt  the  approach  of  a new  fit  of  mad- 
ness. She  had  been  out  to  ride,  had  exerted  herself 
much,  and  had  been  very  vivacious.  On  her  return, 
she  sat  down  in  a thoughtful  and  despondent  attitude, 
looking  very  sad,  but  one  of  the  loveliest  objects  that 
ever  were  seen.  The  family  spoke  to  her,  but  she 
made  no  answer,  nor  took  the  least  notice ; but  still  sat 
like  a statue  in  her  chair,  — a statue  of  melancholy  and 
beauty.  At  last  they  led  her  away  to  her  chamber. 

We  went  to  meeting  this  forenoon.  I saw  nothing 
remarkable,  unless  a little  girl  in  the  next  pew  to  us, 
three  or  four  years  old,  who  fell  asleep,  with  her  head 
in  the  lap  of  her  maid,  and  looked  very  pretty  : a pic- 
ture of  sleeping  innocence. 

July  11  tk,  Tuesday . — A drive  with  B to  Hal- 

lowed, yesterday,  where  we  dined,  and  afterwards  to 
Gardiner.  The  most  curious  object  in  this  latter  place 
was  the  elegant  new  mansion  of . It  stands  on  the 


1837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


45 


site  of  Ins  former  dwelling,  which  was  destroyed  by  fire. 
The  new  building  was  estimated  to  cost  about  thirty 
thousand  dollars ; but  twice  as  much  has  already  been 
expended,  and  a great  deal  more  will  be  required  to  com- 
plete it.  It  is  certainly  a splendid  structure;  the 
material,  granite  from  the  vicinity.  At  the  angles  it 
has  small,  circular  towers  ; the  portal  is  lofty  and  im- 
posing. Relatively  to  the  general  style  of  domestic 
architecture  in  our  country,  it  well  deserves  the  name 
of  castle  or  palace.  Its  situation,  too,  is  fine,  far  retired 
from  the  public  road,  and  attainable  by  a winding 
carriage-drive;  standing  amid  fertile  fields,  and  with 
large  trees  in  the  vicinity.  There  is  also  a beautiful 
view  from  the  mansion,  adown  the  Kennebec. 

Beneath  some  of  the  large  trees  we  saw  the  remains 
of  circular  seats,  whereupon  the  family  used  to  sit 
before  the  former  house  was  burned  down.  There  was 
no  one  now  in  the  vicinity  of  the  place,  save  a man  and 
a yoke  of  oxen ; and  what  he  was  about,  I did  not 
ascertain.  Mr. at  present  resides  in  a small  dwell- 

ing, little  more  than  a cottage,  beside  the  main  road, 
not  far  from  the  gateway  which  gives  access  to  his 
palace. 

At  Gardiner,  on  the  wharf,  I witnessed  the  starting 
of  the  steamboat  New  England  for  Boston.  There 
was  quite  a collection  of  people,  looking  on  or  taking 
leave  of  passengers,  — the  steam  puffing,  — stages  ar- 
riving, full-freighted  with  ladies  ai  d gentlemen.  A man 
was  one  moment  too  late  ; but  running  along  the  gun- 
wale of  a mud-scow,  and  jumping  into  a skiff,  he  was 
put  on  board  by  a black  fellow.  The  dark  cabin, 
wherein,  descending  from  the  sunshiny  deck,  it  was 


16  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l 837. 

difficult  to  discern  the  furniture,  looking-glasses,  ana 
mahogany  wainscoting.  I met  two  old  college  acquaint- 
ances, — 0 , who  was  going  to  Boston,  and  B 

with  whom  we  afterwards  drank  a glass  of  wine  at  the 
hotel. 

B- , Mons.  S , and  myself  continue  to  live  ir 

the  same  style  as  heretofore.  We  appear  mutually  to 

be  very  well  pleased  with  each  other.  Mons.  S 

displays  many  comical  qualities,  and  manages  to  insure 
us  several  hearty  laughs  every  morning  and  evening,  — 
those  being  the  seasons  when  we  meet.  I am  going  to 
take  lessons  from  him  in  the  pronunciation  of  French. 
Of  female  society  I see  nothing.  The  only  petticoat 
that  comes  within  our  premises  appertains  to  Nancy,  the 
pretty,  dark* eyed  maid-servant  of  the  man  who  lives  in 
the  other  part  of  the  house. 

On  the  road  from  Hallowell  to  Augusta  we  saw  little 
booths,  in  two  places,  erected  on  the  roadside,  where 
boys  offered  beer,  apples,  etc.,  for  sale.  We  passed  an 
Irishwoman  with  a child  in  her  arms,  and  a heavy  bun- 
dle, and  afterwards  an  Irishman  with  a light  bundle, 
sitting  by  the  highway.  They  were  husband  and  wife ; 

and  B says  that  an  Irishman  and  his  wife,  op 

their  journeys,  do  not  usually  walk  side  by  side,  but 
+hat  the  man  gives  the  woman  the  heaviest  burden  to 
carry,  and  walks  on  lightly  ahead ! 

A thought  comes  into  my  mind  : Which  sort  of  house 
excites  the  most  contemptuous  feelings  in  the  beholder, 
— such  a house  as  Mr. — - — ’s,  all  circumstances  con- 
sidered, or  the  board-built  and  turf-buttressed  hovels  of 
these  wild  Irish,  scattered  about  as  if  they  had  sprung 
up  like  mushrooms,  in  the  dells  and  gorges,  and  along 


1 837. J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  4? 

the  banks  of  the  river?  Mushrooms,  by  the  way, 
spring  up  where  the  roots  of  an  old  tree  are  hidden  un- 
der the  ground* 

Thursday,  July  loth.  — Two  small  Canadian  boys 
came  to  our  house  yesterday,  with  strawberries  to  sell. 
It  sounds  strangely  to  hear  children  bargaining  in 
French  on  the  borders  of  Yankee-land.  Among  other 
languages  spoken  hereabouts  must  be  reckoned  the  wild 
Irish.  Some  of  the  laborers  on  the  mill-dam  can  speak 
nothing  else.  The  intermixture  of  foreigners  some- 
times gives  rise  to  quarrels  between  them  and  the 
natives.  As  we  were  going  to  the  village  yesterday 
afternoon,  we  witnessed  the  beginning  of  a quarrel  be- 
tween a Canadian  and  a Yankee,  - — the  latter  accusing 

the  former  of  striking  his  oxen.  B thrust  himself 

between  and  parted  them ; but  they  afterwards  renewed 
their  fray,  and  the  Canadian,  I believe,  thrashed  the 
Yankee  soundly, — for  which  he  had  to  pay  twelve  dol- 
lars. Yet  he  was  but  a little  fellow. 

Coming  to  the  Mansion  House  about  supper4ime,  we 
found  somewhat  of  a concourse  of  people,  the  Governor 
and  Council  being  in  session  on  the  subject  of  the  dis- 
puted territory.  The  British  have  lately  imprisoned  a 
man  who  was  sent  to  take  the  census ; and  the  Main- 
iacs  are  much  excited  on  the  subject.  They  wish  the 
Governor  to  order  out  the  militia  at  once,  and  take  pos- 
session of  the  territory  with  the  strong  hand.  There 
was  a British  army-captain  at  the  Mansion  House  ; and 
an  idea  was  thrown  out  that  it  would  be  as  well  to 
seize  upon  him  as  a hostage.  I would,  for  the  joke’s 
sake,  that  it  had  been  done.  Personages  at  the  tavern ; 


48 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS* 


fl837. 


the  Governor,  somewhat  stared  after  as  he  walked 
through  the  bar-room ; Councillors  seated  about,  sitting 
on  benches  near  the  bar,  or  on  the  stoop  along  the  front 
cf  the  house  ; the  Adjutant-General  of  the  State ; two 
young  Blue-Noses,  from  Canada  or  the  Provinces  ; a 
gentleman  “ thumbing  his  hat  ” for  liquor,  or  perhaps 
playing  off  the  trick  of  the  “ honest  landlord  ” on  some 
stranger.  The  decanters  and  wine-bottles  on  the  move, 
and  the  beer  and  soda  founts  pouring  out  continual 
streams,  with  a whiz.  Stage-drivers,  etc.,  asked  to 
drink  with  the  aristocracy,  and  mine  host  treating  and 
being  treated.  Rubicund  faces ; breaths  odorous  of 
brandy  and  water.  Occasionally  the  pop  of  a cham- 
pagne cork. 

Returned  home,  and  took  a lesson  in  French  of 
Mons.  S . I like  him  very  much,  and  have  sel- 

dom met  with  a more  honest,  simple,  and  apparently  so 
well-principled  a man ; which  good  qualities  I impute 
to  his  being,  by  the  father’s  side,  of  German  blood.  He 
looks  more  like  a German  — or,  as  he  says,  like  a 
Swiss  — than  a Frenchman,  having  very  light  hair  and 
a light  complexion,  and  not  a French  expression.  He 
is  a vivacious  little  fellow,  and  wonderfully  excitable  to 
mirth ; and  it  is  truly  a sight  to  see  him  laugh  ; — ev- 
ery feature  partakes  of  his  movement,  and  even  his 
whole  body  shares  in  it,  as  he  rises  and  dances  about 
the  room.  He  has  great  variety  of  conversation,  com- 
mensurate with  his  experiences  in  life,  and  sometimes 
will  talk  Spanish,  ore  rotundo , — sometimes  imitate  the 
Catholic  priests,  chanting  Latin  songs  for  the  dead,  in 
deep,  gruff,  awful  tones,  producing  really  a very  strong 
impression,  — then  he  will  break  out  into  a light,  French 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


49 


1 837.  J 

song,  perhaps  of  love,  perhaps  of  war,  acting  it  out,  as  if 
on  the  stage  of  a theatre  : all  this  intermingled  with 
continual  fun,  excited  by  the  incidents  of  the  passing 
moment.  He  has  Frenchified  all  our  names,  calling 

B Monsieur  Du  Pont,  myself  M.  de  L’Aubepine, 

and  himself  M.  le  Berger,  and  all,  Knights  of  the 
Round-Table.  And  we  live  in  great  harmony  and 
brotherhood,  as  queer  a life  as  anybody  leads,  and  as 
queer  a set  as  may  be  found  anywhere.  In  his  more 
serious  intervals,  he  talks  philosophy  and  deism,  and 
preaches  obedience  to  the  law  of  reason  and  morality ; 
which  law  he  says  (and  I believe  him)  he  has  so  well 
observed,  that,  notwithstanding  his  residence  in  dissolute 
countries,  he  has  never  yet  been  sinful.  He  wishes  me 
eight  or  nine  weeks  hence,  to  accompany  him  on  foot  to 
Quebec,  and  then  to  Niagara  and  New  York.  I should 
like  it  well,  if  my  circumstances  and  other  considera- 
tions would  permit.  What  pleases  much  in  Mons. 

S is  the  simple  and  childlike  enjoyment  he  finds  in 

trifles,  and  the  joy  with  which  he  speaks  of  going  back 
to  his  own  country,  away  from  the  dull  Yankees,  who 
here  misunderstand  and  despise  him.  Yet  I have  never 
heard  him  speak  harshly  of  them.  I rather  think  that 

B and  I will  be  remembered  by  him  with  more 

pleasure  than  anybody  else  in  the  country ; for  we  have 
sympathized  with  him,  and  treated  him  kindly,  and  like 
a gentleman  and  an  equal ; and  he  comes  to  us  at  night 
as  to  home  and  friends. 

I went  down  to  the  river  to-day  to  see  B fish 

for  salmon  with  a fly,  — a hopeless  business ; for  he 
says  that  only  one  instance  has  been  known  in  the 
United  States  of  salmon  being  taken  otherwise  than 

VOL.  I.  3 © 


50 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837 


with  a net.  A few  chubs  were  all  the  fruit  of  his  pisca 
tory  efforts.  But  while  looking  at  the  rushing  and  rip- 
pling stream,  I saw  a great  fish,  some  six  feet  long  and 
thick  in  proportion,  suddenly  emerge  at  whole  length, 
turn  a somerset,  and  then  vanish  again  beneath  the  wa- 
ter. It  was  of  a glistening,  yellowish  brown,  with  its 
fins  all  spread,  and  looking  very  strange  and  startling, 
darting  out  so  lifelike  from  the  black  water,  throwing 
itself  fully  into  the  bright  sunshine,  and  then  lost  to 
sight  and  to  pursuit.  I saw  also  a long,  flat-bottomed 
boat  go  up  the  river,  with  a brisk  wind,  and  against  a 
strong  stream.  Its  sails  were  of  curious  construction : 
a long  mast,  with  two  sails  below,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  boat,  and  a broader  one  surmounting  them.  The 
sails  were  colored  brown,  and  appeared  like  leather  or 
skins,  but  were  really  cloth.  At  a distance,  the  vessel 
looked  like,  or  at  least  I compared  it  to,  a monstrous 
water-insect  skimming  along  the  river.  If  the  sails  had 
been  crimson  or  yellow,  the  resemblance  would  have 
been  much  closer.  There  was  a pretty  spacious  raised 
cabin  in  the  after  part  of  the  boat.  It  moved  along 
lightly,  and  disappeared  between  the  woody  banks. 
These  boats  have  the  two  parallel  sails  attached  to  the 
same  yard,  and  some  have  two  sails,  one  surmounting 
the  other.  They  trade  to  Water ville  and  thereabouts, 
— - names,  as  “ Paul  Pry,”  on  their  sails. 

Saturday,  July  15th. — Went  with  B yesterday 

to  visit  several  Irish  shanties,  endeavoring  to  find  out 
who  had  stolen  some  rails  of  a fence.  At  the  first  door 
at  which  we  knocked  (a  shanty  with  an  earthen  mound 
heaped  against  the  wall,  two  or  three  feet  thick),  the 


1837.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


51 


inmates  were  not  up,  though  it  was  past  eight  o’clock. 
At  last  a middle-aged  woman  showed  herself,  half 
dressed,  and  completing  her  toilet.  Threats  were  made 
of  tearing  down  hei  house ; for  she  is  a lady  of  very  in- 
different morals,  and  sells  rum.  Few  of  these  people 
are  connected  with  the  mill-dam,  — or,  at  least,  many  are 
not  so,  but  have  intruded  themselves  into  the  vacant 
huts  which  were  occupied  by  the  mill-dam  people  last 
year.  In  two  or  three  places  hereabouts  there  is  quite 
a village  of  these  dwellings,  with  a clay  and  board 
chimney,  or  oftener  an  old  barrel,  smoked  and  charred 
with  the  fire.  Some  of  their  roofs  are  covered  with 
sods,  and  appear  almost  subterranean.  One  of  the  little 
hamlets  stands  on  both  sides  of  a deep  dell,  wooded  and 
bush-grown,  with  a vista,  as  it  were,  into  the  heart  of  a 
wood  in  one  direction,  and  to  the  broad,  sunny  river  in 
the  other:  there  was  a little  rivulet,  crossed  by  a 
plank,  at  the  bottom  of  the  dell.  At  two  doors  we  saw 
very  pretty  and  modest-looking  young  women,  — one 
with  a child  in  her  arms.  Indeed,  they  all  have  innu- 
merable little  children  ; and  they  are  invariably  in  good 
health,  though  always  dirty  of  face.  They  come  to  the 
door  while  their  mothers  are  talking  with  the  visitors, 
standing  straight  up  on  their  bare  legs,  with  their  little 
plump  bodies  protruding,  in  one  hand  a small  tin  sauce- 
pan, and  in  the  other  an  iron  spoon,  with  unwashed 
mouths,  looking  as  independent  as  any  child  or  grown 
person  in  the  land.  They  stare  unabashed,  but  make 
no  answer  when  spoken  to.  “ I ’ve  no  call  to  your 

fence,  Misser  B .”  It  seems  strange  that  a man 

should  have  the  right,  unarmed  with  any  legal  instru- 
ment, of  tearing  dowr  (Jbe^jvejljjg-^ij^es  of  a score  of 


52 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


families,  and  driving  the  inmates  forth  without  a shelter. 

Yet  B undoubtedly  has  this  right;  and  it  is  not  a 

little  striking  to  see  how  quietly  these  people  contem- 
plate the  probability  of  his  exercising  it,  — resolving, 
indeed,  to  burrow'  in  their  holes  as  long  as  may  be,  yet 
caring  about  as  little  for  an  ejectment  as  those  who 
could  find  a tenement  anywffiere,  and  less.  Yet  the  wo- 
men, amid  all  the  trials  of  their  situation,  appear  to  have 
kept  up  the  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice ; those 
who  can  claim  the  former  will  not  associate  with  the 
latter.  When  the  women  travel  with  young  children, 
they  carry  the  baby  slung  at  their  backs,  and  sleep- 
ing quietly.  The  dresses  of  the  new-comers  are 
old-fashioned,  making  them  look  aged  before  their 
time. 

Monsieur  S shaving  himself  yesterday  morning. 

He  was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  could  not  keep  his 
tongue  or  body  still  more  than  long  enough  to  make 
two  or  three  consecutive  strokes  at  his  beard.  Then 
he  would  turn,  flourishing  his  razor  and  grimacing  joy- 
ously, enacting  droll  antics,  breaking  out  into  scraps 
and  verses  of  drinking-songs,  “ A boire!  a boire  ! ” — 
then  laughing  heartily,  and  crying,  u Vive  la  gaite  ! ” — 
then  resuming  his  task,  looking  into  the  glass  with 
grave  face,  on  which,  however,  a grin  would  soon  break 
out  anew,  and  all  his  pranks  would  be  repeated  with 
variations.  He  turned  this  foolery  to  philosophy,  by 
observing  that  mirth  contributed  to  goodness  of  heart, 
and  to  make  us  love  our  fellow-creatures.  Conversing 
with  him  in  the  evening,  he  affirmed,  with  evident  be- 
lief in  the  truth  of  what  he  said,  that  he  would  have  no 
objection,  except  that  it  w'oold  be  a very  foolish  thing, 


18*37.  ] AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS.  53 

to  expose  his  whole  heart,  his  whole  inner  man,  to  the 
view  of  the  world.  Not  that  there  would  not  be  much 
evil  discovered  there ; but,  as  he  was  conscious  of  being 
in  a state  of  mental  and  moral  improvement,  working 
out  his  progress  onward,  he  would  not  shrink  from  such 
a scrutiny.  This  talk  was  introduced  by  his  mention- 
ing the  “ Minister’s  Black  Veil,”  which  he  said  he  had 
seen  translated  into  French,  as  an  exercise,  by  a Miss 
Appleton  of  Bangor. 

Saw  by  the  river-side,  late  in  the  afternoon,  one  of 
the  above-described  boats  going  into  the  stream,  with 
the  water  rippling  at  the  prow,  from  the  strength  of 
the  current  and  of  the  boat’s  motion.  By  and  by  comes 
down  a raft,  perhaps  twenty  yards  long,  guided  by  two 
men,  one  at  each  end,  — the  raft  itself  of  boards  sawed 
at  Waterville,  and  laden  with  square  bundles  of  shin- 
gles and  round  bundles  of  clapboards.  “ Friend,”  says 
one  man,  u how  is  the  tide  now  ? ” — this  being  impor- 
tant to  the  onward  progress.  They  make  fast  to  a tree, 
in  order  to  wait  for  the  tide  to  rise  a little  higher.  It 
would  be  pleasant  enough  to  float  down  the  Kennebec 
on  one  of  these  rafts,  letting  the  river  conduct  you  on- 
ward at  its  own  pace,  leisurely  displaying  to  you  all  the 
wild  or  ordered  beauties  along  its  banks,  and  per- 
haps running  you  aground  in  some  peculiarly  pictu- 
resque spot,  for  your  longer  enjoyment  of  it.  Another 
object,  perhaps,  is  a solitary  man  paddling  himself  down 
the  river  in  a small  canoe,  the  light,  lonely  touch  of  his 
paddle  in  the  water  making  the  silence  seem  deeper. 
Every  few  minutes  a sturgeon  leaps  forth,  sometimes 
behind  you,  so  that  you  merely  hear  the  splash,  and, 
turning  hastily  around,  see  nothing  but  the  disturbed 


54 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[183?. 


water.  Sometimes  he  darts  straight  on  end  out  of  a 
quiet  black  spot  on  which  your  eyes  happen  to  be  fixed, 
and,  when  even  his  tail  is  clear  of  the  surface,  he  falls 
down  on  his  side,  and  disappears. 

On  the  river-bank,  an  Irishwoman  washing  some 
clothes,  surrounded  by  her  children,  whose  babbling 
sounds  pleasantly  along  the  edge  of  the  shore  ; and  she 
also  answers  in  a sweet,  kindly,  and  cheerful  voice, 
though  an  immoral  woman,  and  without  the  certainty 
of  bread  or  shelter  from  day  to  day.  An  Irishman  sit- 
ting angling  on  the  brink  with  an  alder  pole  and  a 
clothes-line.  At  frequent  intervals,  the  scene  is  sud- 
denly broken  by  a loud  report  like  thunder,  rolling 
along  the  banks,  echoing  and  reverberating  afar.  It  is 
a blast  of  rocks.  Along  the  margin,  sometimes  sticks 
of  timber  made  fast,  either  separately  or  several  to- 
gether ; stones  of  some  size,  varying  the  pebbles  and 
sand ; a clayey  spot,  where  a shallow  brook  runs  into 
the  river,  not  with  a deep  outlet,  but  finding  its  way 
across  the  bank  in  two  or  three  single  runlets.  Look- 
ing upward  into  the  deep  glen  whence  it  issues,  you  see 
its  shady  current.  Elsewhere,  a high  acclivity,  with 
the  beach  between  it  and  the  river,  the  ridge  broken 
and  caved  away,  so  that  the  earth  looks  fresh  and  yel- 
low, and  is  penetrated  by  the  nests  of  birds.  An  old, 
shining  tree-trunk,  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water. 
An  island  of  gravel,  long  and  narrow,  in  the  centre  of 
the  river.  Chips,  blocks  of  wood,  slabs,  and  other 
scraps  of  lumber,  strewed  along  the  beach ; logs  drift 
ing  down.  The  high  bank  covered  with  various  trees 
and  shrubbery,  and,  in  one  place,  two  or  three  Irish 
shanties. 


1837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


55 


Thursday , Jidy  20.  — A drive  yesterday  afternoon 
to  a pond  in  the  vicinity  of  Augusta,  about  nine 
miles  off,  to  fish  for  white  perch.  Kemarkables : the 
steering  of  the  boat  through  the  crooked,  labyrin- 
thine brook,  into  the  open  pond,  — the  man  who 

acted  as  pilot,  — his  talking  with  B about  politics, 

the  bank,  the  iron  money  of  “ a king  who  came  to  reign, 
in  Greece,  over  a city  called  Sparta,”  — his  advice  to 

B to  come  amongst  the  laborers  on  the  mill-dam, 

because  it  stimulated  them  “ to  see  a man  grinning 
amongst  them.”  The  man  took  hearty  tugs  at  a bottle 
of  good  Scotch  whiskey,  and  became  pretty  merry. 
The  fish  caught  were  the  yellow  perch,  which  are  not 
esteemed  for  eating ; the  white  perch,  a beautiful, 
silvery,  round-backed  fish,  which  bites  eagerly,  runs 
about  with  the  line  while  being  pulled  up,  makes  good 
sport  for  the  angler,  and  an  admirable  dish ; a great 
chub ; and  three  horned  pouts,  which  swallow  the  hook 
into  their  lowest  entrails.  Several  dozen  fish  were 
taken  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  we  returned  to  the 
shop  where  we  had  left  our  horse  and  wagon,  the  pilot 
very  eccentric  behind  us.  It  was  a small,  dingy  shop, 
dimly  lighted  by  a single  inch  of  candle,  faintly  disclos- 
ing various  boxes,  barrels  standing  on  end,  articles 
hanging  from  the  ceiling ; the  proprietor  at  the  counter, 
whereon  appear  gin  and  brandy,  respectively  contained 
in  a tin  pint-measure  and  an  earthenware  jug,  with  two 
or  three  tumblers  beside  them,  out  of  which  nearly  all 
the  party  drank  ; some  coming  up  to  the  counter 
frankly,  others  lingering  in  the  background,  waiting  to 
be  pressed,  two  paying  for  their  own  liquor  and  with- 
drawing. B — - — treated  them  twice  round.  The  pilot 


56 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


after  drinking  his  brandy,  gave  a history  of  our  fishmg 
expedition,  and  how  many  and  how  large  fish  we 

caught.  B making  acquaintances  and  renewing 

them,  and  gaining  great  credit  for  liberality  and  free- 
heartedness, — two  or  three  boys  looking  on  and  lis- 
tening to  the  talk,  — the  shopkeeper  smiling  behind  his 
counter,  with  the  tarnished  tin  scales  beside  him,  — the 
inch  of  candle  burning  down  almost  to  extinction.  So 
we  got  into  our  wagon,  with  the  fish,  and  drove  to  Rob- 
inson’s tavern,  almost  five  miles  off,  where  we  supped 
and  passed  the  night.  In  the  bar-room  was  a fat  old 
countryman  on  a journey,  and  a quack  doctor  of  the 
vicinity,  and  an  Englishman  with  a peculiar  accent. 

Seeing  B ’s  jointed  and  brass-mounted  fishing-pole, 

he  took  it  for  a theodolite,  and  supposed  that  we  had 
been  on  a surveying  expedition.  At  supper,  which 
consisted  of  bread,  butter,  cheese,  cake,  doughnuts,  and 
gooseberry-pie,  we  were  waited  upon  by  a tall,  very  tall 
woman,  young  and  maiden-looking,  yet  with  a strongly 
outlined  and  determined  face.  Afterwards  we  found 
her  to  be  the  wife  of  mine  host.  She  poured  out  our 
tea,  came  in  when  we  rang  the  table-bell  to  refill  our 
cups,  and  again  retired.  While  at  supper,  the  fat  old 
traveller  was  ushered  through  the  room  into  a contigu- 
ous bedroom.  My  own  chamber,  apparently  the  best 
in  the  house,  had  its  walls  ornamented  with  a small, 
gilt-framed,  foot-square  looking-glass,  with  a hairbrush 
hanging  beneath  it;  a record  of  the  deaths  of  the  family 
written  on  a black  tomb,  in  an  engraving,  where  a 
father,  mother,  and  child  were  represented  in  a grave- 
yard, weeping  over  said  tomb ; the  mourners  dressed 
in  black,  country-cut  clothes  ; the  engraving  executed 


1537.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


57 


in  Vermont.  There  was  also  a wood  engraving  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  with  fac-similes  of  the 
autographs  ; a portrait  of  the  Empress  Josephine,  and 
another  of  Spring.  1*.  the  two  closets  of  this  chamber 
were  mine  hostess’s  cloak,  best  bonnet,  and  go-to-meet- 
ing apparel.  There  was  a good  bed,  in  which  I slept 
tolerably  well,  and,  rising  betimes,  ate  breakfast,  con- 
sisting of  some  of  our  own  fish,  and  then  started  for 
Augusta.  The  fat  old  traveller  had  gone  off  with  the 
harness  of  our  wagon,  which  the  hostler  had  put  on  to 
his  horse  by  mistake.  The  tavern-keeper  gave  us  his 
own  harness,  and  started  in  pursuit  of  the  old  man, 
who  was  probably  aware  of  the  exchange,  and  well 
satisfied  with  it. 

Our  drive  to  Augusta,  six  or  seven  miles,  was  very 
pleasant,  a heavy  rain  having  fallen  during  the  night 
and  laid  the  oppressive  dust  of  the  day  before.  The 
road  lay  parallel  with  the  Kennebec,  of  which  we  oc- 
casionally had  near  glimpses.  The  country  swells 
back  from  the  river  in  hills  and  ridges,  without  any 
interval  of  level  ground ; and  there  were  frequent 
woods,  filling  up  the  valleys  or  crowning  the  summits. 
The  land  is  good,  the  farms  look  neat,  and  the  houses 
comfortable.  The  latter  are  generally  but  of  one  story, 
but  with  large  barns ; and  it  was  a good  sign,  that, 
while  we  saw  no  houses  unfinished  nor  out  of  repair, 
one  man  at  least  had  found  it  expedient  to  make  an 
addition  to  his  dwelling.  At  the  distance  of  more  than 
two  miles,  we  had  a view  of  wThite  Augusta,  with  its 
steeples,  and  the  State-House,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
town.  Observable  matters  along  the  road  were  the 
stage,  — all  the  dust  of  yesterday  brushed  off,  and  no 
3* 


58  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [lS37. 

now  dust  contracted,  — full  of  passengers,  inside  and 
out ; among  them  some  gentlemanly  people  and  pretty 
girls,  all  looking  fresh  and  unsullied,  rosy,  cheerful,  and 
curious  as  to  the  face  of  the  country,  the  faces  of  pass- 
ing travellers,  and  the  incidents  of  their  journey  ; not 
yet  damped,  in  the  morning  sunshine,  by  long  miles  of 
jolting  over  rough  and  hilly  roads,  — to  compare  this 
with  their  appearance  at  midday,  and  as  they  drive  into 
Bangor  at  dusk ; — two  women  dashing  along  in  a 
wagon,  and  with  a child,  rattling  pretty  speedily  down 
hill ; — people  looking  at  us  from  the  open  doors  and 
windows  ; — the  children  staring  from  the  wayside  ; — • 
the  mowers  stopping,  for  a moment,  the  sway  of  their 
scythes  ; — the  matron  of  a family,  indistinctly  seen  at 
some  distance  within  the  house,  her  head  and  shoulders 
appearing  through  the  window7,  drawing  her  handker- 
chief over  her  bosom,  which  /had  been  uncovered  to 
give  the  baby  its  breakfast,  — the  said  baby,  or  its  im- 
mediate predecessor,  sitting  at  the  door,  turning  round 
to  creep  away  on  all  fours  ; — a man  building  a flat- 

bottomed  boat  by  the  roadside : he  talked  writh  B 

about  the  Boundary  question,  and  swore  fervently  in 
favor  of  driving  the  British  “ into  hell’s  kitchen  ” by 
main  force. 

Colonel  B , the  engineer  of  the  mill-dam,  is  now 

here,  after  about  a fortnight’s  absence.  He  is  a plain 
country  squire,  with  a good  figure,  but  with  rather  a 
heavy  brow ; a rough  complexion  ; a gait  stiff,  and  a 
general  rigidity  of  manner,  something  like  that  of  a 
schoolmaster.  He  originated  in  a country  town,  and  is 
a self-educated  man.  As  he  walked  down  the  gravel- 
path  to-day,  alter  dinner,  he  took  up  a scythe,  which 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


59 


/ 837.  J 

one  of  the  mowers  had  left  on  the  sward,  and  began  + 0 
mow,  with  quite  a scientific  swing.  On  the  coming  of 
the  mower,  he  laid  it  down,  perhaps  a little  ashamed  of 
his  amusement.  I was  interested  in  this  ; to  see  a man, 
after  twenty-five  years  of  scientific  occupation,  thus  try- 
ing whether  his  arms  retained  their  strength  and  skill 
for  the  labors  of  his  youth,  — mindful  of  the  day  when 
he  wore  striped  trousers,  and  toiled  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
* — and  now  tasting  again,  for  pastime,  this  drudgery  be- 
neath a fervid  sun.  He  stood  awhile,  looking  at  the 
workmen,  and  then  went  to  oversee  the  laborers  at  the 
mill-dam. 

Monday , July  %kth.  — I bathed  in  the  river  on  Thurs- 
day evening,  and  in  the  brook  at  the  old  dam  on  Satur- 
day and  Sunday,  — the  former  time  at  noon.  The  as- 
pect of  the  solitude  at  noon  was  peculiarly  impressive, 
there  being  a cloudless  sunshine,  no  wind,  no  rustling 
of  the  forest-leaves,  no  waving  of  the  boughs,  no  noise 
but  the  brawling  and  babbling  of  the  stream,  making  its 
way  among  the  stones,  and  pouring  in  a little  cataract 
round  one  side  of  the  mouldering  dam.  Looking  up  the 
brook,  there  was  a long  vista,  — now  ripples,  now  smooth 
and  glassy  spaces,  now  large  rocks,  almost  blocking  up 
the  channel;  while  the  trees  stood  upon  either  side, 
mostly  straight,  but  here  and  there  a branch  thrusting 
itself  out  irregularly,  and  one  tree,  a pine,  leaning  over, 
— not  bending,  — but  leaning  at  an  angle  over  the 
brook,  rough  and  ragged  ; birches,  alders  ; the  tallest 
of  all  the  trees  an  old,  dead,  leafless  pine,  rising  white 
and  lonely,  though  closely  surrounded  by  others.  Along 
the  brook,  now  the  grass  and  herbage  extended  close  to 


60 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[183? 


the  water  ; now  a small,  sandy  beach.  The  wall  of 
rock  before  described,  looking  as  if  it  had  been  hewn* 
but  with  irregular  strokes  of  the  workman,  doing  his  job 
by  rough  and  ponderous  strength,  — now  chancing  to 
hew  it  away  smoothly  and  cleanly,  now  carelessly 
smiting,  and  making  gaps,  or  piling  on  the  slabs  of 
rock,  so  as  to  leave  vacant  spaces.  In  the  interstices 
grow  brake  and  broad-leaved  forest-grass.  The  trees 
that  spring  from  the  top  of  this  wall  have  their  roots 
pressing  close  to  the  rock,  so  that  there  is  no  soil  be- 
tween ; they  cling  powerfully,  and  gr^sp  the  crag  tight- 
'v  with  their  knotty  fingers.  The  trees  on  both  sides 
are  so  thick,  that  the  sight  and  the  thoughts  are  almost 
immediately  lost  among  confused  stems,  branches,  and 
clustering  green  leaves,  — a narrow  strip  of  bright  blue 
sky  above,  the  sunshine  falling  lustrously  down,  and 
making  the  pathway  of  the  brook  luminous  below.  En- 
tering among  the  thickets,  I find  the  soil  strewn  with 
old  leaves  of  preceding  seasons,  through  which  may  be 
seen  a black  or  dark  mould  ; the  roots  of  trees  stretch 
frequently  across  the  path ; often  a moss-grown  brown 
log  lies  athwart,  and  when  you  set  your  foot  down, 
it  sinks  into  the  decaying  substance,  — into  the  heart 
of  oak  or  pine.  The  leafy  boughs  and  twigs  of  the  un- 
derbrush enlace  themselves  before  you,  so  that  you  must 
stoop  your  head  to  pass  under,  or  thrust  yourself  through 
amain,  while  they  sweep  against  your  face,  and  perhaps 
knock  off  your  hat.  There  are  rocks  mossy  and  slip- 
pery ; sometimes  you  stagger,  with  a great  rustling  of 
branches,  against  a clump  of  bushes,  and  into  the  midst 
of  it.  From  end  to  end  of  all  this  tangled  shade  goes 
a pathway  scarcely  worn,  for  the  leaves  are  not  trodden 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


61 


i 83/ . J 

through,  yet  plain  enough  to  the  eye,  winding  gently  to 
avoid  tree-trunks  and  rocks  and  little  hillocks.  In  the 
more  open  ground,  the  aspect  of  a tall,  fire-blackened 
stump,  standing  alone,  high  up  on  a swell  of  land,  that 
rises  gradually  from  one  side  of  the  brook,  like  a monu- 
ment. Yesterday,  I passed  a group  of  children  in  this 
solitary  valley,  — two  boys,  I think,  and  two  girls. 
One  of  the  little  girls  seemed  to  have  suffered  some 
wrong  from  her  companions,  for  she  was  weeping  and 
complaining  violently.  Another  time,  I came  suddenly 
on  a small  Canadian  boy,  who  was  in  a hollow  place, 
among  the  ruined  logs  of  an  old  causeway,  picking 
raspberries,  — lonely  among  bushes  and  gorges,  far  up 
the  wild  valley,  — and  the  lonelier  seemed  the  little  boy 
for  the  bright  sunshine,  that  showed  no  one  else  in  a 
wide  space  of  view  except  him  and  me. 

Remarkable  items : the  observation  of  Mons.  S 

when  B was  saying  something  against  the  character 

of  the  French  people,  — “ You  ought  not  to  form  an  un- 
favorable judgment  of  a great  nation  from  mean  fellows 
like  me,  strolling  about  in  a foreign  country.”  I thought 
it  very  noble  thus  to  protest  against  anything  discredit- 
able in  himself  personally  being  used  against  the  honor 
of  his  country.  He  is  a very  singular  person,  with  an 
originality  in  all  his  notions  ; — not  that  nobody  has  ever 
had  such  before,  but  that  he  has  thought  them  out  for 
himself.  He  told  me  yesterday  that  one  of  his  sisters 
was  a waiting-maid  in  the  Rocher  de  Caucale.  He  is 
about  the  sincerest  man  I ever  knew,  never  pretending 
to  feelings  that  are  not  in  him,  — never  flattering.  His 
feelings  do  not  seem  to  be  warm,  though  they  are  kind- 
ly. He  is  so  single-minded  that  he  cannot  understand 


£> 2 AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [ J 837. 

badinage,  but  takes  it  all  as  if  meant  in  earnest,  — a 
German  trait.  He  values  himself  greatly  on  being  a 
Frenchman,  though  all  his  most  valuable  qualities  come 
from  Germany.  His  temperament  is  cool  and  pure, 
and  he  is  greatly  delighted  with  any  attentions  from  the 
ladies.  A short  time  since,  a lady  gave  him  a bouquet 
of  roses  and  pinks  ; he  capered  and  danced  and  sang, 
put  it  in  water,  and  carried  it  to  his  own  chamber  ; but 
he  brought  it  out  for  us  to  see  and  admire  two  or  three 
times  a day,  bestowing  on  it  all  the  epithets  of  admira- 
tion in  the  French  language, — “ Super  be  ! magni- 
iique  ! ” When  some  of  the  flowers  began  to  fade,  he 
made  the  rest,  with  others,  into  a new  nosegay,  and 
consulted  us  whether  it  would  be  fit  to  give  to  another 
rady.  Contrast  this  French  foppery  with  his  solemn 

moods,  when  we  sit  in  the  twilight,  or  after  B is 

abed,  talking  of  Christianity  and  Deism,  of  ways  of  life, 
of  marriage,  of  benevolence,  — in  short,  of  all  deep  mat- 
ters of  this  world  and  the  next.  An  evening  or  two 
since,  he  began  singing  all  manner  of  English  songs,  — 
such  as  Mrs.  Hemans’s  “ Landing  of  the  Pilgrims,” 
“ Auld  Lang  Syne,’’  and  some  of  Moore’s,  — the  singing 
pretty  fair,  but  in  the  oddest  tone  and  accent.  Occa- 
sionally he  breaks  out  with  scraps  from  French  trage- 
dies, which  he  spouts  with  corresponding  action.  He 
generally  gets  close  to  me  in  these  displays  of  musical 
and  histrionic  talent.  Once  he  offered  to  magnetize  me 
in  the  manner  of  Monsieur  P . 

Wednesday , July  2§th.  — Dined  at  Barker’s  yestei- 
day.  Before  dinner,  sat  with  several  other  persons  in 
the  stoop  of  the  tavern.  There  were  B , J.  A. 


1837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS 


63 


Chandler,  Clerk  of  the  Court,  a man  of  middle  age  of 
beyond,  two  or  three  stage  people,  and,  near  by,  a 
negro,  whom  they  call  “ the  Doctor,”  a crafty-looking 
fellow,  one  of  whose  occupations  is  nameless.  In  pres- 
ence of  this  goodly  company,  a man  of  a depressed, 
neglected  air,  a soft,  simple-looking  fellow,  with  an  anx- 
ious expression,  in  a laborer’s  dress,  approached  and 
inquired  for  Mr.  Barker.  Mine  host  being  gone  to 
Portland,  the  stranger  was  directed  to  the  bar-keeper, 
who  stood  at  the  door.  The  man  asked  where  he 
should  find  one  Mary  Ann  Russell,  — a question  which 
excited  general  and  hardly  suppressed  mirth ; for  the 
said  Mary  Ann  is  one  of  a knot  of  women  who  were 
routed  on  Sunday  evening  by  Barker  and  a constable. 
The  man  was  told  that  the  black  fellow  would  give 
him  all  the  information  he  wanted.  The  black  fellow 
asked,  — 

“ Do  you  want  to  see  her?’ 

Others  of  the  by-standers  or  by-sitters  put  vari- 
ous questions  as  to  the  nature  of  the  man’s  business 
with  Mary  Ann.  One  asked,  — 

“ Is  she  your  daughter  ? ” 

“ Why,  a little  nearer  than  that,  I calkilate,”  said  the 
poor  devil. 

Here  the  mirth  was  increased,  it  being  evident  that  the 
woman  was  his  wife.  The  man  seemed  too  simple  and 
obtuse  to  comprehend  the  ridicule  of  his  situation,  or  to 
be  rendered  very  miserable  by  it.  Nevertheless,  he 
made  some  touching  points. 

“ A man  generally  places  some  little  dependence  on 
his  wife  ’ said  he,  “ whether  she ’s  good  or  not.” 

He  meant,  probably,  that  he  rests  some  affection  on 


64 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837 


her.  He  told  us  that  she  had  behaved  well,  till  com- 
mitted to  jail  for  striking  a child  ; and  I believe  he  was 
absent  from  home  at  the  time,  and  had  not  seen  her 
since.  And  now  he  was  in  search  of  her,  intending, 
doubtless,  to  do  his  best  to  get  her  out  of  her  troubles, 
and  then  to  take  her  back  to  his  home.  Some  advised 
him  not  to  look  after  her ; others  recommended  him  to 
pay  “ the  Doctor  ” aforesaid  for  guiding  him  to  her ; 
which  finally  “ the  Doctor  ” did,  in  consideration  of  a 
treat ; and  the  fellow  went  off,  having  heard  little  but 
gibes,  and  not  one  word  of  sympathy  ! I would  like  to 
have  witnessed  his  meeting  with  his  wife. 

There  was  a moral  picturesqueness  in  the  contrasts  of 
the  scene,  — a man  moved  as  deeply  as  his  nature  would 
admit,  in  the  midst  of  hardened,  gibing  spectators,  heart- 
less towards  him.  It  is  worth  thinking  over  and  study- 
ing out.  He  seemed  rather  hurt  and  pricked  by  the 
jests  thrown  at  him,  yet  bore  it  patiently,  and  sometimes 
almost  joined  in  the  laugh,  being  of  an  easy,  unenergetic 
temper. 

Hints  for  characters : — Nancy,  a pretty,  black-eyedj 
intelligent  servant-girl,  living  in  Captain  II ’s  fam- 

ily. She  comes  daily  to  make  the  beds  in  our  part  of 
the  house,  and  exchanges  a good  morning  with  me,  in  a 
pleasant  voice,  and  with  a glance  and  smile,  — somewhat 
shy,  because  we  are  not  acquainted,  yet  capable  of  be- 
ing made  conversable.  She  washes  once  a week,  and 
may  be  seen  standing  over  her  tub,  with  her  handker- 
chief somewhat  displaced  from  her  white  neck,  because 
it  is  hot.  Often  she  stands  with  her  bare  arms  in  the 

water  talking  with  Mrs.  TI , or  looks  through  the 

window,  perhaps,  at  B , or  somebody  else  crossing 


1837.])  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  65 

die  yard,  — ratlier  thoughtfully,  but  soon  smiling  or 
laughing.  Then  goeth  she  for  a pail  of  water.  In  the 
afternoon,  very  probably,  she  dresses  herself  in  silks, 
looking  not  only  pretty,  but  lady-like,  and  strolls  round 
the  house,  not  unconscious  that  some  gentleman  may  be 
staring  at  her  from  behind  the  green  blinds.  Aftei 
supper,  she  walks  to  the  village.  Mornii  ig  and  evening, 
she  goes  a-miiking.  And  thus  passes  her  life,  cheer- 
fully, usefully,  virtuously,  with  hopes,  doubtless,  of  a 

husband  and  children.  — Mrs.  H is  a particularly 

plump,  soft-fleshed,  fair-complexioned,  comely  woman 
enough,  with  rather  a simple  countenance,  not  nearly  so 
piquant  as  Nancy’s.  Her  walk  has  something  of  the 
roll  or  waddle  of  a fat  woman,  though  it  were  too  much 
to  call  her  fat.  She  seems  to  be  a sociable  body,  prob- 
ably laughter-loving.  Captain  H himself  has 

commanded  a steamboat,  and  has  a certain  knowledge 
of  life. 

Query,  in  relation  to  the  man’s  missing  wife,  how 
much  desire  and  resolution  of  doing  her  duty  by  her 
husband  can  a wife  retain,  while  injuring  him  in  what  is 
deemed  the  most  essential  point  ? 

Observation.  The  effect  of  morning  sunshine  on  the 
wet  grass,  on  sloping  and  swelling  land,  between  the 
spectator  and  the  sun  at  some  distance,  as  across  a lawn. 
It  diffused  a dim  brilliancy  over  the  whole  surface  of 
the  field.  The  mists,  slow-rising  farther  off,  part  rest- 
ing on  the  earth,  the  remainder  of  the  column  already 
ascending  so  high  that  you  doubt  whether  to  call  it  a 
fog  or  a cloud. 

Friday , July  28th.  — Saw  my  classmate  and  formerly 


66  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1037 

intimate  friend, , for  the  first  time  since  we  gradu- 

ated. He  has  met  with  good  success  in  life,  in  spite  of 
circumstance,  having  struggled  upward  against  bitter 
opposition,  by  the  force  of  his  own  abilities,  to  be  a mem- 
ber of  Congress,  after  having  been  for  some  time  the 
leader  of  his  party  in  the  State  Legislature.  We  met 
like  old  friends,  and  conversed  almost  as  freely  as  we 
used  to  do  in  college  days,  twelve  years  ago  and  more. 
He  is  a singular  person,  shrewd,  crafty,  insinuating,  with 
wonderful  tact,  seizing  on  each  man  by  his  manageable 
point,  and  using  him  for  his  own  purpose,  often  without 
the  man’s  suspecting  that  he  is  made  a tool  of ; and  yet, 
artificial  as  his  character  would  seem  to  be,  his  conver- 
sation, at  least  to  myself,  was  full  of  natural  feeling,  the 
expression  of  which  can  hardly  be  mistaken,  and  his 
revelations  with  regard  to  himself  had  really  a great 
deal  of  frankness.  He  spoke  of  his  ambition,  of  the  ob« 
stacles  which  he  had  encountered,  of  the. means  by  wThicb 
he  had  overcome  them,  imputing  great  efficacy  to  his 
personal  intercourse  with  people,  and  his  study  of  their 
characters  ; then  of  his  course  as  a member  of  the  Legis- 
lature and  Speaker,  and  his  style  of  speaking  and  its 
effects ; of  the  dishonorable  things  which  had  been  im- 
puted to  him,  and  in  what  manner  he  had  repelled  the 
charges.  In  short,  he  wrnuld  seem  to  have  opened  him- 
self very  freely  as  to  his  public  life.  Then,  as  to  his 
private  affairs,  he  spoke  of  his  marriage,  of  his  wife,  his 
children,  and  told  me,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  of  the 
death  of  a dear  little  girl,  and  how  it  affected  him,  and 
how  impossible  it  had  been  for  him  to  believe  that  she 
was  really  to  die.  A man  of  the  most  open  nature 
might  well  have  been  more  reserved  to  a friend,  after 


1837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


67 


twelve  years’  separation,  than was  to  me.  Never- 

theless, he  is  really  a crafty  man,  concealing,  like  a mur- 
der-secret, anything  that  it  is  not  good  for  him  to  have 
known.  He  by  no  means  feigns  the  good-feeling  that 
he  professes,  nor  is  there  anything  affected  in  the  frank- 
ness of  his  conversation  ; and  it  is  this  that  makes  him 
so  very  fascinating.  There  is  such  a quantity  of  truth 
and  kindliness  and  warm  affections,  that  a man’s  heart 
opens  to  him,  in  spite  of  himself.  He  deceives  by  truth. 
And  not  only  is  he  crafty,  but,  when  occasion  demands, 
bold  and  fierce  as  a tiger,  determined,  and  even  straight- 
forward and  undisguised  in  his  measures,  — a daring 
fellow  as  well  as  a sly  one.  Yet,  notwithstanding  his 
consummate  art,  the  general  estimate  of  his  character 
seems  to  be  pretty  just.  Hardly  anybody,  probably, 
thinks  him  better  than  he  is,  and  many  think  him  worse. 
Nevertheless,  if  no  overwhelming  discovery  of  rascality 
be  made,  he  will  always  possess  influence  ; though  I 
should  hardly  think  that  he  would  take  any  prominent 
part  in  Congress.  As  to  any  rascality,  I rather  believe 
that  he  has  thought  out  for  himself  a much  higher  sys- 
tem of  morality  than  any  natural  integrity  would  have 
prompted  him  to  adopt ; that  he  has  seen  the  thorough 
advantage  of  morality  and  honesty ; and  the  sentiment 
of  these  qualities  has  now  got  into  his  mind  and  spirit, 
and  pretty  well  impregnated  them.  I believe  him  to  be 
about  as  honest  as  the  great  run  of  the  world,  with 
something  even  approaching  to  high-mindedness.  His 
person  in  some  degree  accords  with  his  character,— 
thin  and  with  a thin  face,  sharp  features,  sallow,  a pro- 
jecting brow  not  very  high,  deep-set  eyes,  an  insinuat- 
ing smile  and  look,  when  he  meets  you,  and  is  about  to 


68 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837 


address  you.  I should  think  that  he  would  do  away 
with  this  peculiar  expression,  for  it  reveals  more  of  him- 
self than  can  be  detected  in  any  other  way,  in  personal 
intercourse  with  him.  Upon  the  whole,  I have  quite  a 
good  liking  for  him,  and  mean  to  go  to to  see  him. 

Observation.  A steam-engine  across  the  river,  which 
almost  continually  during  the  day,  and  sometimes  all 
night,  may  be  heard  puffing  and  panting,  as  if  it  uttered 
groans  for  being  compelled  to  labor  in  the  heat  and  sun- 
shine, and  when  the  world  is  asleep  also. 

Monday , July  31s£.  — Nothing  remarkable  to  record. 
A child  asleep  in  a young  lady’s  arms,  — a little  baby, 
two  or  three  months  old.  Whenever  anything  partially 
disturbed  the  child,  as,  for  instance,  when  the  young 
lady  or  a by-stander  patted  its  cheek  or  rubbed  its  chin, 
the  child  would  smile  ; then  all  its  dreams  seemed  to  be 
of  pleasure  and  happiness.  At  first  the  smile  was  so 
faint,  that  I doubted  whether  it  were  really  a smile  or 
no ; but  on  further  efforts,  it  brightened  forth  very  de- 
cidedly. This,  without  opening  its  eyes.  — A.  constable, 
a homely,  good-natured,  business-looking  man,  with  a 
warrant  against  an  Irishman’s  wife  for  throwing  a brick- 
bat at  a fellow.  He  gave  good  advice  to  the  Irishman 
about  the  best  method  of  coming  easiest  through  the 
affair.  Finally  settled, — the  justice  agreeing  to  relin- 
quish his  fees,  on  condition  that  the  Irishman  would  pay 
for  the  mending  of  his  old  boots  ! 

I went  with  Monsieur  S yesterday  to  pick  rasp- 

berries. He  fell  through  an  old  log  bridge  thrown  over 
a hollow ; looking  back,  only  his  head  and  shoulders 
appeared  through  the  rotten  logs  and  amorg  the  bushea 


1837.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


69 


— A shower  coming  on,  the  rapid  running  of  a little 
barefooted  boy,  coming  up  unheard,  and  dashing  swiftly 
past  us,  and  showing  the  soles  of  his  naked  feet  as  he 
ran  adown  the  path,  and  up  the  opposite  rise. 

Tuesday , August  ls£.  — There  having  been  a heavy 
rain  yesterday,  a nest  of  chimney-swallows  was  washed 
down  the  chimney  into  the  fireplace  of  one  of  the  front 
rooms.  My  attention  was  drawn  to  them  by  a most  ob- 
streperous twittering ; and  looking  behind  the  fire-board, 
there  were  three  young  birds,  clinging  with  their  feet 
against  one  of  the  jambs,  looking  at  me,  open-mouthed, 
and  all  clamoring  together,  so  as  quite  to  fill  the  room 
with  the  short,  eager,  frightened  sound.  The  old  birds, 
by  certain  signs  upon  the  floor  of  the  room,  appeared  to 
have  fallen  victims  to  the  appetite  of  the  cat.  La  belle 
Nancy  provided  a basket  filled  with  cotton-wool,  into 
which  the  poor  little  devils  were  put ; and  I tried  to 
feed  them  with  soaked  bread,  of  which,  however,  they 
did  not  eat  with  much  relish.  Tom,  the  Irish  boy,  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  they  were  not  old  enough  to  be 
weaned.  I hung  the  basket  out  of  the  window,  in  the 
sunshine,  and  upon  looking  in,  an  hour  or  two  after 
found  that  two  of  the  birds  had  escaped.  The  other  ] 
tried  to  feed,  and  sometimes,  when  a morsel  of  bread 
was  thrust  into  its  open  mouth,  it  would  swallow  it 
But  it  appeared  to  suffer  very  much,  vociferating  loudly 
when  disturbed,  and  panting,  in  a sluggish  agony,  witl 
eyes  closed,  or  half  opened,  when  let  alone.  It  dis 
iressed  me  a good  deal ; and  I felt  relieved,  thougl 

somewhat  shocked,  when  B put  an  end  to  its  mis 

ery  by  squeezing  its  head  and  throwing  it  out  of  tb.» 


70 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


[1837 


window.  They  were  of  a slate-color,  and  might,  I sup- 
pose, have  been  able  to  shift  for  themselves.  — The 
other  day  a little  yellow  bird  flew  into  one  of  the  empty 
rooms,  of  which  there  are  half  a dozen  on  the  lower 
floor,  and  could  not  find  his  way  out  again,  flying  at  the 
glass  of  the  windows,  instead  of  at  the  door,  thumping 
his  head  against  the  panes  or  against  the  ceiling.  I 
drove  him  into  the  entry  and  chased  him  from  end  to 
end,  endeavoring  to  make  him  fly  through  one  of  the 
open  doors.  He  would  fly  at  the  circular  light  over  the 
door,  clinging  to  the  casement,  sometimes  alighting  on 
one  of  the  two  glass  lamps,  or  on  the  cords  that  sus- 
pended them,  uttering  an  affrighted  and  melancholy  cry 
whenever  I came  near  and  flapped  my  handkerchief, 
and  appearing  quite  tired  and  sinking  into  despair.  At 
last  he  happened  to  fly  low  enough  to  pass  through  the 
door,  and  immediately  vanished  into  the  gladsome  sun- 
shine. — Ludicrous  situation  of  a man,  drawing  his 
chaise  down  a sloping  bank,  to  wash  in  the  river.  The 
chaise  got  the  better  of  him,  and,  rushing  downward  as 
if  it  were  possessed,  compelled  him  to  run  at  full  speed, 
and  drove  him  up  to  his  chin  into  the  water.  A singu- 
lar instance,  that  a chaise  may  run  away  with  a man 
without  a horse ! 

Saturday , August  12th . — Left  Augusta  a week  ago 

this  morning  for . Nothing  particular  in  our  drive 

across  the  country.  Fellow-passenger,  a Boston  dry- 
goods  dealer,  travelling  to  collect  bills.  At  many  of  the 
country  shops  he  would  get  out,  and  show  his  unwel- 
come visage.  In  the  tavern,  prints  from  Scripture,  var- 
nished and  on  rollers,  — such  as  the  Judgment  of 


T837.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


71 


Christ ; also,  a droll  set  of  colored  engravings  of  the 
story  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  the  figures  being  clad  in 
modern  costume,  — or,  at  least,  that  of  not  more  than 
half  a century  ago.  The  father,  a grave,  clerical  per- 
son, with  a white  wig  and  black  broadcloth  suit;  the 
son,  with  a cocked  hat  and  laced  clothes,  drinking  wine 
out  of  a glass,  and  caressing  a woman  in  fashionable  dress. 

At a nice,  comfortable,  boarding-house  tavern, 

without  a bar  or  any  sort  of  wines  or  spirits.  An  old 
lady  from  Boston,  with  her  three  daughters,  one  of 
whom  was  teaching  music,  and  the  other  two  school- 
mistresses. A frank,  free,  mirthful  daughter  of  the 
landlady,  about  twenty-four  years  old,  between  whom 
and  myself  there  immediately  sprang  up  a flirtation, 
which  made  us  both  feel  rather  melancholy  when  we 
parted  on  Tuesday  morning.  Music  in  the  evening, 
with  a song  by  a rather  pretty,  fantastic  little  mischief 
of  a brunette,  about  eighteen  years  old,  who  has  mar- 
ried within  a year,  and  spent  the  last  summer  in  a trip 
to  the  Springs  and  elsewhere.  Her  manner  of  walking 
is  by  jerks,  with  a quiver,  as  if  she  were  made  of  calves- 

feet  jelly.  I talk  with  everybody  : to  Mrs.  T good 

sense,  — to  Mary,  good  sense,  with  a mixture  of  fun, — 
to  Mrs.  G , sentiment,  romance,  and  nonsense. 

Walked  with to  see  General  Knox’s  old  man- 

sion, — a large,  rusty-looking  edifice  of  wood,  with  some 
grandeur  in  the  architecture,  standing  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,  close  by  the  site  of  an  old  burial-ground,  and 
neai  where  an  ancient  fort  had  been  erected  for  defence 
against  the  French  and  Indians.  General  Knox  once 
owned  a square  of  thirty  miles  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try and  he  wished  to  settle  it  with  a tenantry,  after 


72 


* AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS 


[1837 


the  fashion  of  English  gentlemen.  He  would  permit 
no  edifice  to  be  erected  within  a certain  distance  of  his 
mansion.  His  patent  covered,  of  course,  the  whole 
present  town  of  Waldoborough  and  divers  other  flour- 
ishing commercial  and  country  villages,  and  would  have 
been  of  incalculable  value  could  it  have  remained  un- 
broken to  the  present  time.  But  the  General  lived  in 
grand  style,  and  received  throngs  of  visitors  from  foreign 
parts,  and  was  obliged  to  part  with  large  tracts  of  his 
possessions,  till  now  there  is  little  left  but  the  ruinous 
mansion  and  the  ground  immediately  around  it.  His 
tomb  stands  near  the  house,  — a spacious  receptacle,  an 
iron  door  at  the  end  of  a turf-covered  mound,  and  sur- 
mounted by  an  obelisk  of  marble.  There  are  inscrip- 
tions to  the  memory  of  several  of  his  family  ; for  he  had 
many  children,  all  of  whom  are  now  dead,  except  one 
daughter,  a widow  of  fifty,  recently  married  to  Hon. 
John  H . There  is  a stone  fence  round  the  monu- 

ment. On  the  outside  of  this  are  the  gravestones,  and 
large,  flat  tombstones  of  the  ancient  burial-ground,  — 
the  tombstones  being  of  red  freestone,  with  vacant 
spaces,  formerly  inlaid  with  slate,  on  which  were  the 
inscriptions,  and  perhaps  coats-of-arms.  One  of  these 
spaces  was  in  the  shape  of  a heart.  The  people  were 
very  wrathful  that  the  General  should  have  laid  out  his 
grounds  over  this  old  burial-place ; and  he  dared  never 
throw  down  the  gravestones,  though  his  wife,  a haughty 
English  lady,  often  teased  him  to  do  so.  But  when  the 
old  General  was  dead,  Lady  Knox  (as  they  called  her) 
caused  them  to  be  prostrated,  a j they  now  lie.  She  was 
a woman  of  violent  passions,  and  so  proud  an  aristocrat, 
that,  as  long  as  she  lived,  she  would  never  enter  any 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


73 


house  in  the  town  except  her  own.  When  a married 
daughter  was  ill,  she  used  to  go  in  her  carriage  to  the 
door,  and  send  up  to  inquire  how  she  did.  The  General 
was  personally  very  popular  ; but  his  wife  ruled  him. 
The  house  and  its  vicinity,  and  the  whole  tract  covered 
by  Knox’s  patent,  may  be  taken  as  an  illustration  of 
what  must  be  the  result  of  American  schemes  of  aris- 
tocracy. It  is  not  forty  years  since  this  house  was 
built,  and  Knox  was  in  his  glory  ; but  now  the  house  is 
all  in  decay,  while  within  a stone’s  throw  of  it  there  is 
a street  of  smart  white  edifices  of  one  and  two  stories, 
occupied  chiefly  by  thriving  mechanics,  which  has  been 
laid  out  where  Knox  meant  to  have  forests  and  parks. 
On  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  he  intended  to  have 
only  one  wharf  for  his  own  West  Indian  vessels  and 
yacht,  there  are  two  wharves,  with  stores  and  a lime- 
kiln. Little  appertains  to  the  mansion  except  the  tomb 
and  the  old  burial-ground,  and  the  old  fort. 

The  descendants  are  all  poor,  and  the  inheritance 
was  merely  sufficient  to  make  a dissipated  and  drunken 
fellow  of  the  only  one  of  the  old  General’s  sons  who 
survived  to  middle  age.  The  man’s  habits  were  as  bad 
as  possible  as  long  as  he  had  any  money  ; but  when 
quite  ruined,  he  reformed.  The  daughter,  the  only 
survivor  among  Knox’s  children  (herself  childless),  is 
a mild,  amiable  woman,  therein  totally  differing  from 
her  mother.  Knox,  when  he  first  visited  his  estate, 
arriving  in  a vessel,  was  waited  upon  by  a deputation 
of  the  squatters,  who  had  resolved  to  resist  him  to  the 
death.  He  received  them  with  genial  courtesy,  made 
them  dine  with  him  aboard  the  vessel,  and  sent  them 
back  to  their  constituents  in  great  love  and  admiration 
4 


TOl  I. 


74 


American  Note-books. 


[1837. 


of  him.  He  used  to  have  a vessel  running  to  Phila- 
delphia, I think,  and  bringing  him  all  sorts  of  delica- 
cies. His  way  of  raising  money  was  to  give  a mort- 
gage on  his  estate  of  a hundred  thousand  dollars  at  a 
time,  and  receive  that  nominal  amount  in  goods,  which 
he  would  immediately  sell  at  auction  for  perhaps  thirty 
thousand.  He  died  by  a chicken-bone.  Near  the 
house  are  the  remains  of  a covered  way,  by  which  the 
French  once  attempted  to  gain  admittance  into  the 
fort ; but  the  work  caved  in  and  buried  a good  many  of 
them,  and  the  rest  gave  up  the  siege.  There  was  re- 
cently an  old  inhabitant  living,  who  remembered  when 
the  people  used  to  reside  in  the  fort. 

Owl’s  Head,  — a watering-place,  terminating  a point 
of  land,  six  or  seven  miles  from  Thomaston.  A long 
island  shuts  out  the  prospect  of  the  sea.  Hither  coasters 
and  fishing-smacks  run  in  when  a storm  is  anticipated. 
Two  fat  landlords,  both  young  men,  with  something  of 
a contrast  in  their  dispositions ; — one  of  them  being  a 
brisk,  lively,  active,  jesting,  fat  man  ; the  other  more 
heavy  and  inert,  making  jests  sluggishly,  if  at  all. 
Aboard  the  steamboat,  Professor  Stuart  of  Andover, 
sitting  on  a sofa  in  the  saloon,  generally  in  conversation 
with  some  person,  resolving  their  doubts  on  one  point 
or  another,  speaking  in  a very  audible  voice ; and 
strangers  standing  or  sitting  around  to  hear  him,  as  if  he 
were  an  ancient  apostle  or  philosopher.  He  is  a bulky 
man,  with  a large,  massive  face,  particularly  calm  in  its 
expression,  and  mild  enough  to  be  pleasing.  When  not 
otherwise  occupied,  he  reads,  without  much  notice  of 
what  is  going  on  around  him.  He  speaks  without  effort 
yet  thoughtfully. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


1 837.  J 


7h 


We  got  lost  in  a fog  the  morning  after  leaving  Owl’s 
Head.  Fired  a brass  cannon,  rang  bell,  blew  steam, 
like  a whale  snorting.  After  one  of  the  reports  of  the 
cannon,  we  heard  a horn  blown  at  no  great  distance, 
the  sound  coming  soon  after  the  report.  Doubtful 
whether  it  came  from  the  shore  or  a vessel.  Contin- 
ued our  ringing  and  snorting  ; and  by  and  by  some- 
thing was  seen  to  mingle  with  the  fog  that  obscured 
everything  beyond  fifty  yards  from  us.  At  first  it 
seemed  only  like  a denser  wreath  of  fog  ; it  darkened 
still  more,  till  it  took  the  aspect  of  sails  ; then  the  hull 
of  a small  schooner  came  beating  down  towards  us,  the 
wind  laying  her  over  towards  us,  so  that  her  gunwale 
was  almost  in  the  water,  and  we  could  see  the  whole  of 
her  sloping  deck. 

“ Schooner  ahoy ! ” say  we.  “ Halloo  ! Have  you 
seen  Boston  Light  this  morning  ? ” 

“ Yes ; it  bears  north-northwest,  two  miles  distant.” 
“Very  much  obliged  to  you,”  cries  our  captain. 

So  the  schooner  vanishes  into  the  mist  behind.  We 
get  up  our  steam,  and  soon  enter  the  harbor,  meeting 
vessels  of  every  rig ; and  the  fog,  clearing  away,  shows 
a cloudy  sky.  Aboard,  an  old  one-eyed  sailor,  who  had 
lost  one  of  his  feet,  and  had  walked  on  the  stump  from 
Eastport  to  Bangor,  thereby  making  a shocking  ulcer. 

Penobscot  Bay  is  full  of  islands,  close  to  which  the 
steamboat  is  continually  passing.  Some  are  large,  with 
portions  of  forest  and  portions  of  cleared  land  ; some 
are  mere  rocks,  with  a little  green  or  none,  and  inhabited 
by  sea-birds,  which  fly  and  flap  about  hoarsely.  Their 
eggs  may  be  gathered  by  the  bushel,  and  are  good  to 
eat.  Other  islands  have  one  house  and  barn  on  hem, 


76 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837 


this  sole  family  being  lords  and  rulers  of  all  the  land 
which  the  sea  girds.  The  owner  of  such  an  island 
must  have  a peculiar  sense  of  property  and  lordship 
he  must  feel  more  like  his  own  master  and  \ih  owr 
man  than  other  people  can.  Other  islands,  perhaps 
high,  precipitous,  black  bluffs,  are  crowned  with  a 
white  light-house,  whence,  as  evening  comes  on,  twin- 
kles a star  across  the  melancholy  deep,  — seen  by 
vessels  coming  on  the  coast,  seen  from  the  main-land, 
seen  from  island  to  island.  Darkness  descending,  and, 
looking  down  at  the  broad  wake  left  by  the  wheels  of 
the  steamboat,  we  may  see  sparkles  of  sea-fire  glitter- 
ing through  the  gloom. 

Salem , August  22 d.  — A walk  yesterday  afternoon 
down  to  the  Juniper  and  Winter  Island.  Singular 
effect  of  partial  sunshine,  the  sky  being  broadly  and 
heavily  clouded,  and  land  and  sea,  in  consequence,  be- 
ing generally  overspread  with  a sombre  gloom.  But 
the  sunshine,  somehow  or  other,  found  its  way  between 
the  interstices  of  the  clouds,  and  illuminated  some  of  the 
distant  objects  very  vividly.  The  white  sails  of  a ship 
caught  it,  and  gleamed  brilliant  as  sunny  snow,  the  hull 
being  scarcely  visible,  and  the  sea  around  dark  ; other 
smaller  vessels  too,  so  that  they  looked  like  heavenly- 
winged things,  just  alighting  on  a dismal  world.  Shift- 
ing their  sails,  perhaps,  or  going  on  another  tack,  they 
almost  disappear  at  once  in  the  obscure  distance.  Isl- 
ands are  seen  in  summer  sunshine  and  green  glory  ; 
their  rocks  also  sunny  and  their  beaches  white  ; while 
other  islands,  for  no  apparent  reason,  are  in  deep  shade, 
and  share  the  gloom  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  Some- 


1837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


77 


times  pait  of  an  island  is  illuminated  and  part  dark. 
When  the  sunshine  falls  on  a very  distant  island,  near- 
er ones  being  in  shade,  it  seems  greatly  to  extend  the 
bounds  of  visible  space,  and  put  the  horizon  to  a farther 
distance.  The  sea  roughly  rushing  against  the  shore, 
and  dashing  against  the  rocks,  and  grating  back  over 
the  sands.  A boat  a little  way  from  the  shore,  tossing 
and  swinging  at  anchor.  Beach  birds  flitting  from  place 
to  place. 

The  family  seat  of  the  Hawthornes  is  Wigcastle, 
Wigton,  Wiltshire.  The  present  head  of  the  family, 
now  residing  there,  is  Hugh  Hawthorne.  William 
Hawthorne,  who  came  over  in  1635-36,  was  a younger 
brother  of  the  family. 

A young  man  and  girl  meet  together,  each  in  search 
of  a person  to  be  known  by  some  particular  sign.  They 
watch  and  wait  a great  while  for  that  person  to  pass* 
At  last  some  casual  circumstance  discloses  that  each  is 
*he  one  that  the  other  is  waiting  for.  Moral,  — that 
what  we  need  for  our  happiness  is  often  close  at  hand, 
if  we  knew  but  liow  to  seek  for  it. 

The  journal  of  a human  heart  for  a single  day  in  or- 
dinary circumstances.  The  lights  and  shadows  that  flit 
across  it ; its  internal  vicissitudes. 

Distrust  to  be  thus  exemplified  : — Various  good  and 
desirable  things  to  be  presented  to  a young  man,  and 
offered  to  his  acceptance,  — as  a friend,  a wife,  a for- 
tune ; but  he  tc  refuse  them  all,  suspecting  that  it  is 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


78 


0*7 


merely  a delusion.  Yet  all  to  be  real,  and  lie  to  be 
told  so,  when  too  late. 


A man  tries  to  be  happy  in  love ; he  cannot  sincerely 
give  his  heart,  and  the  affair  seems  all  a dream.  In 
domestic  life,  the  same  ; in  politics,  a seeming  patriot ; 
but  still  he  is  sincere,  and  all  seems  like  a theatre. 

An  old  man,  on  a summer  day,  sits  on  a hill-top,  or 
on  the  observatory  of  his  house,  and  sees  the  sun’s  light 
pass  from  one  object  to  another  connected  with  the 
events  of  his  past  life,  — as  the  school-house,  the  place 
where  his  wife  lived  in  her  maidenhood,  — its  setting 
beams  falling  on  the  churchyard. 


An  idle  man’s  pleasures  and  occupations  and  thoughts 
during  a day  spent  by  the  sea-shore  : among  them,  that 
of  sitting  on  the  top  of  a cliff,  and  throwing  stones  at  his 
own  shadow,  far  below. 

A blind  man  to  set  forth  on  a walk  through  ways 
unknown  to  him,  and  to  trust  to  the  guidance  of  any- 
body who  will  take  the  trouble ; the  different  charac- 
ters who  would  undertake  it : some  mischievous,  some 
well-meaning,  but  incapable  ; perhaps  one  blind  mar, 
undertakes  to  lead  another.  At  last,  possibly,  he  re 
jects  all  guidance,  and  blunders  on  by  himself. 

In  the  cabinet  of  the  Essex  Historical  Society,  old 
portraits.  — Governor  Leverett ; a dark  mustachioed 
face,  the  figure  two-thirds  length,  clothed  in  a sort  of 
frock  coat,  buttoned,  and  a broad  sword-belt  girded 
round  the  waist,  and  fastened  with  a large  steel  buckle  : 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


79 


the  hilt  of  the  sword  steel,  — altogether  very  striking. 
Sir  William  Pepperell,  in  English  regimentals,  coat, 
waistcoat,  and  breeches,  all  of  red  broadcloth,  richly 
gold-embroidered ; he  holds  a general’s  truncheon  in  his 
right  hand,  and  extends  the  left  towards  the  batteries 
erected  against  Louisbourg,  in  the  country  near  which 
he  is  standing.  Endicott,  Py ncheon,  and  others,  in 
scarlet  robes,  bands,  &c.  Half  a dozen  or  more  family 
portraits  of  the  Olivers,  some  in  plain  dresses,  brown, 
crimson,  or  claret ; others  with  gorgeous  gold-em- 
broidered waistcoats,  descending  almost  to  the  knees,  so 
as  to  form  the  most  conspicuous  article  of  dress.  La- 
dies, with  lace  ruffles,  the  painting  of  which,  in  one  of 
the  pictures,  cost  five  guineas.  Peter  Oliver,  who  was 
crazy,  used  to  fight  with  these  family  pictures  in  the  old 
Mansion  House ; and  the  face  and  breast  of  one  lady 
bear  cuts  and  stabs  indicted  by  him.  Miniatures  in 
oil,  with  the  paint  peeling  off,  of  stern,  old,  yellow  faces. 
Oliver  Cromwell,  'apparently  an  old  picture,  half  length, 
or  one  third,  in  an  oval  frame,  probably  painted  for  some 
New  England  partisan.  Some  pictures*  that  had  been 
partly  obliterated  by  scrubbing  with  sand.  The  dress- 
es, embroidery,  laces  of  the  Oliver  family  are  generally 
better  done  than  the  faces.  Governor  Leverett’s 

gloves,  — the  glove  part  of  coarse  leather,  but  round  the 
wrist  a deep,  three  or  four  inch  border  of  spangles  and 
silver  embroidery.  Old  drinking-glasses,  with  tall 
stalks.  A black  glass  bottle,  stamped  with  the  name 
of  Philip  English,  with  a broad  bottom.  The  baby- 
linen,  &c.,  of  Governor  Bradford  of  Plymouth  County 
Old  manuscript  sermons,  some  written  in  short-hand, 
others  in  a hand  that  seems  learnt  from  print. 


80 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


Nothing  gives  a stronger  idea  of  old  worm-eaten  aris- 
tocracy — of  a family  being  crazy  with  age,  and  of  its 
being  time  that  it  was  extinct  — than  these  black,  dusty, 
faded,  antique-dressed  portraits,  such  as  those  of  the 
Oliver  family ; the  identical  old  white  wig  of  an  ancient 
minister  producing  somewhat  the  impression  that  his 
very  scalp,  or  some  other  portion  of  his  personal  self, 
would  do. 

The  excruciating  agonies  which  Nature  inflicts  on 
men  (who  break  her  laws)  to  be  represented  as  the 
work  of  human  tormentors ; as  the  gout,  by  screwing 
the  toes.  Thus  we  might  find  that  worse  than  the  tor- 
tures of  the  Spanish  Inquisition  are  daily  suffered  with- 
out exciting  notice. 

Suppose  a married  couple  fondly  attached  to  one  an- 
other, and  to  think  that  they  lived  solely  for  one  anoth- 
er ; then  it  to  be  found  out  that  they  were  divorced,  or 
that  they  might  separate  if  they  chose.  What  would 
be  its  effect? 

Monday , August  %lth.  — Went  to  Boston  last  Wednes- 
day. Remarkables : — An  author  at  the  American 
Stationers’  Company,  slapping  his  hand  on  his  manu- 
script, and  crying,  “I’m  going  to  publish.”  — An  ex 
cursion  aboard  a steamboat  to  Thompson’s  Island,  to 
visit  the  Manual  Labor  School  for  boys.  Aboard  the 
steamboat  several  poets  and  various  other  authors  ; a 
Commodore,  — Colton,  a small,  dark  brown,  sickly  man, 
with  a good  deal  of  roughness  in  his  address ; Mr. 
Waterston,  talking  poetry  and  philosophy.  Examina- 


1837.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


81 


tion  and  exhibition  of  the  boys,  little  tanned  agricultu- 
rists. After  examination,  a stroll  round  the  island,  ex- 
amining the  products,  as  wheat  in  sheaves  on  the  stub- 
ble-field ; oats,  somewhat  blighted  and  spoiled ; great 
pumpkins  elsewhere  ; pastures  ; mowing  ground  ; — all 
cultivated  by  the  boys.  Their  residence,  a great  brick 
building,  painted  green,  and  standing  on  the  summit  of 
a rising  ground,  exposed  to  the  winds  of  the  bay.  Ves- 
sels flitting  past ; great  ships,  with  intricacy  of  rigging 
and  various  sails  ; schooners,  sloops,  with  their  one  or 
two  broad  sheets  of  canvas  : going  on  different  tacks, 
so  that  the  spectator  might  think  that  there  was  a dif- 
ferent wind  for  each  vessel,  or  that  they  scudded  across 
the  sea  spontaneously,  whither  their  own  wills  led  them. 
The  farm  boys  remain  insulated,  looking  at  the  passing 
show,  within  sight  of  the  city,  yet  having  nothing  to  do 
with  it ; beholding  their  fellow-creatures  skimming  by 
them  in  winged  machines,  and  steamboats  snorting  and 
puffing  through  the  waves.  Methinks  an  island  would 
be  the  most  desirable  of  all  landed  property,  for  it 
seems  like  a little  world  by  itself ; and  the  water  may 
answer  instead  of  the  atmosphere  that  surrounds  plan- 
ets. The  boys  swinging,  two  together,  standing  up,  and 
almost  causing  the  ropes  and  their  bodies  to  stretch  out 
horizontally.  On  our  departure,  they  ranged  themselves 
on  the  rails  of  the  fence,  and,  being  dressed  in  blue, 
looked  not  unlike  a flock  of  pigeons. 

On  Friday,  a visit  to  the  Navy  Yard  at  Charlestown, 
m company  with  the  Naval  Officer  of  Boston,  and  Gil- 
ley. Dined  aboard  the  revenue-cutter  Hamilton.  A 
pretty  cabin,  finished  off  with  bird’s-eye  maple  and  ma- 
hogany ; two  looking-glasses.  Two  officers  in  blue 

4 * 


F 


82  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  |’l837. 

frocks,  with  a stripe  of  lace  on  each  shoulder.  Dinner, 
chowder,  fried  fish,  corned  beef,  — claret,  afterwards 
champagne.  The  waiter  tells  the  Captain  of  the  cutter 
that  Captain  Percival  (Commander  of  the  Navy  Yard) 
is  sitting  on  the  deck  of  the  anchor  hoy  (which  lies  in- 
side of  the  cutter),  smoking  his  cigar.  The  Captain 
sends  him  a glass  of  champagne,  and  inquires  of  the 
waiter  what  Percival  says  to  it.  “ He  said,  sir,  4 What 
does  he  send  me  this  damned  stuff  for?’  but  drinks, 
nevertheless.”  The  Captain  characterizes  Percival  as 
the  roughest  old  devil  that  ever  was  in  his  manners, 
but  a kind,  good-hearted  man  at  bottom.  By  and  by 
comes  in  the  steward.  “ Captain  Percival  is  coming 
aboard  of  you,  sir.”  “ Well,  ask  him  to  walk  down  in- 
to the  cabin  ” ; and  shortly  down  comes  old  Captain  Per- 
cival, a white-haired,  thin-visaged,  weather-worn  old 
gentleman,  in  a blue,  Quaker-cut  coat,  with  tarnished 
lace  and  brass  buttons,  a pair  of  drab  pantaloons,  and 
brown  waistcoat.  There  was  an  eccentric  expression 
in  his  face,  which  seemed  partly  wilful,  partly  natural. 
He  has  not  risen  to  his  present  rank  in  the  regular  line 
of  the  profession  ; but  entered  the  navy  as  a sailing- 
master,  and  has  all  the  roughness  of  that  class  of  offi- 
cers. Nevertheless,  he  knows  how  to  behave  and  to 
talk  like  a gentleman.  Sitting  down,  and  taking  in  hand 
a glass  of  champagne,  he  began  a lecture  on  economy, 
and  how  well  it  was  that  Uncle  Sam  had  a broad  back, 
being  compelled  to  bear  so  many  burdens  as  were  laid 
on  it,  — alluding  to  the  table  covered  wit.\  wine-bottles. 
Then  he  spoke  of  the  fitting  up  of  the  cabin  with  ex- 
pensive woods,  — of  the  brooch  in  Captain  Scott’s  bo- 
ttom. Then  he  proceeded  to  discourse  of  politics,  taking 


183 AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  88 

the  opposite  side  to  Cilley,  and  arguing  with  much  per- 
tinacity. He  seems  to  have  moulded  and  shaped  him- 
self to  his  own  whims,  till  a sort  of  rough  affectation 
has  become  thoroughly  imbued  throughout  a kindly  na- 
ture. He  is  full  of  antique  prejudices  against  the  mod- 
ern fashions  of  the  younger  officers,  their  mustaches 
and  such  fripperies,  and  prophesies  little  better  than 
disgrace  in  case  of  another  war  ; owning  that  the  boys 
would  fight  for  their  country,  and  die  for  her,  but  deny- 
ing that  there  are  any  officers  now  like  Hull  and  Stu- 
art, whose  exploits,  nevertheless,  he  greatly  depreci- 
ated, saying  that  the  Boxer  and  Enterprise  fought 
the  only  equal  battle  which  we  won  during  the  war ; 
and  that,  in  that  action,  an  officer  had  proposed  to  haul 
down  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  a common  sailor  threat- 
ened to  cut  him  to  pieces  if  he  should  do  so.  He 
spoke  of  Bainbridge  as  a sot  and  a poltroon,  who  want- 
ed to  run  from  the  Macedonian,  pretending  to  take  her 
for  a line-of-battle  ship  ; of  Commodore  Elliot  as  a liar  ; 
but  praised  Commodore  Downes  in  the  highest  terms. 
Percival  seems  to  be  the  very  pattern  of ‘old  integrity  ; 
taking  as  much  care  of  Uncle  Sam’s  interests  as  if  all 
the  money  expended  were  to  come  out  of  his  own  pock- 
et. This  quality  was  displayed  in  his  resistance  to  the 
demand  of  a new  patent  capstan  for  the  revenue-cutter, 
which,  however,  Scott  is  resolved  in  such  a sailor-like 
way  to  get,  that  he  will  probably  succeed.  Percival 
spoke  to  me  of  how  his  business  in  the  yard  absorbed 
him,  especially  the  fitting  of  the  Columbus  seventy-four, 
of  which  ship  he  discoursed  with  great  enthusiasm. 
He  seems  to  have  no  ambition  beyond  his  present  du- 
ties, perhaps  never  had  any ; at  any  rate,  he  now  pass- 


84 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1637. 


es  his  life  with  a sort  of  gruff  contentedness,  grumbling 
and  growling,  yet  in  good  humor  enough.  He  is  con 
scious  of  his  peculiarities  ; for  when  I asked  him  wheth- 
er it  would  be  well  to  make  a naval  officer  Secretary  of 
the  Navy,  he  said,  “ God  forbid,  for  that  an  old  sailor 
was  always  full  of  prejudices  and  stubborn  whim- 
whams,”  instancing  himself ; whereto  I agreed.  We 
went  round  the  Navy  Yard  with  Percival  and  Commo- 
dore Downes,  the  latter  a sailor  and  a gentleman  too, 
with  rather  more  of  the  ocean  than  the  drawing-room 
about  him,  but  courteous,  frank,  and  good-natured. 
We  looked  at  ropewalks,  rigging-lofts,  ships  in  the 
stocks ; and  saw  the  sailors  of  the  station  laughing  and 
sporting  with  great  mirth  and  cheerfulness,  which  the 
Commodore  said  was  much  increased  at  sea.  We  re- 
turned to  the  wharf  at  Boston  in  the  cutter's  boat. 
Captain  Scott,  of  the  cutter,  told  me  a singular  story  of 
what  occurred  during  the  action  between  the  Constitu- 
tion and  Macedonian,  — he  being  powrder-monkey  aboard 
the  former  ship.  A cannon-shot  came  through  the 
ship’s  side,  and  a man’s  head  was  struck  off,  probably 
by  a splinter,  for  it  was  done  without  bruising  the  head 
or  body,  as  clean  as  by  a razor.  Well,  the  man  was 
walking  pretty  briskly  at  the  time  of  the  accident ; and 
Scott  seriously  affirmed  that  he  kept  walking  onward  at 
the  same  pace,  with  two  jets  of  blood  gushing  from  his 
headless  trunk,  till,  after  going  about  twenty  feet  with- 
out a head,  he  sunk  down  at  once,  with  his  legs  under 
him. 

[In  corroboration  of  the  truth  of  this,  see  Lord  Bacon, 
Century  IY.  of  his  Sylva  Sylvarum,  or  Natural  His- 
tory, in  Ten  Centuries,  paragraph  400.] 


I8B7.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 

On  Saturday,  T called  to  see  E.  H , Laving  pre- 

viously appointed  a meeting  for  the  purpose  of  inquiring 
about  our  name.  He  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  truly  for- 
lorn. The  pride  of  ancestry  seems  to  be  his  great  hobby. 
He  had  a* good  many  old  papers  in  his  desk  at  the  Cus- 
tom-House, which  he  produced  and  dissertated  upon, 
and  afterwards  went  with  me  to  his  sister’s,  and  showed 
me  an  old  book,  with  a record  of  the  children  of  the 
first  emigrant  (who  came  over  two  hundred  years  ago), 
in  his  own  handwriting.  * E ’s  manners  are  gentle- 

manly, and  he  seems  to  be  very  well  informed.  At  a 
little  distance,  I think,  one  would  take  him  to  be  not 
much  over  thirty ; but  nearer  at  hand  one  finds  him  to 
look  rather  venerable,  — perhaps  fifty  or  more.  He  is 
nervous,  and  his  hands  shook  while  he  was  looking  over 
the  papers,  as  if  he  had  been  startled  by  my  visit; 
and  when  we  came  to  the  crossings  of  streets,  he 
darted  across,  cautioning  me,  as  if  both  were  in  great 
danger  to  be  run  over.  Nevertheless,  being  very  quick- 
tempered, he  would  face  the  Devil  if  at  all  irritated. 
He  gave  a most  forlorn  description  of  his  life ; how, 
when  he  came  to  Salem,  there  was  nobody  except 
Mr. whom  he  cared  about  seeing ; how  his  posi- 

tion prevented  him  from  accepting  of  civilities,  because 
he  had  no  home  where  he  could  return  them ; in 
short,  he  seemed  about  as  miserable  a being  as  is  to  be 
found  anywhere,  — lonely,  and  with  sensitiveness  to  feel 
his  loneliness,  and  capacities,  now  withered,  to  have 
enjoyed  the  sweets  of  life.  I suppose  he  is  comfortable 
enough  when  busied  in  his  duties  at  the  Custom-House  ; 
for  when  I spoke  to  him  at  my  entrance,  he  was  too 
much  absorbed  to  hear  me  at  first.  As  wp  walked,  he 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


[1887. 


8C 

kept  telling  stories  of  the  family,  which  seemed  to  have 
comprised  many  oddities,  eccentric  men  and  women, 
recluses  and  other  kinds,  — one  of  old  Philip  English 
(a  Jersey  man,  the  name  originally  L’ Anglais),  who  had 
been  persecuted  by  John  Hawthorne,  of  witch-time 
memory,  and  a violent  quarrel  ensued.  When  Philip 
lay  on  his  death-bed,  he  consented  to  forgive  his  perse- 
cutor ; “ But  if  I get  well,”  said  he,  “ I’ll  be  damned  if 
I forgive  him ! ” This  Philip  left  daughters,  one  of 
whom  married,  I believe,  the  son  of  the  persecuting 
John,  and  thus  all  the  legitimate  blood  of  English  is  in 

our  family.  E passed  from  the  matters  of  birth, 

pedigree,  and  ancestral  pride,  to  give  vent  to  the  most 
arrant  democracy  and  locofocoism  that  I ever  happened 
to  hear,  saying  that  nobody  ought  to  possess  wealth 
longer  than  his  own  life,  and  that  then  it  should  return 

to  the  people,  &c.  He  says  S.  I has  a great 

fund  of  traditions  about  the  family,  which  she  learned 
from  her  mother  or  grandmother  (I  forget  which),  one 
of  them  being  a Hawthorne.  The  old  lady  was  a very 

proud  woman,  and,  as  E says,  “proud  of  being 

proud,”  and  so  is  S.  I . 

October  7th.  — A walk  in  Northfields  in  the  after- 
noon. Bright  sunshine  and  autumnal  warmth,  giving  a 
sensation  quite  unlike  the  same  degree  of  warmth  in 
summer.  Oaks,  — some  brown,  some  reddish,  some  still 
green ; walnuts,  yellow,  — fallen  leaves  and  acorns 
lying  beneath ; the  footsteps  crumple  them  in  walking. 
In  sunny  spots  beneath  the  trees,  where  green  grass  is 
overstrewn  by  the  dry,  fallen  foliage,  as  I passed,  I dis- 
turbed multitudes  of  grasshoppers  basking  in  the  warm 


1037.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-boOKS. 


87 


gun  shine ; and  they  began  to  hop,  hop,  hop,  pattering 
on  the  dry  leaves  like  big  and  heavy  drops  ot‘  a thun- 
der-shower. They  were  invisible  till  they  hopped. 
Boys  gathering  walnuts.  Passed  an  orchard,  where  two 
men  were  gathering  the  apples.  A wagon,  with  barrels, 
stood  among  the  trees  ; the  men’s  coats  flung  on  the 
fence  ; the  apples  lay  in  heaps,  and  each  of  the  men  was 
up  in  a separate  tree.  They  conversed  together  in  loud 
voices,  which  the  air  caused  to  ring  still  louder,  jeering 
each  other,  boasting  of  their  own  feats  in  shaking  down 
the  apples.  One  got  into  the  very  top  of  his  tree,  and 
gave  a long  and  mighty  shake,  and  the  big  apples  came 
down  thump,  thump,  bushels  hitting  on  the  ground  at 
once.  “ There  ! did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  that  ? ” 
cried  he.  This  sunny  scene  was  pretty.  A horse  feed- 
ing apart,  belonging  to  the  wagon.  The  barberry- 
bushes  have  some  red  fruit  on  them,  but  they  are  frost- 
bitten. The  rose-bushes  have  their  scarlet  hips. 

Distant  clumps  of  trees,  now  that  the  variegated  fo- 
liage adorns  them,  have  a phantasmagorian,  an  appa- 
rition-like appearance.  They  seem  to  be  of  some  kin- 
dred to  the  crimson  and  gold  cloud-islands.  It  wrould 
not  be  strange  to  see  phantoms  peeping  forth  from  theii 
recesses.  When  the  sun  was  almost  below  the  horizon 
his  rays,  gilding  the  upper  branches  of  a yellow  walnut- 
tree,  had  an  airy  and  beautiful  effect,  — the  gentle  con 
trast  between  the  tint  of  the  yellow  in  the  shade  and  its 
ethereal  gold  in  the  fading  sunshine.  The  woods  tha* 
crown  distant  uplands  were  seen  to  great  advantage  in 
these  last  rays,  for  the  sunshine  perfectly  marked  out 
and  distinguished  every  shade  of  color,  varnishing  them 
as  it  were ; while  the  country  round,  both  hill  and 


88  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1837. 

plain,  being  in  gloomy  shadow,  the  woods  looked  the 
brighter  for  it. 

The  tide,  being  high,  had  flowed  almost  into  the  Cold 
Spring,  so  its  small  current  hardly  issued  forth  from  the 
basin.  As  I approached,  two  little  eels,  about  as  long  as 
my  finger,  and  slender  in  proportion,  wriggled  out  of 
the  basin.  They  had  come  from  the  salt  water  > An 
Indian-corn  field,  as  yet  unharvested,  — huge,  golden 
pumpkins  scattered  among  the  hills  of  corn,  — a noble- 
looking fruit.  After  the  sun  was  down,  the  sky  was 
deeply  dyed  with  a broad  sweep  of  gold,  high  towards 
the  zenith  ; not  flaming  brightly,  but  of  a somewhat  dusky 
gold.  A piece  of  water,  extending  towards  the  west, 
between  high  banks,  caught  the  reflection,  and  appeared 
like  a sheet  of  brighter  and  more  glistening  gold  than 
the  sky  which  made  it  bright. 

Dandelions  and  blue  flowers  are  still  growing  in 
sunny  places.  Saw  in  a barn  a prodigious  treasure  of 
onions  in  their  silvery  coats,  exhaling  a penetrating 
perfume. 

How  exceeding  bright  looks  the  sunshine,  casually 
reflected  from  a looking-glass  into  a gloomy  region  of 
the  chamber,  distinctly  marking  out  the  figures  and 
colors  of  the  paper  hangings,  which  are  scarcely  seen 
elsewhere.  It  is  like  the  light  of  mind  thrown  on  an 
obscure  subject. 

Man’s  finest  workmanship,  the  closer  you  observe  it, 
the  more  imperfections  it  shows ; as  in  a piece  of 
polished  steel  a microscope  will  discover  a rough  sur- 
face. Whereas,  what  may  look  coarse  and  rough  in 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


89 


•837  j 

Na\>iii«y’s  workmanship  will  show  an  infinitely  minute 
perfection,  vhe  closer  you  look  into  it.  The  reason  of 
the  minute  superiority  of  Nature’s  work  over  man’s  is, 
that  the  forn.ei  works  from  the  innermost  germ,  while 
the  latter  works  merely  superficially. 

Standing  in  the  cross-road  that  leads  by  the  Mineral 
Spring,  and  looking  towards  an  opposite  shore  of  the 
lake,  an  ascending  hank,  with  a dense  border  of  trees, 
green,  yellow,  red,  1 asset,  all  bright  colors,  brightened 
by  the  mild  brilliancy  of  the  descending  sun  ; it  was 
strange  to  recognize  the  sober  old  friends  of  spring  and 
summer  in  this  new  dress.  By  the  by,  a pretty  riddle 
or  fable  might  be  made  out  of  the  changes  in  apparel  of 
the  familiar  trees  round  a house,  adapted  for  children. 
But  in  the  lake,  beneath  the  afoiesaid  border  of  trees, — 
the  water  being,  not  rippled,  but  its  glassy  surface 
somewhat  moved  and  shaken  by  the  remote  agitation  of 
a breeze  that  was  breathing  on  the  outer  lake,  — this 
being  in  a sort  of  bay,  — in  the  slightly  agitated  mirror, 
the  variegated  trees  were  reflected  dreamily  and  indis- 
tinctly ; a broad  belt  of  bright  and  diversified  colors 
shining  in  the  water  beneath.  Sometimes  the  image  of 
a tree  might  be  almost  traced ; then  nothing  but  this 
sweep  of  broken  rainbow.  It  was  like  the  recollection 
of  the  real  scene  in  an  observer’s  mind,  — a confused 
radiance. 

A whirlwind,  whirling  the  dried  leaves  round  in  a 
circle,  not  very  violently. 

To  well  consider  the  characters  of  a family  of  persons 


90 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


in  a certain  condition,  — in  poverty,  for  instance, — and 
endeavor  to  judge  how  an  altered  condition  would  affect 
the  character  of  each. 

The  aromatic  odor  of  peat  smoke  in  the  sunny 
autumnal  air  is  very  pleasant. 

Salem , October  14^. — A walk  through  Beverly  to 
Browne’s  Hill,  and  home  by  the  iron  factory.  A 
bright,  cool  afternoon.  The  trees,  in  a large  part  of  the 
space  through  which  I passed,  appeared  to  be  in  their 
fullest  glory,  bright  red,  yellow,  some  of  a tender  green, 
appearing  at  a distance  as  if  bedecked  with  new  foliage, 
though  this  emerald  tint  was  likewise  the  effect  of  frost. 
In  some  places,  large  tracts  of  ground  were  covered 
as  with  a scarlet  cloth,  — the  underbrush  being  thus 
colored.  The  general  character  of  these  autumnal 
colors  is  not  gaudy,  scarcely  gay ; there  is  something 
too  deep  and  rich  in  it : it  is  gorgeous  and  magnificent, 
but  with  a sobriety  diffused.  The  pastures  at  the  foot 
of  Browne’s  Hill  were  plentifully  covered  with  barber- 
ry-bushes, the  leaves  of  which  were  reddish,  and  they 
were  hung  with  a prodigious  quantity  of  berries.  From 
the  summit  of  the  hill,  looking  down  a tract  of  wood- 
land at  a considerable  distance,  so  that  the  interstices 
between  the  trees  could  not  be  seen,  their  tops  presented 
an  unbroken  level,  and  seemed  somewhat  like  a richly 
variegated  carpet.  The  prospect  from  the  hill  is  wide 
and  interesting;  but  methinks  it  is  pleasanter  in  the 
more  immediate  vicinity  of  the  hill  than  miles  away. 
It  is  agreeable  to  look  down  at  the  square  patches  of 
corniield,  or  of  potato-ground,  or  of  cabbages  still 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


91 


1837.] 


green,  or  of  beets  looking  red,  — all  a man’s  farm,  in 
short,  — - each  portion  of  which  he  considers  separately 
so  important,  while  you  take  in  the  whole  at  a glance. 
Then  to  cast  your  eye  over  so  many  different  establish- 
ments at -once,  and  rapidly  compare  them,  — here  a 
house  of  gentility,  with  shady  old  yellow-leaved  elms 
hanging  around  it ; there  a new  little  white  dwell- 
ing ; there  an  old  farm-house ; to  see  the  barns  and 
sheds  and  all  the  out-houses  clustered  together ; to 
comprehend  the  oneness  and  exclusiveness  and  what 
constitutes  the  peculiarity  of  each  of  so  many  estab- 
lishments, and  to  have  in  your  mind  a multitude  of 
them,  each  of  which  is  the  most  important  part  of  the 
world  to  those  who  live  in  it,  — this  really  enlarges  the 
mind,  and  you  come  down  the  hill  somewhat  wiser  than 
you  go  up.  Pleasant  to  look  over  an  orchard  far 
below,  and  see  the  trees,  each  casting  its  own  shadow ; 
the  white  spires  of  meeting-houses ; a sheet  of  water, 
partly  seen  among  swelling  lands.  This  Browne’s  Hill 
is  a long  ridge,  lying  in  the  midst  of  a large,  level 
plain  ; it  looks  at  a distance  somewhat  like  a whale, 
with  its  head  and  tail  under  water,  but  its  immense 
back  protruding,  with  steep  sides,  and  a gradual  curve 
dong  its  length.  When  you  have  climbed  it  on  one 
side,  and  gaze  from  the  summit  at  the  other,  you  feel  as 
if  you  had  made  a discovery,  — the  landscape  being 
^uite  different  on  the  two  sides.  The  cellar  of  the  house 
which  formerly  crowned  the  hill,  and  used  to  be  named 
Browne’s  Folly,  still  remains,  two  grass-grown  and 
shallow  hollows,  on  the  highest  part  of  the  ridge.  The 
bouse  consisted  of  two  wings,  each  perhaps  sixty  feet  in 
‘ength,  united  by  a middle  part,  in  which  was  the 


92  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOItS.  [l^\ 

entrance-hall,  and  which  looked  lengthwise  along  th« 
hill . The  foundation  of  a spacious  porch  may  be  traced 
on  either  side  of  the  central  portion  ; some  of  the  stones 
still  remain  ; but  even  where  they  are  gone,  the  line  oi 
the  porch  is  still  traceable  by  the  greener  verdure.  In 
the  cellar,  or  rather  in  the  two  cellars,  grow  one  or  two 
barberry-bushes,  with  frost-bitten  fruit ; there  is  alsc 
yarrow  w:fh  its  white  flower,  and  yellow  dandelions 
The  cellars*  are  still  deep  enough  to  shelter  a person,  al? 
but  his  head  at  least,  from  the  wind  on  the  summit,  of 
the  hill ; but  they  are  all  grass-grown.  A line  of  tree* 
seems  to  have  been  planted  along  the  ridge  of  the  hill 
The  edifice  must  have  made  quite  a magnificent  appear 
ance. 

Characteristics  during  the  walk  : — Apple-trees  with 
only  here  and  there  an  apple  on  the  boughs,  among  the 
thinned  leaves,  the  relics  of  a gathering.  In  others  you 
observe  a rustling,  and  see  the  boughs  shaking  and  hear 
the  apples  thumping  down,  without  seeing  the  persou 
who  does  it.  Apples  scattered  by  the  wayside,  som* 
with  pieces  bitten  out,  others  entire,  which  you 
pick  up,  and  taste,  and  find  them  harsh,  crabbed  cider- 
apples,  though  they  have  a pretty,  waxen  appearance 
In  sunny  spots  of  woodland,  boys  in  search  of  nuts, 
looking  picturesque  among  the  scarlet  and  goldeD 
foliage.  There  is  something  in  this  sunny  autumnal 
atmosphere  that  gives  a peculiar  effect  to  laughter  and 
joyous  voices,  — it  makes  them  infinitely  more  elastic 
and  gladsome  than  at  other  seasons.  Heaps  of  dry 
leaves  tossed  together  by  the  wind,  as  if  for  a couch  and 
lounging-place  for  the  weary  traveller,  while  the  sun  is 
warming  it  for  him.  Golden  pumpkins  and  squashes, 


l837.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS  93 

neaped  in  the  angle  of  a house,  till  they  reach  the  lower 
windows.  Ox-teams,  laden  with  a rustling  load  of 
Indian  corn,  in  the  stalk  and  ear.  When  an  inlet  of 
the  sea  runs  far  up  into  the  country,  you  stare  to  see  a 
large  schooner  appear  amid  the  rural  landscape  ; she  is 
unloading  a cargo  of  wood,  moist  with  rain  or  salt  water 
that  has  dashed  over  it.  Perhaps  you  hear  the  sound 
of  an  axe  in  the  woodland  ; occasionally,  the  report  of  a 
fowling-piece.  The  travellers  in  the  early  part  of  the 
afternoon  look  warm  and  comfortable  as  if  taking  a 
summer  drive ; but  as  eve  draws  nearer,  you  meet 
them  well  wrapped  in  top-coats  or  cloaks,  or  rough, 
great  surtouts,  and  red-nosed  withal,  seeming  to  take  no 
great  comfort,  but  pressing  homeward.  The  character- 
istic conversation  among  teamsters  and  country  squires, 
where  the  ascent  of  a hill  causes  the  chaise  to  go  at  the 
same  pace  as  an  ox-team,  — perhaps  discussing  the 
qualities  of  a yoke  of  oxen.  The  cold,  blue  aspects  of 
sheets  of  water.  Some  of  the  country  shops  with  the 
doors  closed  ; others  still  open  as  in  summer.  I meet  a 
wood-sawyer,  with  his  horse  and  saw  on  his  shoulders, 
returning  from  work.  As  night  draws  on,  you  begin  to 
see  the  gleaming  of  fires  on  the  ceilings  in  the  houses 
which  you  pass.  The  comfortless  appearance  of 
houses  at  bleak  and  bare  spots,  — you  wonder  how 
there  can  be  any  enjoyment  in  them.  I meet  a girl  in 
a chintz  gown,  with  a small  shawl  on  her  shoulders, 
white  stockings,  and  summer  morocco  shoes, — it  looks 
observable.  Turkeys,  queer,  solemn  objects,  in  black 
attire,  grazing  about,  and  trying  to  peck  the  fallen 
apples,  which  slip  away  from  their  bills. 


94 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


October  1 6^A.  — Spent  the  whole  afternoon  in  a ram 
ble  to  the  sea-shore,  near  Phillips’s  Beach.  A beautiful, 
warm,  sunny  afternoon,  the  very  pleasantest  day,  prob- 
ably, that  there  has  been  in  the  whole  course  of  the 
year.  People  at  work,  harvesting,  without  their  coats. 
Cocks,  with  their  squad  of  hens,  in  the  grass-fields, 
hunting  grasshoppers,  chasing  them  eagerly  with  out- 
spread wings,  appearing  to  take  much  interest  in  the 
sport,  apart  from  the  profit.  Other  hens  picking  up  the 
ears  of  Indian  corn.  Grasshoppers,  flies,  and  flying 
insects  of  all  sorts,  are  more  abundant  in  these  warm 
autumnal  days  than  I have  seen  them  at  any  other 
time.  Yellow  butterflies  flutter  about  in  the  sunshine, 
singly,  by  pairs,  or  more,  and  are  wafted  on  the  gentle 
gales.  The  crickets  begin  to  sing  early  in  the  afternoon, 
and  sometimes  a locust  may  be  heard.  In  some  warm 
spots,  a pleasant  buzz  of  many  insects. 

Crossed  the  fields  near  Brookhouse’s  villa,  and  came 
upon  a long  beach,  — at  least  a mile  long,  I should 
think,  — terminated  by  craggy  rocks  at  either  end,  and 
backed  by  a high  broken  bank,  the  grassy  summit  of 
which,  year  by  year,  is  continually  breaking  away,  and 
precipitated  to  the  bottom.  At  the  foot  of  the  bank,  in 
some  parts,  is  a vast  number  of  pebbles  and  paving- 
stones,  rolled  up  thither  by  the  sea  long  ago.  The 
beach  is  of  a brown  sand,  with  hardly  any  pebbles  in- 
termixed upon  it.  When  the  tide  is  part  way  down, 
there  is  a margin  of  several  yards  from  the  water’s 
edge,  along  the  whole  mile  length  of  the  beach,  which 
glistens  like  a mirror,  and  reflects  objects,  and  shines 
bright  in  the  sunshine,  the  sand  being  wet  to  that  dis- 
tance from  the  water.  Above  this  margin  the  sand  is 


1337.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  95 

not  wet,  and  grows  less  and  less  damp  the  farther  to- 
wards the  bank  you  keep.  In  some  places  your  foot- 
step is  perfectly  implanted,  showing  the  whole  shape, 
and  the  square  toe,  and  every  nail  in  the  heel  of  your 
boot.  Elsewhere,  the  impression  is  imperfect,  and  even 
when  you  stamp,  you  cannot  imprint  the  whole.  As 
you  tread,  a dry  spot  flashes  around  your  step,  and 
grows  moist  as  you  lift  your  foot  again.  Pleasant  to 
pass  along  this  extensive  walk,  watching  the  surf- wave ; 
— how  sometimes  it  seems  to  make  a feint  of  breaking, 
but  dies  away  ineffectually,  merely  kissing  the  strand  ; 
then,  after  many  such  abortive  efforts,  it  gathers  itself, 
and  forms  a high  wall,  and  rolls  onward,  heightening  and 
heightening  wdthout  foam  at  the  summit  of  the  green  line, 
and  at  last  throws  itself  fiercely  on  the  beach,  with  a loud 
roar,  the  spray  flying  above.  As  you  wralk  along,  you 
are  preceded  by  a flock  of  twenty  or  thirty  beach  birds, 
which  are  seeking,  I suppose,  for  food  on  the  margin 
of  the  surf,  yet  seem  to  be  merely  sporting,  chasing  the 
sea  as  it  retires,  and  running  up  before  the  impending 
wave.  Sometimes  they  let  it  bear  them  off  their  feet, 
and  float  lightly  on  its  breaking  summit : sometimes 
they  flutter  and  seem  to  rest  on  the  feathery  spray. 
They  are  little  birds  with  gray  backs  and  snow-white 
breasts ; their  images  may  be  seen  in  the  wet  sand 
almost  or  quite  as  distinctly  as  the  reality.  Their  legs 
are  long.  As  you  draw  near,  they  take  a flight  of  a 
score  of  yards  or  more,  and  then  recommence  their  dal- 
liance with  the  surfwvave.  You  may  behold  their  mul- 
titudinous little  tracks  all  along  your  way.  Before  you 
reach  the  end  of  the  beach,  you  become  quite  attached 
to  these  little  sea-birds,  and  take  much  interest  in  their 


96 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


occupations.  After  passing  in  one  direction,  it  is  pleas- 
ant then  to  retrace  your  footsteps.  Your  tracks  being 
all  traceable,  you  may  recall  the  whole  mood  and  occu- 
pation of  your  mind  during  your  first  passage.  Here 
you  turned  somewhat  aside  to  pick  up  a’  shell  that  you 
saw  nearer  the  water’s  edge.  Here  you  examined  a 
long  sea-weed,  and  trailed  its  length  after  you  for  a con 
siderable  distance.  Here  the  effect  of  the  wide  sea 
struck  you  suddenly.  Here  you  fronted  the  ocean, 
looking  at  a sail,  distant  in  the  sunny  blue.  Here  you 
looked  at  some  plant  on  the  bank.  Here  some  vagary 
of  mind  seems  to  have  bewildered  you  ; for  your  tracks 
go  round  and  round,  and  interchange  each  other  with- 
out visible  reason.  Here  you  picked  up  pebbles  and 
skipped  them  upon  the  water.  Here  you  wrote  names 
and  drew  faces  with  a razor  sea-sliell  in  the  sand. 

After  leaving  the  beach,  clambered  over  crags,  all 
shattered  and  tossed  about  every  how  ; in  some  parts 
curiously  worn  and  hollowed  out,  almost  into  caverns. 
The  rock,  shagged  with  sea-weed,  — in  some  places,  a 
thick  carpet  of  sea-weed  laid  over  the  pebbles,  into 
which  your  foot  would  sink.  Deep  tanks  among  these 
rocks,  which  the  sea  replenishes  at  high  tide,  and  then 
leaves  the  bottom  all  covered  with  various  sorts  of  sea- 
plants,  as  if  it  were  some  sea-monster’s  private  garden. 
I saw  a crab  in  one  of  them ; five-fingers  too.  From 
the  edge  of  the  rocks,  you  may  look  off  into  deep,  deep 
water,  even  at  low  tide.  Among  the  rocks,  I found  a 
great  bird,  whether  a wild-goose,  a loon,  or  an  alba- 
tross, I scarcely  know.  It  was  in  such  a position  that 
I almost  fancied  it  might  be  asleep,  and  therefore  drew 
near  softly,  lest  it  should  take  flight ; but  it  was  dead, 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


97 


I837.J 


and  stirred  not  when  I touched  it.  Sometimes  a dead 
fish  was  cast  up.  A ledge  of  rocks,  with  a beacon  upon 
it,  looking  like  a monument  erected  to  those  who  have 
perished  by  shipwreck.  The  smoked,  extempore  fire- 
place, where  a party  cooked  their  fish.  About  midway 
on  the  beach,  a fresh-water  brooklet  flows  towards  the 
sea.  Where  it  leaves  the  land  it  is  quite  a rippling 
little  current ; but,  in  flowing  across  the  sand,  it  grows 
shallower  and  more  shallow,  and  at  last  is  quite  lost, 
and  dies  in  the  effort  to  carry  its  little  tribute  to  the 
main. 


An  article  to  be  made  of  telling  the  stories  of  the 
tiles  of  an  old-fashioned  chimney-piece  to  a child. 

A person  conscious  that  he  was  soon  to  die,  the 
humor  in  which  he  would  pay  his  last  visit  to  familiar 
persons  and  things. 

A description  of  the  various  classes  of  hotels  and 
taverns,  and  the  prominent  personages  in  each.  There 
should  be  some  story  connected  with  it,  — as  of  a per- 
son commencing  with  boarding  at  a great  hotel,  and 
gradually,  as  his  means  grew  less,  descending  in  life, 
till  he  got  below  ground  into  a cellar. 

A person  to  be  in  the  possession  of  something  as  per- 
fect as  mortal  man  has  a right  to  demand ; he  tries  to 
make  it  better,  and  ruins  it  entirely. 

A person  to  spend  all  his  life  and  splendid  talents 
in  trying  to  achieve  something  naturally  impossible, 
as  to  make  a conquest  over  Nature. 

vox.  i.  5 e 


98 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1837. 


Meditations  about  the  main  gas-pipe  of  a great  city,  — 
if  the  supply  were  to  be  stopped,  wrhat  would  happen  ? 
How  many  different  scenes  it  sheds  light  on  ? It  might 
be  made  emblematical  of  something. 

December  6tk.  — A fairy  tale  about  chasing  Echo  to 
her  hiding-place.  Echo  is  the  voice  of  a reflection  in 
a mirror. 

A house  to  be  built  over  a natural  spring  of  inflam- 
mable gas,  and  to  be  constantly  illuminated  therewith. 
What  moral  could  be  drawn  from  this  ? It  is  carbu- 
retted  hydrogen  gas,  and  is  cooled  from  a soft  shale  or 
slate,  which  is  sometimes  bituminous,  and  contains  more 
or  less  carbonate  of  lime.  It  appears  in  the  vicinity  of 
Lockpor*  and  Niagara  Falls,  and  elsewhere  in  New 
York.  1 believe  it  indicates  coal.  At  Fredonia,  the 
whole  village  is  lighted  by  «it.  Elsewhere,  a farm-house 
was  lighted  by  it,  and  no  other  fuel  used  in  the  coldest 
weather. 

Gnomes,  or  other  mischievous  little  fiends,  to  be 
represented  as  burrowing  in  the  hollow  teeth  of  some 
person  who  has  subjected  himself  to  their  power.  It 
should  be  a child’s  story.  This  should  be  one  of  many 
modes  of  petty  torment.  They  should  be  contrasted 
with  beneficent  fairies,  who  minister  to  the  pleasures 
of  the  good. 

A man  will  undergo  great  toil  and  hardship  for  ends 
that  must  be  many  years  distant,  — as  wealth  or  fame, 
— but  none  for  an  end  that  may  be  close  at  hand,  — as 
the  joys  of  heaven. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS.  99 

Insincerity  in  a man’s  own  heart  must  make  al]  his 
enjoyments,  all  that  concerns  him,  unreal ; so  that  his 
whole  life  must  seem  like  a merely  dramatic  representa- 
tion. And  this  would  be  the  case,  even  though  he  were 
surrounded  by  true-hearted  relatives  and  friends. 

A company  of  men,  none  of  whom  have  anything 
worth  hoping  for  on  earth,  yet  who  do  not  look  forward 
to  anything  beyond  earth  ! 

Sorrow  to  be  personified,  and  its  effect  on  a family 
represented  by  the  way  in  which  the  members  of  the 
family  regard  this  dark-clad  and  sad-browed  inmate. 

A story  to  show  how  we  are  all  wronged  and  w mong- 
ers, and  avenge  one  another. 

To  personify  winds  of  various  characters. 

A man  living  a wicked  life  in  one  place,  and  simulta- 
neously a virtuous  and  religious  one  in  another. 

An  ornament  to  be  worn  about  the  person  of  a lady, 
— as  a jewelled  heart.  After  many  years,  it  happens 
to  be  broken  or  unscrewed,  and  a poisonous  odor  comes 

out 

Lieutenant  F.  W of  the  navy  was  an  inveterate 

duellist  and  an  unerring  shot.  He  had  taken  offence  at 

Lieutenant  F , and  endeavored  to  draw  him  into  a 

duel,  following  him  to  the  Mediterranean  for  that  pur- 
nose,  and  harassing  him  intolerably.  At  last,  both  par- 


100 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[183? 


ties  being  in  Massachusetts,  F determined  to  fight, 

and  applied  to  Lieutenant  A to  be  his  second 

A examined  into  the  merits  of  the  quarrel,  and 

came  to  the  conclusion  that  F had  not  given 

F.  "VY— justifiable  cause  for  driving  him  to  a duel, 

and  that  he  ought  not  to  be  shot.  He  instructed  F 

in  the  use  of  the  pistol,  and,  before  the  meeting,  warned 
him,  by  all  means,  to  get  the  first  fire;  for  that,  if 

F.  W fired  first,  he,  F , was  infallibly  a dead 

man,  as  his  antagonist  could  shoot  to  a hair’s  breadth. 

The  parties  met ; and  F , firing  immediately  on 

the  word’s  being  given,  shot  F.  W through  the 

heart.  F.  W , with  a most  savage  expression  of 

countenance,  fired,  after  the  bullet  had  gone  through  his 
heart,  and  when  the  blood  had  entirely  left  his  face,  and 

shot  away  one  of  F ’s  side-locks.  His  face  probably 

looked  as  if  he  were  already  in  the  infernal  regions  ; 
but  afterwards  it  assumed  an  angelic  calmness  and 
repose. 

A company  of  persons  to  drink  a certain  medicinal 
preparation,  which  would  prove  a poison,  or  the  con- 
trary, according  to  their  different  characters. 

Many  persons,  without  a consciousness  of  so  doing,  to 
contribute  to  some  one  end ; as  to  a beggar’s  feast,  made 
up  of  broken  victuals  from  many  tables  ; or  a patch 
carpet,  woven  of  shreds  from  innumerable  garments. 

Some  very  famous  jewel  or  other  thing,  much  talked 
of  all  over  the  world.  Some  person  to  meet  with  it, 
and  get  possession  of  it  in  some  unexpected  manner 
urnid  homely  circumstances. 


I837.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  101 

To  poison  a person  or  a party  of  persons  with  the 
sacramental  wine. 

A cloud  in  the  shape  of  an  old  woman  kneeling,  with 
arms  extended  towards  the  moon. 

On  being  transported  to  strange  scenes,  we  teel  as  if 
all  were  unreal.  This  is  but  the  perception  of  the  true 
unreality  of  earthly  things,  made  evident  by  the  want 
of  congruity  between  ourselves  and  them.  By  and  by 
we  become  mutually  adapted,  and  the  perception  is  lost. 

An  old  looking-glass.  Somebody  finds  out  the  secret 
of  making  all  the  images  that  have  been  reflected  in  it 
pass  back  again  across  its  surface. 

Our  Indian  races  having  reared  no  monuments,  like 
the  Greeks,  Romans,  and  Egyptians,  when  they  have 
disappeared  from  the  earth  their  history  will  appear  a 
fable,  and  they  misty  phantoms. 

A woman  to  sympathize  with  all  emotions,  but  to 
have  none  of  her  own. 

A portrait  of  a person  in  New  England  to  be  recog- 
nized as  of  the  same  person  represented  by  a portrait 
in  Old  England.  Having  distinguished  himself  there, 
he  had  suddenly  vanished,  and  had  never  been  heard  of 
till  he  was  thus  discovered  to  be  identical  with  a distin- 
guished man  in  New  England. 


Men  of  cold  passions  have  quick  eyes. 


102  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1888. 

A virtuous  but  giddy  girl  to  attempt  to  piay  a trick 
on  a man.  He  sees  what  she  is  about,  and  contrives 
matters  so  that  she  throws  herself  completely  into  his 
power,  and  is  ruined,  — all  in  jest. 

A letter,  written  a century  or  more  ago,  but  which 
has  never  yet  been  unsealed. 

A partially  insane  man  to  believe  himself  the  Pro- 
vincial Governor  or  other  great  official  of  Massachu- 
setts. The  scene  might  be  the  Province  House. 

A dreadful  secret  to  be  communicated  to  several 
people  of  various  characters,  — grave  or  gay,  — and 
they  all  to  become  insane,  according  to  their  characters, 
by  the  influence  of  the  secret. 

Stories  to  be  told  of  a certain  person’s  appearance  in 
public,  of  his  having  been  seen  in  various  situations, 
and  of  his  making  visits  in  private  circles  ; but  finally, 
on  looking  for  this  person,  to  come  upon  his  old  grave 
and  mossy  tombstone. 

The  influence  of  a peculiar  mind,  in  close  communion 
with  another,  to  drive  the  latter  to  insanity. 

To  look  at  a beautiful  girl,  and  picture  all  the  lovers, 
in  different  situations,  whose  hearts  are  centred  upon 
her 

May  11  th,  1838.  — At  Boston  last  week.  Item?  . — 
A young  man,  with  a small  mustache,  dyed  brown. 


1838.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  103 

reddish  from  its  original  light  color.  He  walks  with  an 
affected  gait,  his  arms  crooked  outwards,  treading  much 
on  his  toes.  His  conversation  is  about  the  theatre, 
where  he  has  a season  ticket,  — about  an  amateur  who 
lately  appeared  there,  and  about  actresses,  with  othei 
theatrical  scandal.  — In  the  smoking-room,  two  checker 
and  backgammon  boards  ; the  landlord  a great  play- 
er, seemingly  a stupid  man,  but  with  considerable 

shrewdness  and  knowledge  of  the  world.  — F , the 

comedian,  a stout,  heavy-looking  Englishman,  of  grave  de- 
portment, with  no  signs  of  wit  or  humor,  yet  aiming  at 
both  in  conversation,  in  order  to  support  his  character. 
Very  steady  and  regular  in  his  life,  and  parsimonious 
in  his  disposition,  — worth  $50,000,  made  by  his  pro- 
fession. — A clergyman,  elderly,  with  a white  neck- 
cloth, very  unbecoming,  an  unworldly  manner,  unac- 
quaintance with  the  customs  of  the  house,  and  learning 
them  in  a childlike  way.  A ruffle  to  his  shirt,  crimped. 
— - A gentleman,  young,  handsome,  and  sea  - flushed, 
belonging  to  Oswego,  New  York,  but  just  arrived  in 
port  from  the  Mediterranean  : he  inquires  of  me  about 
ihe  troubles  in  Canada,  which  were  first  beginning  to 
make  a noise  when  he  left  the  country,  — whether  they 
are  all  over.  I tell  him  all  is  finished,  except  the  hang- 
ing of  the  prisoners.  Then  we  talk  over  the  matter, 
and  I tell  him  the  fates  of  the  principal  men,  — some 
banished  to  New  South  Wales,  one  hanged,  others 
in  prison,  others,  conspicuous  at  first,  now  almost  for- 
gotten. — Apartments  of  private  families  in  the  hotel, — 
what  sort  of  domesticity  there  may  be  in  them ; eating 
in  public,  with  no  board  of  their  own.  The  gas  that 
lights  the  rest  of  the  house  lights  them  also,  in  the 


104  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [183$ 

chandelier  from  the  ceiling.  — A shabby-looking  man, 
quiet,  with  spectacles,  at  first  wearing  an  old,  coarse 
brown  frock,  then  appearing  in  a suit  of  elderly  black, 
saying  nothing  unless  spoken  to,  but  talking  intelli- 
gently when  addressed.  He  is  an  editor,  and  I suppose 
printer,  of  a country  paper.  Among  the  guests,  he 
holds  intercourse  with  gentlemen  of  much  more  respect- 
able appearance  than  himself,  from  the  same  part  of  the 
country.  — Bill  of  fare ; wines  printed  on  the  back,  but 
nobody  calls  for  a bottle.  Chairs  turned  down  for  ex- 
pected guests.  Three-pronged  steel  forks.  Cold  sup- 
per from  nine  to  eleven  p.  m.  Great,  round,  mahogany 
table,  in  the  sitting-room,  covered  with  papers.  In  the 
morning,  before  and  soon  after  breakfast,  gentlemen 
reading  the  morning  papers,  while  others  wait  for  their 
chance,  or  try  to  pick  out  something  from  the  papers  of 
yesterday  or  longer  ago.  In  the  forenoon,  the  South- 
ern papers  are  brought  in,  and  thrown  damp  and  folded 
on  the  table.  The  eagerness  with  which  those  who 
happen  to  be  in  the  room  start  up  and  make  prize  of 
them.  Play-bills,  printed  on  yellow  paper,  laid  upon 
the  table.  Towards  evening  comes  the  Transcript. 

June  loth.  — The  red  light  which  the  sunsets  at  this 
season  diffuse ; there  being  showery  afternoons,  but 
the  sun  setting  bright  amid  clouds,  and  diffusing  its 
radiance  over  those  that  are  scattered  in  masses  all 
over  the  sky.  It  gives  a rich  tinge  to  all  objects,  even 
to  those  of  sombre  hues,  yet  without  changing  the  hues. 
The  complexions  of  people  are  exceedingly  enriched 
by  it ; they  look  warm,  and  kindled  with  a mild  fire. 
The  whole  scenery  and  personages  acquire,  me- 


1838.)  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOORS*  105 

thinks,  a passionate  character.  A love-scene  should  be 
laid  on  such  an  evening.  The  trees  and  the  grass  have 
now  the  brightest  possible  green,  there  having  been  so 
many  showers  alternating  with  such  powerful  sunshine. 
There  are  roses  and  tulips  and  honeysuckles,  with  their 
sweet  perfume ; in  short,  the  splendor  of  a more  gor- 
geous climate  than  ours  might  be  brought  into  the  pic- 
ture. 

The  situation  of  a man  in  the  midst  of  a crowd,  yet 
as  completely  in  the  power  of  another,  life  and  all,  as  if 
they  two  were  in  the  deepest  solitude. 

Tremont , Boston,  June  1 6th.  — Tremendously  hot 
weather  to-day.  Went  on  board  the  Cyane  to  see 
Bridge,  the  purser.  Took  boat  from  the  end  of  Long 
Wharf,  with  two  boatmen,  who  had  just  landed  a man. 
Row  round  to  the  starboard  side  of  the  sloop,  where  we 
pass  up  the  steps,  and  are  received  by  Bridge,  who 
introduces  us  to  one  of  the  lieutenants,  — Hazard.  Sail- 
ors and  midshipmen  scattered  about, — the  middies 
having  a foul  anchor,  that  is,  an  anchor  with  a cable 
twisted  round  it,  embroidered  on  the  collars  of  their 
jackets.  The  officers  generally  wear  blue  jackets  with 
lace  on  the  shoulders,  white  pantaloons,  and  cloth  caps. 
Introduced  into  the  cabin,  — a handsome  room,  fin- 
ished with  mahogany,  comprehending  the  width  of  the 
vessel ; a sideboard  with  liquors,  and  above  it  a look- 
ing-glass ; behind  the  cabin,  an  inner  room,  in  which  is 
seated  a lady,  waiting  for  the  captain  to  come  on 
board ; on  each  side  of  this  inner  cabin,  a large  and 
convenient  state-room  with  bed,  — the  doors  opening 
5* 


106 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


[1833. 


into  the  cabin.  This  cabin  is  on  a level  with  the  quar- 
ter-deck, and  is  covered  by  the  poop-deck.  Going 
down  below  stairs,  yon  come  to  the  ward-room,  a pretty 
large  room,  round  which  are  the  state-rooms  of  the 
lieutenants,  the  purser,  surgeon,  &c.  A stationary 
table.  The  ship’s  main-mast  comes  down,  through  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  Bridge’s  chair,  at  dinner,  is 
planted  against  it.  Wine  and  brandy  produced  ; and 
Bridge  calls  to  the  Doctor  to  drink  with  him,  who 
answers  affirmatively  from  his  state-room,  and  shortly 
after  opens  the  door  and  makes  his  appearance.  Other 
officers  emerge  from  the  side  of  the  vessel,  or  disappear 
into  it,  in  the  same  way.  Forward  of  the  ward-room, 
adjoining  it,  and  on  the  same  level,  is  the  midship- 
men’s room,  on  the  larboard  side  of  the  vessel,  not 
partitioned  off,  so  as  to  be  shut  up.  On  a shelf  a few 
books;  one  midshipman  politely  invites  us  to  walk  in; 
another  sits  writing.  Going  farther  forward,  on  the 
same  level  we  come  to  the  crew’s  department,  part  of 
which  is  occupied  by  the  cooking-establishment,  where 
all  sorts  of  cooking  is  going  on  for  the  officers  and  men. 
Through  the  whole  of  this  space,  ward-room  and  all, 
there  is  barely  room  to  stand  upright,  without  the  hat 
on.  The  rules  of  the  quarter-deck  (which  extends  aft 
from  the  main-mast)  are,  that  the  midshipmen  shall  not 
presume  to  walk  on  the  starboard  side  of  it,  nor  the 
men  to  come  upon  it  at  all,  unless  to  speak  to  an  officer. 
The  poop-deck  is  still  more  sacred,  — the  lieutenants 
being  confined  to  the  larboard  side,  and  the  captain 
alone  having  a right  to  the  starboard.  A marine  was 
pacing  the  poop-deck,  being  the  only  guard  that  I saw 
stationed  in  the  vessel,  — the  more  stringent  regulations 


1838.  j 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


107 


being  relaxed  while  she  is  preparing  for  sea.  While 
standing  on  the  quarter-deck,  a great  piping  at  the 
gangway,  and  the  second  cutter  comes  alongside,  bring- 
ing the  consul  and  some  other  gentleman  to  visit  the 
vessel.  After  a while,  we  are  rowed  ashore  with  them, 
in  the  same  boat.  Its  crew  are  new  hands,  and  there- 
fore require  much  instruction  from  the  cockswain.  We 
are  seated  under  an  awning.  The  guns  of  the  Cyane 
are  medium  thirty-two  pounders  ; some  of  them  have 
percussion  locks. 

At  the  Tremont,  I had  Bridge  to  dine  with  me : iced 
ehan^pagne,  claret  in  glass  pitchers.  Nothing  very 
re*  arkable  among  the  guests.  A wine-merchant, 
French  apparently,  though  he  had  arrived  the  day 
before  in  a bark  from  Copenhagen : a somewhat  cor 
pulent  gentleman,  without  so  good  manners  as  an 
American  would  have  in  the  same  line  of  life,  but 
good-natured,  sociable,  and  civil,  complaining  of  the. 
heat.  He  had  rings  on  his  fingers  of  great  weight  of 
metal,  and  one  of  them  had  a seal  for  letters ; brooches 
at  the  bosom,  three  in  a row,  up  and  down  ; also  a gold 
watch-guard,  with  a seal  appended.  Talks  of  the  com- 
parative price  of  living,  of  clothes,  &c.,  here  and  in 
Europe.  Tells  of  the  prices  of  winc-s  by  the  cask  and 
pipe.  Champagne,  he  says,  is  drunk  of  better  quality 
here  than  where  it  grows.  — A vendor  of  patent 
medicines,  Doctor  Jaques,  makes  acquaintance  with  me, 
and  shows  me  his  recommendatory  letters  in  favor  of 
himself  and  drugs,  signed  by  a long  list  of  people.  He 
prefers,  he  says,  booksellers  to  druggists  as  his  agents, 
and  inquired  of  me  about  them  in  this  town.  He  seems 
fo  be  an  honest  man  enough,  with  an  intelligent  face- 


108 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


f 1 838. 


and  sensible  in  his  talk,  but  not  a gentleman,  wearing  a 
somewhat  shabby  brown  coat  and  mixed  pantaloons 
being  ill-shaven,  and  apparently  not  well  acquainted 
with  the  customs  of  a fashionable  hotel.  A simplicity 
about  him  that  is  likable,  though,  I believe,  he  comes 
from  Philadelphia.  — Naval  officers,  strolling  about 
town,  bargaining  for  swords  and  belts,  and  other  military 
articles;  with  the  tailor,  to  have  naval  buttons  put 
on  their  shore-going  coats,  and  for  their  pantaloons, 
suited  to  the  climate  of  the  Mediterranean.  It  is  the 
almost  invariable  habit  of  officers,  when  going  ashore  or 
staying  on  shore,  to  divest  themselves  of  all  military  or 
naval  insignia,  and  appear  as  private  citizens.  At  the 
Tremont,  young  gentlemen  with  long  earlocks,  — straw 
hats,  light,  or  dark-mixed.  — The  theatre  being  closed, 
the  play-bills  of  many  nights  ago  are  posted  up  against 
its  walls. 

July  4th. — A very  hot,  bright,  sunny  day;  town 
much  thronged ; booths  on  the  Common,  selling  ginger- 
bread, sugar-plums,  and  confectionery,  spruce  beer, 
lemonade.  Spirits  forbidden,  but  probably  sold  stealth- 
ily. On  the  top  of  one  of  the  booths  a monkey,  with  a 
tail  two  or  three  feet  long.  He  is  fastened  by  a cord, 
which,  getting  tangled  with  the  flag  over  the  booth,  he 
takes  hold  and  tries  to  free  it.  He  is  the  object  of 
much  attention  from  the  crowd,  and  played  with  by  the 
boys,  who  toss  up  gingerbread  to  him,  while  he  nibbles 
and  throws  it  down  again.  He  reciprocates  notice,  of 
some  kind  or  other,  with  all  who  notice  him.  There  is 
a sort  of  gravity  about  him.  A boy  pulls  his  long  tail, 
whereat  he  gives  a slight  squeak,  and  for  the  future 


1838  ] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


109 


elevates  it  as  much  as  possible.  Looking  at  the  same 
booth  by  and  by,  I find  that  the  poor  monkey  has  been 
obliged  to  betake  himself  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  wood- 
en joists  that  stick  up  high  above.  There  are  boys, 
going  about  with  molasses  candy,  almost  melted  down 
in  the  sun.  Shows : A mammoth  rat ; a collection  of 
pirates,  murderers,  and  the  like,  in  wax.  Constables  in 
considerable  number,  parading  about  with  their  staves 
sometimes  conversing  with  each  other,  producing  ar 
effect  by  their  presence,  without  having  to  interfere 
actively.  One  or  two  old  salts,  rather  the  worse  foi 
liquor : in  general  the  people  are  very  temperate.  At 
evening  the  effect  of  things  rather  more  picturesque  j 
some  of  the  booth-keepers  knocking  down  the  tempo- 
rary structures,  and  putting  the  materials  in  wagons  to 
carry  away ; other  booths  lighted  up,  and  the  lights 
gleaming  through  rents  in  the  sail-cloth  tops.  The  cus- 
tomers are  rather  riotous,  calling  loudly  and  whim- 
sically for  what  they  want ; a young  fellow  and  a 
girl  coming  arm  in  arm  ; two  girls  approaching  the 
booth,  and  getting  into  conversation  with  the  folks  there- 
about. Perchance  a knock-down  between  two  half 
sober  fellows  in  the  crowd : a knock-down  without  a 
heavy  blow,  the  receiver  being  scarcely  able  to  keep  his 
footing  at  any  rate.  Shoutings  and  hallooings,  laughter, 
oaths,  — generally  a good-natured  tumult ; and  the 
constables  use  no  severity,  but  interfere,  if  at  all,  in  a 
friendly  sort  of  way.  I talk  with  one  about  the  way  in 
which  the  day  has  passed,  and  he  bears  testimony  to 
the  orderliness  of  the  crowd,  but  suspects  one  booth  of 
selling  liquor,  and  relates  one  scuffle.  There  is  a talk- 
ative and  witty  seller  of  gingerbread  holding  forth  to 


no 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


dm  people  from  his  cart,  making  himself  quite  a noted 
character  by  his  readiness  of  remark  and  humor,  and 
disposing  of  all  his  wares.  Late  in  the  evening,  during 
the  fire-works,  people  are  consulting  how  they  are  to 
get  home,  — many  having  long  miles  to  walk  : a father, 
with  wife  and  children,  saying  it  will  be  twelve  o’clock 
before  they  reach  home,  the  children  being  already 
tired  to  death.  The  moon  beautifully  dark-bright,  not 
giving  so  white  a light  as  sometimes.  The  girls  all 
look  beautiful  and  fairy-like  in  it,  not  exactly  distinct, 
nor  yet  dim.  The  different  characters  of  female 
countenances  during  the  day, — mirthful  and  mischiev- 
ous, slyly  humorous,  stupid,  looking  genteel  generally, 
but  when  they  speak  often  betraying  plebeianism  by 
the  tones  of  their  voices.  Two  girls  are  very  tired, — 
one  a pale,  thin,  languid-looking  creature;  the  other 
plump,  rosy,  rather  overburdened  with  her  own  little 
body.  Gingerbread  figures,  in  the  shape  of  Jim  Crow 
and  other  popularities. 

In  the  old  burial-ground,  Charter  Street,  a slate  grave- 
stone, carved  round  the  borders,  to  the  memory  of 
“ Colonel  John  Hathorne,  Esq.,”  who  died  in  1717. 
This  was  the  witch-judge.  The  stone  is  sunk  deep  in- 
to the  earth,  and  leans  forward,  and  the  grass  grows 
very  long  around  it ; and,  on  account  of  the  moss,  it 
was  rather  difficult  to  make  out  the  date.  Other  Ha- 
thornes  lie  buried  in  a range  with  him  on  either  side. 

In  a corner  of  the  burial-ground,  close  under  Dr.  P s 

garden  fence,  are  the  most  ancient  stones  remaining  in 
the  grave-yard ; moss-grown,  deeply  sunken.  One 
'O  u Dr,  John  Swinnerton,  Physician,”  in  1688:  another 


1 8.18.  ] AMERICAN  NOTE-HOOKS.  11) 

to  his  wife.  There,  too,  is  the  grave  of  Nathaniel 
Mather,  the  younger  brother  of  Cotton,  and  mentioned 
in  the  Magnolia  as  a hard  student,  and  of  great  promise. 
“ An  aged  ipan  at  nineteen  years,”  saith  the  grave- 
stone. It  affected  me  deeply,  when  I had  cleared  away 
the  grass  from  the  half-buried  stone,  and  read  the  name. 
An  apple-tree  or  two  hang  over  these  old  graves,  and 
throw  down  the  blighted  fruit  on  Nathaniel  Mather’s 
grave,  — he  blighted  too.  It  gives  strange  ideas,  to 

think  how  convenient  to  Dr.  P ’s  family  this  burial- 

ground  is, — the  monuments  standing  almost  within 
arm’s  reach  of  the  side  windows  of  the  parlor  — and 
there  being  a little  gate  from  the  back  yard  through 
which  we  step  forth  upon  those  old  graves  aforesaid. 
And  the  tomb  of  the  P.  family  is  right  in  front,  and  close 
to  the  gate.  It  is  now  filled,  the  last  being  the  refugee 

Tory,  Colonel  P and  his  wife.  M.  P has 

trained  flowers  over  this  tomb,  on  account  of  her  friend- 
ly  relations  with  Colonel  P . 

It  is  not,  I think,  the  most  ancient  families  that  have 
tombs,  — their  ancestry  for  two  or  three  generations 
having  been  reposited  in  the  earth  before  such  a luxury 
as  a tomb  was  thought  of.  Men  who  founded  families, 
and  grew  rich,  a century  or  so  ago,  were  probably  the 
first. 

There  is  a tomb  of  the  Lyndes,  with  a slab  of  slate 
affixed  to  the  brick  masonry  on  one  side,  and  carved 
with  a coat  of  arms. 

July  10th . — A fishing  excursion,  last  Saturday 
afternoon,  eight  or  ten  miles  out  in  the  harbor.  A fine 
wind  out,  which  died  awa}'  towards  evening,  and  finally 


112 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


became  quite  calm.  We  cooked  our  fish  on  a rock 
named  “ Satan,”  about  forty  feet  long  and  twenty  broad, 
irregular  in  its  shape,  and  of  uneven  surface,  with  pools 
of  water  here  and  there,  left  by  the  tide,  — dark  brown 
rock,  or  whitish ; there  was  the  excrement  of  sea-fowl 
scattered  on  it,  and  a few  feathers.  The  water  was 
deep  around  the  rock,  and  swelling  up  and  downward, 
waving  the  sea-weed.  We  built  two  fires,  which,  as 
the  dusk  deepened,  cast  a red  gleam  over  the  rock  and 
the  waves,  and  made  the  sea,  on  the  side  away  from  the 
sunset,  look  dismal ; but  by  and  by  up  came  the  moon, 
red  as  a house  afire,  and,  as  it  rose,  it  grew  silvery 
bright,  and  threw  a line  of  silver  across  the  calm  sea. 
Beneath  the  moon  and  the  horizon,  the  commencement 
of  its  track  of  brightness,  there  was  a cone  of  blackness, 
or  of  very  black  blue.  It  was  after  nine  before  we 
finished  our  supper,  which  we  ate  by  firelight  and 
moonshine,  and  then  went  aboard  our  decked  boat  again, 

— no  safe  achievement  in  our  ticklish  little  dory.  To 
those  remaining  in  the  boat,  we  had  looked  very  pic- 
turesque around  our  fires,  and  on  the  rock  above  them, 

— our  statures  being  apparently  increased  to  the  size  of 
the  sons  of  Anak.  The  tide,  now  coming  up,  gradually 
dashed  over  the  fires  we  had  left,  and  so  the  rock  again 
became  a desert.  The  wind  had  now  entirely  died 
away,  leaving  the  sea  smooth  as  glass,  except  a quiet 
swell,  and  we  could  only  float  along,  as  the  tide  bore 
us,  almost  imperceptibly.  It  was  as  beautiful  a night 
as  ever  shone,  — calm,  warm,  bright,  the  moon  being  at 
/all.  On  one  side  of  us  was  Marblehead  light-house, 
on  the  other,  Baker’s  Island  ; and  both,  by  the  influence 
of  the  moonlight,  had  a silvery  hue,  unlike  their  ruddy 


1338- J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  113 

beacon  tinge  in  dark  nights.  They  threw  long  reflections 
across  the  sea,  like  the  moon.  There  we  floated  slowly 
with  the  tide  till  about  midnight,  and  then,  the  tide 
turning,  we  fastened  our  vessel  to  a pole,  which  marked 
a rock,  so  as  to  prevent  being  carried  back  by  the  re- 
flux. Some  of  the  passengers  turned  in  below  ; some 
stretched  themselves  on  deck ; some  walked  about, 
smoking  cigars.  I kept  the  deck  all  night.  Once  there 
was  a little  cat’s-paw  of  a breeze,  whereupon  we  untied 
ourselves  from  the  pole  ; but  it  almost  immediately  died 
away,  and  we  were  compelled  to  make  fast  again.  At 
about  two  o’clock,  up  rose  the  morning  star,  a round,  red, 
fiery  ball,  very  comparable  to  the  moon  at  its  rising,  and, 
getting  upward,  it  shone  marvellously  bright,  and  threw 
its  long  reflection  into  the  sea,  like  the  moon  and  the 
two  light-houses.  It  was  Venus,  and  the  brightest  star 
I ever  beheld  ; it  was  in  the  northeast.  The  moon 
made  but  a very  small  circuit  in  the  sky,  though  it 
shone  all  night.  The  aurora  borealis  shot  upwards  to 
the  zenith,  and  between  two  and  three  o’clock  the  first 
streak  of  dawn  appeared,  stretching  far  along  the  edge 
of  the  eastern  horizon,  — a faint  streak  of  light ; then  it 
gradually  broadened  and  deepened,  and  became  a rich 
saffron  tint,  with  violet  above,  and  then  an  ethereal  and 
transparent  blue.  The  saffron  became  intermixed  with 
splendor,  kindling  and  kindling,  Baker’s  Island  lights 
being  in  the  centre  of  the  brightness,  so  that  they  were 
extinguished  by  it,  or  at  least  grew  invisible.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  boat,  the  Marblehead  flight-house  still 
threw  out  its  silvery  gleam,  and  the  moon  shone  brightly 
too ; and  its  light  looked  very  singularly,  mingling  with 
the  growing  daylight.  It  was  not  like  the  moonshine* 

H 


1 1 4 


AMERICAN'  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[ 1*538. 


brightening  as  the  evening  twilight  deepens  ; for  now  it 
threw  its  radiance  over  the  landscape,  the  green  and 
other  tints  of  which  were  displayed  by  the  daylight, 
whereas  at  evening  all  those  tints  are  obscured.  It 
looked  like  a milder  sunshine,  — a dreamy  sunshine,  — 
the  sunshine  of  a world  not  quite  so  real  and  material 
as  this.  All  night  we  had  heard  the  Marblehead  clocks 
telling  the  hour.  Anon,  up  came  the  sun,  without 
any  bustle,  but  quietly,  his  antecedent  splendors  having 
gilded  the  sea  for  some  time  before.  It  had  been  cold 
towards  morning,  but  now  grew  warm,  and  gradually 
burning  hot  in  the  sun.  A breeze  sprang  up,  but  oui 
first  use  of  it  was  to  get  aground  on  Coney  Island  about 
five  o’clock,  where  we  lay  till  nine  or  thereabout,  and 
then  floated  slowly  up  to  the  wharf.  The  roar  of 
distant  surf,  the  rolling  of  porpoises,  the  passing  of 
shoals  of  fish,  a steamboat  smoking  along  at  a distance, 
were  the  scene  on  my  watch.  I fished  during  the  night, 
and,  feeling  something  on  the  line,  I drew  up  with  great 
eagerness  and  vigor.  It  was  two  of  those  broad-leaved 
sea-weeds,  with  stems  like  snakes,  both  rooted  on  a 
stone,  — all  which  came  up  together.  Often  these  sea- 
weeds root  themselves  on  muscles.  In  the  morning, 
our  pilot  killed  a flounder  with  the  boat-hook,  the  poor 
fish  thinking  himself  secure  on  the  bottom. 

Ladurlad,  in  the  Curse  of  Kehama,  on  visiting  a 
certain  celestial  region,  the  fire  in  his  heart  and  brain 
died  away  for  a season,  but  was  rekindled  again  on 
returning  to  earth.  So  may  it  be  with  me,  in  my 
projected  three  months’  seclusion  from  old  associa 
lions. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


115 


18^8.  J 


Punishment  of  a miser,  — to  pay  the  drafts  of  hia 
heir  in  his  tomb. 

July  13 tlu  - — A show  of  wax-figures,  consisting  al- 
most wholly  of  murderers  and  their  victims,  — Gibbs 
and  Hansley,  the  pirates,  and  the  Dutch  girl  whom 
Gibbs  murdered.  Gibbs  and  Hansley  were  admirably 
done,  as  natural  as  life  ; and  many  people  who  had 
known  Gibbs  would  not,  according  to  the  show;man,  be 
convinced  that  this  wrax-figure  was  not  his  skin  stuffed. 
The  twro  pirates  were  represented  with  halters  round 
their  necks,  just  ready  to  be  turned  off ; and  the  sheriff 
stood  behind  them,  with  his  watch,  waiting  for  the  mo- 
ment. The  clothes,  halter,  and  Gibbs’s  hair  were 
authentic.  E.  K.  Avery  and  Cornell,  — the  former  n 
figure  in  black,  leaning  on  the  back  of  a chair,  in  the 
attitude  of  a clergyman  about  to  pray  ; an  ugly  devil, 
said  to  be  a good  likeness.  Ellen  Jewett  and  R.  P. 
Robinson,  she  dressed  richly,  in  extreme  fashion,  and 
very  pretty  ; he  awTkwTard  and  stiff,  it  being  difficult  to 
stuff  a figure  to  look  like  a gentleman.  The  showman 
seemed  very  proud  of  Ellen  Jewett,  and  spoke  of  her 
somewhat  as  if  this  wax-figure  were  a real  creation. 
Strong  and  Mrs.  Whipple*  who  together  murdered  the 
husband  of  the  latter.  Lastly  the  Siamese  twins.  The 
showman  is  careful  to  call  his  exhibition  the  “ Statuary.” 
He  walks  to  and  fro  before  the  figures,  talking  of  the 
history  of  the  persons,  the  moral  lessons  to  be  drawn 
therefrom,  and  especially  of  the  excellence  of  the  wax- 
work.  He  has  for  sale  printed  histories  of  the  person- 
ages. He  is  a friendly,  easy-mannered  sort  of  a half- 
genteel  character,  whose  talk  has  been  moulded  by  the 


116 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


persons  who  most  frequent  such  a show  ; an  air  of 
superiority  of  information,  a moral  instructor,  with  a 
great  deal  of  real  knowledge  of  the  world.  He  invites 
his  departing  guests  to  call  again  and  bring  their  friends, 
desiring  to  know  whether  they  are  pleased ; telling 
that  he  had  a thousand  people  on  the  4th  of  July, 
and  that  they  were  all  perfectly  satisfied.  He  talks 
with  the  female  visitors,  remarking  on  Ellen  Jewett’s 
person  and  dress  to  them,  he  having  “ spared  no  expense 
in  dressing  her ; and  all  the  ladies  say  that  a dress 
never  set  better,  and  he  thinks  he  never  knew  a hand- 
somer female.”  He  goes  to  and  fro,  snuffing  the  candles, 
and  now  and  then  holding  one  to  the  face  of  a favorite 
figure.  Ever  and  anon,  hearing  steps  upon  the  stair- 
case, he  goes  to  admit  a new  visitor.  The  visitors,  — 
a half  bumpkin,  half  country-squire-like  man,  who  has 
something  of  a knowing  air,  and  yet  looks  and  listens 
with  a good  deal  of  simplicity  and  faith,  smiling  between 
whiles ; a mechanic  of  the  town  ; several  decent- 
looking  girls  and  women,  who  eye  Ellen  herself  with 
more  interest  than  the  other  figures,  — women  having 
much  curiosity  about  such  ladies ; a gentlemanly  sort 
of  person,  who  looks  somewhat  ashamed  of  himself  for 
being  there,  and  glances  at  me  knowingly,  as  if  to  in- 
timate that  he  was  conscious  of  being  out  of  place  ; a 
boy  or  two,  and  myself,  who  examine  wax  faces  and 
faces  of  flesh  with  equal  interest.  A political  or  other 
satire  might  be  made  by  describing  a show  of  wax-figures 
of  the  prominent  public  men  ; and,  by  the  remarks  of  the 
showman  and  the  spectators,  their  characters  and  public 
standing  might  be  expressed.  And  the  incident  of 
Judge  Tyler  as  related  by  E might  be  introduced 


.838. { 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


117 


A series  of  strange,  mysterious,  dreadful  events  to 
occur,  wholly  destructive  of  a person’s  happiness.  He 
to  impute  them  to  various  persons  and  causes,  but 
ultimately  finds  that  he  is  himself  the  sole  agent.  Mor- 
al, that  our  welfare  depends  on  ourselves. 

The  strange  incident  in  the  court  of  Charles  IX.  of 
France:  he  and  five  other  maskers  being  attired  in 
coats  of  linen  covered  with  pitch  and  bestuck  with  flax  to 
represent  hairy  savages.  They  entered  the  hall  dan- 
cing, the  five  being  fastened  together,  and  the  king  in 
front.  By  accident  the  five  were  set  on  fire  with  a 
torch.  Two  were  burned  to  death  on  the  spot,  two 
afterwards  died ; one  fled  to  the  buttery,  and  jumped 
into  a vessel  of  water.  It  might  be  represented  as  the 
fate  of  a squad  of  dissolute  men. 

A perception,  for  a moment,  of  one’s  eventual  and 
moral  self,  as  if  it  were  another  person,  — the  observant 
faculty  being  separated,  and  looking  intently  at  the 
qualities  of  the  character.  There  is  a surprise  when 
this  happens,  — this  getting  out  of  one’s  self,  — and  then 
the  observer  sees  how  queer  a fellow  he  is. 

July  21th.  — Left  home  [Salem]  on  the  23d  instant 
To  Boston  by  stage,  and  took  the  afternoon  cars  for 
Worcester.  A little  boy  returning  from  the  city,  several 
miles,  with  a basket  of  empty  custard-cups,  the  con- 
tents of  which  he  had  probably  sold  at  the  depot. 
Stopped  at  the  Temperance  House.  An  old  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Phillips  of  Boston,  got  into  conversation  with 
me,  and  inquired  very  freely  as  to  my  character,  tastes, 


118 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS* 


[1838. 


habits,  and  circumstances,  — a freedom  sanctioned  by 
his  age,  his  kindly  and  beneficent  spirit,  and  the  wisdom 
of  his  advice.  It  is  strange  how  little  impertinence 
depends  on  what  is  actually  said,  but  rather,  on  the 
manner  and  motives  of  saying  it.  “ I want  to  do  you 
good,”  said  he  with  warmth,  after  becoming,  apparently, 
moved  by  my  communications.  “ Well,  sir,”  replied  I. 
“ I wish  you  could,  for  both  our  sakes ; for  I have  no 
doubt  it  would  be  a great  satisfaction  to  you.”  He 
asked  the  most  direct  questions  of  another  young  man  • 
for  instance,  “ Are  you  married  ? ” having  before  as- 
certained that  point  with  regard  to  myself.  He  told 
me  by  all  means  to  act , in  whatever  way  ; observing 
that  he  himself  would  have  no  objection  to  be  a servant, 
if  no  other  mode  of  action  presented  itself. 

The  landlord  of  the  tavern,  a decent,  active,  grave, 
attentive  personage,  giving  me  several  cards  of  his 
house  to  distribute  on  my  departure.  A judge,  a 
stout,  hearty  country  squire,  looking  elderly ; a hale  and 
rugged  man,  in  a black  coat,  and  thin,  light  pantaloons. 

Started  for  Northampton  at  half  past  nine  in  the 
morning.  A respectable  sort  of  man  and  his  son  on 
their  way  to  Niagara,  — grocers,  I believe,  and  calcu- 
lating how  to  perform  the  tour,  subtracting  as  few  days 
as  possible  from  the  shop.  Somewhat  inexperienced 
travellers,  and  comparing  everything  advantageously 
or  otherwise  with  Boston  customs ; and  considering 
themselves  a long  way  from  home,  while  yet  short  of  a 
hundred  miles  from  it.  Two  ladies,  rather  good-look- 
ing. I rode  outside  nearly  all  day,  and  was  very 
sociable  with  the  driver  and  another  outside  passengei*. 
Towards  night,  took  up  an  essence-vendor  for  a short 


I838."j 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


119 


distance.  He  was  returning  home,  after  having  been 
out  on  a tour  two  or  three  weeks,  and  nearly  exhausted 
his  stock.  He  was  not  exclusively  an  essence-pedler, 
having  a large  tin  box,  which  had  been  filled  with  dry 
goods,  combs,  jewelry,  &c.,  now  mostly  sold  out.  His 
essences  were  of  anise-seed,  cloves,  red-cedar,  worm- 
wood, together  with  opodeldoc,  and  an  oil  for  the  hair. 
These  matters  are  concocted  at  Ashfield,  and  the  ped- 
lers  are  sent  about  with  vast  quantities.  Cologne-water 
is  among  the  essences  manufactured,  though  the  bottles 
have  foreign  labels  on  them.  The  pedler  was  good- 
natured  and  communicative,  and  spoke  very  frankly 
about  his  trade,  which  he  seemed  to  like  better  than 
farming,  though  his  experience  of  it-  is  yet  brief.  He 
spoke  of  the  trials  of  temper  to  which  pedlers  are  sub- 
jected, but  said  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  forbearing, 
because  the  same  road  must  be  travelled  again  and 
again.  The  pedlers  find  satisfaction  for  all  contumelies 
m making  good  bargains  out  of  their  customers.  This 
man  was  a pedler  in  quite  a small  way,  making  but  a 
narrow  circuit,  and  carrying  no  more  than  an  open 
basket  full  of  essences ; but  some  go  out  with  wagon- 
loads. He  himself  contemplated  a trip  westward,  in 
which  case  he  would  send  on  quantities  of  his  wares 
ahead  to  different  stations.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
intercourse  and  seeing  of  the  world.  He  pointed  out 
a rough  place  in  the  road,  where  his  stock  of  essences 
had  formerly  been  broken  by  a jolt  of  the  stage.  Wha/ 
a waste  of  sweet  smells  on  the  desert  air ! The  essence 
labels  stated  the  efficacy  of  the  stuffs  for  various  com- 
plaints of  children  and  grown  people.  The  driver  was 
an  acquaintance  of  the  pedler,  and  so  gave  him  his 


120 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838. 


drive  for  nothing,  though  the  pedler  pretended  to  wish 
to  force  some  silver  into  his  hand ; and  afterwards 
he  got  down  to  water  the  horses,  while  the  driver 
was  busied  with  other  matters.  This  driver  was  a 
little,  dark  ragamuffin,  apparently  of  irascible  temper, 
speaking  with  great  disapprobation  of  his  way-bill  not 
being  timed  accurately,  but  so  as  to  make  it  appear  as 
if  he  were  longer  upon  the  road  than  he  was.  As  he 
spoke,  the  blood  darkened  in  his  cheek,  and  his  eye 
looked  ominous  and  angry,  as  if  he  were  enraged  with 
the  person  to  whom  he  was  speaking;  yet  he  had  not 
real  grit,  for  he  had  never  said  a word  of  his  grievances 
to  those  concerned.  “ I mean  to  tell  them  of  it  by  and 
by.  I won’t  bear  it  more  than  three  or  four  times 
more,”  said  he. 

Left  Northampton  the  next  morning,  between  one 
and  two  o’clock.  Three  other  passengers,  whose  faces 
were  not  visible  for  some  hours ; so  we  went  on  through 
unknown  space,  saying  nothing,  glancing  forth  some- 
times to  see  the  gleam  of  the  lanterns  on  wayside  ob- 
jects. 

How  very  desolate  looks  a forest  when  seen  in  this 
way,  — as  if,  should  you  venture  one  step  within  its 
wild,  tangled,  many-stemmed,  and  dark-shadowed  verge, 
you  would  inevitably  be  lost  forever  Sometimes  we 
passed  a house,  or  rumbled  through  a village,  stopping 
perhaps  to  arouse  some  drowsy  postmaster,  who  appeared 
at  the  door  in  shirt  and  pantaloons,  yawning,  received 
the  mail,  returned  it  again,  and  was  yawning  when  last 
seen.  A few  words  exchanged  among  the  passengers, 
as  they  roused  themselves  from  their  half-slumbers,  or 
dreamy,  slumber-like  abstraction.  Meantime  daw’R 


1838.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS. 


121 


broke,  our  faces  became  partially  visible,  the  morning 
air  grew  colder,  and  finally  cloudy  day  came  on.  We 
found  ourselves  driving  through  quite  a romantic 
country,  with 'hills  or  mountains  on  all  sides,  a stream 
on  one  side,  bordered  by  a high,  precipitous  bank,  up 
which  would  have  grown  pines,  only  that,  losing  their 
footholds,  many  of  them  had  slipped  downward.  The 
road  was  not  the  safest  in  the  world ; for  often  the 
carriage  approached  within  two  or  three  feet  of  a preci- 
pice ; but  the  driver,  a merry  fellow,  lolled  on  his  box, 
with  his  feet  protruding  horizontally,  and  rattled  on  at 
the  rate  of  ten  miles  an  hour.  Breakfast  between  four 
and  five, — newly  caught  trout,  salmon,  ham,  boiled 
eggs,  and  other  niceties,  — truly  excellent.  A bunch  of 
pickerel,  intended  for  a tavern-keeper  farther  on,  was 
carried  by  the  stage-driver.  The  drivers  carry  a “ time- 
watch  ” enclosed  in  a small  wooden  case,  with  a lock,  so 
that  it  may  be  known  in  what  time  they  perform  their 
stages.  They  are  allowed  so  many  hours  and  minutes  to 
do  their  work,  and  their  desire  to  go  as  fast  as  possible, 
combined  with  that  of  keeping  their  horses  in  good 
order,  produces  about  a right  medium. 

One  of  the  passengers  was  a young  man  who  had 
been  in  Pennsylvania,  keeping  a school,  — a genteeJ 
enough  young  man,  but  not  a gentleman.  He  took 
neither  supper  nor  breakfast,  excusing  himself  from 
one  as  being  weary  with  riding  all  day,  and  from  the 
other  because  it  was  so  early.  He  attacked  me  for  a 
subscription  for  ^building  up  a destitute  church,”  of 
which  he  had  taken  an  agency,  and  had  collected  two 
or  three  hundred  dollars,  but  wanted  as  many  thou- 
sands. Betimes  in  the  morning,  on  the  descent  of  a 

VOL.  I.  6 


122 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS' 


[ 1838 


mountain,  we  arrived  at  a house  where  dwelt  the  mar* 
ried  sister  of  the  young  man,  whom  he  was  going  to 
visit. 

He  alighted,  saw  his  trunk  taken  off,  and  then,  hav 
ing  perceived  his  sister  at  the  door,  and  turning  to  bid 
us  farewell,  there  was  a broad  smile,  even  a laugh 
of  pleasure,  which  did  him  more  credit  with  me  than 
anything  else ; for  hitherto  there  had  been  a disagree- 
able scornful  twist  upon  his  face,  perhaps,  however, 
merely  superficial.  I saw,  as  the  stage  drove  off,  his 
comely  sister  approaching  with  a lighted-up  face  to 
greet  him,  and  one  passenger  on  the  front  seat  beheld 
them  meet  u Is  it  an  affectionate  greeting  ? ” inquired 
I.  “ Yes,”  said  he,  “ I should  like  to  share  it  ” ; whereby 
I concluded  that  there  was  a kiss  exchanged. 

The  highest  point  of  our  journey  was  at  Windsor, 
where  we  could  see  leagues  around,  over  the  mountain, 
a terribly  bare,  bleak  spat,  fit  for  nothing  but  sheep, 
and  without  shelter  of  woods.  We  rattled  downward 
into  a warmer  region,  beholding  as  we  went  the  sun 
shining  on  portions  of  the  landscape,  miles  ahead  of  us, 
while  we  were  yet  in  chillness  and  gloom.  It  is  prob- 
able that  during  a part  of  the  stage  the  mists  around 
us  looked  like  sky  clouds  to  those  in  the  lower  regions. 
Think  of  driving  a stage-coach  through  the  clouds ! 
Seasonably  in  the  forenoon  we  arrived  at  Pittsfield. 

Pittsfield  is  a large  village,  quite  shut  in  by  moun- 
tain walls,  generally  extending  like  a rampart  on  all 
sides  of  it,  but  with  insulated  great -hills  rising  here 
and  there  in  the  outline.  The  area  of  the  town  is  level ; 
its  houses  are  handsome,  mostly  wooden  and  white 
but  some  are  of  brick,  painted  deep  red,  the  bricks 


123 


18 j!\]  AMERICAN  NOTE-liOOKS. 

being  not  of  a healthy,  natural  color.  There  are  hand- 
some churches,  Gothic  and  others,  and  a court-house 
and  an  academy  ; the  court-house  having  a marble  front. 
There  is  a small  mall  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  in 
the  centre  of  the  mall  rises  an  elm  of  the  loftiest  and 
straightest  stem  that  ever  I beheld,  without  a branch  or 
leaf  upon  it  till  it  has  soared  seventy  or  perhaps  a 
hundred  feet  into  the  air.  The  top  branches  unfortu- 
nately have  been  shattered  somehow  or  other,  so  that 
it  does  not  cast  a broad  shade ; probably  they  were 
broken  by  their  own  ponderous  foliage.  The  central 
square  of  Pittsfield  presents  all  the  bustle  of  a thriving 
village,  — the  farmers  of  the  vicinity  in  light  wagons, 
sulkies,  or  on  horseback  ; stages  at  the  door  of  the 
Berkshire  Hotel,  under  the  stoop  of  which  sit  or  lounge 
the  guests,  stage-people,  and  idlers,  observing  or  assist- 
ing in  the  arrivals  and  departures.  Huge  trunks  and 
bandboxes  unladed  and  laded.  The  courtesy  shown  to 
ladles  in  aiding  them  to  alight,  in  a shower;  under 
umbrellas.  The  dull  looks  of  passengers,  who  have 
driven  all  night,  scarcely  brightened  by  the  excitement 
of  arriving  at  a new  place.  The  stage  agent  demand- 
ing the  names  of  those  who  are  going  on,  — some  to 
Lebanon  Springs,  some  to  Albany.  The  toddy-stick  is 
still  busy  at  these  Berkshire  public -houses.  At  din- 
ner soup  preliminary,  in  city  style.  Guests : the  court 
people ; Briggs,  member  of  Congress,  attending  a trial 
here;  horse-dealets,  country  squires,  store-keepers  in 
the  village,  &c.  My  room,  a narrow  crib  overlooking  a 
back  court-yard,  where  a young  man  and  a lad  were 
drawing  water  for  the  maid-servants,  — their  jokes, 
especially  those  of  the  lad,  of  whose  wit  the  elder  fel- 


124  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838. 

low,  being  a blockhead  himself,  was  in  great  admiration, 
and  declared  to  another  that  he  knew  as  much  as  them 
both.  Yet  he  was  not  very  witty.  Once  in  a while 
the  maid-servants  would  come  to  the  door,  and  hear 
and  respond  to  their  jokes,  with  a kind  of  restraint,  yet 
both  permitting  and  enjoying  them. 

After  or  about  sunset  there  was  a heavy  shower,  the 
thunder  rumbling  round  and  round  the  mountain  wall, 
and  the  clouds  stretching  from  rampart  to  rampart. 
When  it  abated,  the  clouds  in  all  parts  of  the  visible 
heavens  were  tinged  with  glory  from  the  west ; some 
that  hung  low  being  purple  and  gold,  while  the  higher 
ones  were  gray.  The  slender  curve  of  the  new  moon 
was  also  visible  brightening  amidst  the  fading  bright- 
ness of  the  sunny  part  of  the  sky.  There  are  marble 
quarries  in  and  near  Pittsfield,  which  accounts  for  the 
fact  that  there  are  none  but  marble  grave-stones  in  the 
burial-grounds ; some  of  the  monuments  well  carved  ; 
but  the  marble  does  not  withstand  the  wear  and  tear  of 
time  and  weather  so  well  as  the  imported  marble,  and 
the  sculpture  soon  loses  its  sharp  outline.  The  door  of 
one  tomb,  a wooden  door,  opening  in  the  side  of  a green 
mound,  surmounted  by  a marble  obelisk,  having  been 
shaken  from  its  hinges  by  the  late  explosion  of  the 
powder-house,  and  incompletely  repaired,  I peeped  in 
at  the  crevices,  and  saw  the  coffins.  It  was  the  tomb 
of  Rev.  Thomas  Allen,  first  minister  of  Pittsfield, 
deceased  in  1810.  It  contained  three  coffins,  all  with 
white  mould  on  their  tops : one,  a small  child’s,  rested 
upon  another,  and  the  other  was  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  tomb,  and  the  lid  was  considerably  displaced  ; but, 
the  tomb  being  dark,  I could  see  neither  corpse  nor 
skeleton. 


"d38.j  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  12/i 

Marble  also  occurs  here  in  North  Adams,  and  thus 
some  very  ordinary  houses  have  marble  doorsteps,  and 
even  the  stone  walls  are  built  of  fragments  of  marble. 

Wednesday, y 2 §th.  — Left  Pittsfield  at  about  eight 
o’clock  in  the  Bennington  stage,  intending  to  go  to 
Williamstown.  Inside  passengers,  — a new  married 
couple  taking  a jaunt.  The  lady,  with  a clear,  pale 
complexion,  and  a rather  pensive  cast  of  countenance, 
slender,  and  with  a genteel  figure  ; the  bridegroom,  a 
shopkeeper  in  New  York  probably,  a young  man  with 
a stout  black  beard,  black  eyebrows,  which  formed  one 
line  across  his  forehead.  They  were  very  loving ; and 
while  the  stage  stopped,  I watched  them,  quite  en- 
tranced in  each  other,  both  leaning  sideways  against  the 
back  of  the  coach,  and  perusing  their  mutual  comeli- 
ness, and  apparently  making  complimentary  observa- 
tions upon  it  to  one  another.  The  bride  appeared  the 
most  absorbed  and  devoted,  referring  her  whole  being 
to  him.  The  gentleman  seemed  in  a most  paradisiacal 
mood,  smiling  ineffably  upon  his  bride,  and,  when  she 
spoke,  responding  to  her  with  a benign  expression  of  mat- 
rimonial sweetness,  and,  as  it  were,  compassion  for  the 
“ weaker  vessel,”  mingled  with  great  love  and  pleasant 
humor.  It  was  very  droll.  The  driver  peeped  into 
the  coach  once,  and  said  that  he  had  his  arm  round  her 
waist.  He  took  little  freedoms  with  her,  tapping  her 
with  his  cane,  — love-pats;  and  she  seemed  to  see  noth- 
ing amiss.  They  kept  eating  gingerbread  all  along  the 
road,  and  dined  heartily  notwithstanding. 

Our  driver  was  a slender,  lathe-like,  round-backed, 
rough-bearded  thin-visaged,  middle-aged  Yankee,  who. 


i 26  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  f38r*8. 

became  very  communicative  during  our  drive.  He  was 
not  bred  a stage-driver,  but  had  undertaken  the  busi- 
ness temporarily,  as  a favor  to  his  brother-in-law.  He 
was  a native  of  these  Berkshire  mountains,  but  had  for- 
merly emigrated  to  Ohio,  and  had  returned  for  a time 
to  try  the  benefit  of  her  native  air  on  his  wife’s  declin- 
ing health,  — she  having  complaints  of  a consumptive 
nature.  He  pointed  out  the  house  where  he  was 
married  to  her,  and  told  the  name  of  the  country  squire 
who  tied  the  knot.  His  wife  has  little  or  no  chance  of 
recovery,  and  he  said  he  would  never  marry  again,  — 
this  resolution  being  expressed  in  answer  to  a remark 
of  mine  relative  to  a second  marriage.  He  has  no 
children.  I pointed  to  a hill  at  some  distance  before 
us,  and  asked  what  it  was.  “ That,  sir,”  said  he,  “ is  a 
very  high  hill.  It  is  known  by  the  name  of  Graylock.” 
He  seemed  to  feel  that  this  was  a more  poetical  epithet 
than  Saddleback,  which  is  a more  usual  name  for  it. 
Graylock,  or  Saddleback,  is  quite  a respectable  moun- 
tain ; and  I suppose  the  former  name  has  been  given  to 
it  because  it  often  has  a gray  cloud,  or  lock  of  gray  mist, 
upon  its  head.  It  does  not  ascend  into  a peak,  but 
heaves  up  a round  ball,  and  lias  supporting  ridges  on 
each  side.  Its  summit  is  not  bare,  like  that  of  Mount 
Washington,  but  covered  with  forests.  The  driver 
said,  that  several  years  since  the  students  of  Williams 
College  erected  a building  for  ar  observatory  on  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  and  employed  him  to  haul  the 
materials  for  constructing  it ; and  he  was  the  only  man 
who  had  driven  an  ox-team  up  Graylock.  It  was 
necessary  to  drive  the  team  round  and  round,  in  ascend 
ing.  President  Griffin  rode  up  on  horseback. 


1838. j AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  127 

Along  our  road  we  passed  villages,  and  often  facto- 
ries, the  machinery  whirring,  and  girls  looking  out  of  the 
windows  at  the  stage,  with  heads  averted  from  their 
tasks,  but  still  busy.  These  factories  have  two,  three, 
or  more  boaTding-houses  near  them,  two  stories  high, 
and  of  double  length,  — often  with  bean-vines  running 
up  round  the  doors,  and  with  altogether  a domestic 
look.  There  are  several  factories  in  different  parts  of 
North  Adams,  along  the  banks  of  a stream,  — a wild, 
highland  rivulet,  which,  however,  does  vast  work  of  a 
civilized  nature.  It  is  strange  to  see  such  a rough  and 
untamed  stream  as  it  looks  to  be  so  subdued  to  the  pur- 
poses of  man,  and  making  cottons  and  woollens,  sawing 
boards  and  marbles,  and  giving  employment  to  so  many 
men  and  girls.  And  there  is  a sort  of  picturesqueness 
in  finding  these  factories,  supremely  artificial  establish- 
ments, in  the  midst  of  such  wild  scenery.  For  now  the 
stream  will  be  flowing  through  a rude  forest,  with  the 
trees  erect  and  dark,  as  when  the  Indians  fished  there ; 
and  it  brawls  and  tumbles  and  eddies  over  its  rock- 
strewn  current.  Perhaps  there  is  a precipice,  hundreds 
of  feet  high,  beside  it,  down  which,  by  heavy  rains  or 
the  melting  of  snows,  great  pine-trees  have  slid  or 
fallen  headlong,  and  lie  at  the  bottom,  or  half-way 
down,  while  their  brethren  seem  to  be  gazing  at  their 
fall  from  the  summit,  and  anticipating  a like  fate.  And 
then,  taking  a turn  in  the  road,  behold  these  factories 
and  their  range  of  boarding-houses,  with  the  girls  look- 
ing out  of  the  windows  as  aforesaid!  And  perhaps  the 
wild  scenery  is  all  around  the  very  site  of  the  factory, 
and  mingles  its  impression  strangely  with  those  opposite 
ones.  These  observations  were  made  during  a walk 
yesterday. 


128  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838 

I bathed  in  a pool  of  the  stream  that  was  out  of  sight, 
and  where  its  brawling  waters  were  deep  enough  to 
cover  me,  when  I lay  at  length.  A part  of  the  road 
along  which  I walked  was  on  the  edge  of  a precipice, 
falling  down  straight  towards  the  stream  ; and  in  one 
place  the  passage  of  heavy  loads  had  sunk  it,  so  that 
soon,  probably,  there  will  be  an  avalanche,  perhaps 
carrying  a stage-coach  or  heavy  wagon  down  into  the 
bed  of  the  river. 

I met  occasional  wayfarers ; once  two  women  in  a 
cart,  — decent,  brown-visaged,  country  matrons,  — and 
then  an  apparent  doctor,  of  whom  there  are  seven  or 
thereabouts  in  North  Adams ; for  though  this  vicinity 
is  very  healthy,  yet  the  physicians  are  obliged  to  ride 
considerable  distances  among  the  mountain  towns,  and 
their  practice  is  very  laborious.  A nod  is  always  ex- 
changed between  strangers  meeting  on  the  road.  This 
morning  an  underwitted  old  man  met  me  on  a walk, 
and  held  a pretty  long  conversation,  insisting  upon 
shaking  hands  (to  which  I was  averse,  lest  his  hand 
should  not  be  clean),  and  insisting  on  his  right  to  do  so, 
as  being  “ a friend  of  mankind.”  He  was  a gray,  bald 
headed,  wrinkled- visaged  figure,  decently  dressed,  with 
cowhide  shoes,  a coat  on  one  arm,  and  an  umbrella  on 
the  other,  and  said  that  he  was  going  to  see  a widow 
in  the  neighborhood.  Finding  that  I was  not  provided 
with  a wife,  he  recommended  a certain  maiden  of  forty 
years,  who  had  three  hundred  acres  of  land.  He  spoke 
of  his  children,  who  are  proprietors  of  a circus  estab- 
lishment, and  have  taken  a granddaughter  to  bring  up 
in  their  way  of  life ; and  he  gave  me  a message  to  tell 
them  in  case  we  should  meet.  While  this  old  man  ^ 


ms.  | 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


129 


wandering  among  the  hills,  his  children  are  the  gaze  of 
multitudes.  He  told  me  the  place  where  he  was  born, 
directing  me  to  it  by  pointing  to  a wreath  of  mist  which 
lay  on  the  side  of  a mountain  ridge,  which  he  termed 
“ the  smoke  yonder  ’ Speaking  of  the  widow,  he  said  : 
u My  wife  has  been  dead  these  seven  years,  and  why 
should  not  I enjoy  myself  a little  ? ” His  manner  was 
full  of  quirks  and  quibs  and  eccentricities,  waving  his 
umbrella  and  gesticulating  strangely,  with  a great  deal 
of  action.  I suppose,  to  help  his  natural  foolishness,  he 
had  been  drinking.  We  parted,  he  exhorting  me  not 
to  forget  his  message  to  his  sons,  and  I shouting  after 
him  a request  to  be  remembered  to  the  widow.  Con- 
ceive something  tragical  to  be  talked  about,  and  much 
might  be  made  of  this  interview  in  a wild  road  among 
the  hills,  with  Graylock,  at  a great  distance,  looking 
sombre  and  angry,  by  reason  of  the  gray,  heavy  mist 
upon  his  head. 

The  morning  was  cloudy,  and  all  the  near  landscape 
lay  unsunned  ; but  there  was  sunshine  on  distant  tracts, 
in,  the  valleys,  and  in  specks  upon  the  mountain-tops. 
Between  the  ridges  of  hills,  there  are  long,  wide,  deep 
valleys,  extending  for  miles  and  miles,  with  houses 
scattered  along  them.  A bulky  company  of  mountains, 
swelling  round  head  over  round  head,  rises  insulated  by 
such  broad  vales  from  the  surrounding  ridges. 

I ought  to  have  mentioned  that  I arrived  at  North 
Adams  in  the  forenoon  of  the  26th,  and,  liking  the 
aspect  of  matters  indifferently  well,  determined  to  make 
my  head-quarters  here  for  a short  time. 

On  the  road  to  Northampton,  we  passed  a tame 
crow,  which  was  sitting  on  the  peak  of  a barn.  The 
6 * 


i 


130 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1836. 


crow  flew  down  from  its  perch,  and  followed  us  a great 
distance,  hopping  along  the  road,  and  flying,  with  its 
large,  black,  flapping  wings,  from  post  to  post  of  the  fence, 
or  from  tree  to  tree.  At  last  he  gave  up  the  pursuit  with 
a croak  of  disappointment.  The  driver  said,  perhaps 
correctly,  that  the  crow  had  scented  some  salmon  which 
was  in  a basket  under  the  seat,  and  that  this  was  the 
secret  of  his  pursuing  us.  This  would  be  a terrific 
incident  if  it  were  a dead  body  that  the  crow  scented, 
instead  of  a basket  of  salmon.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
in  a coach  travelling  along,  that  one  of  the  passengers 
suddenly  should  die,  and  that  one  of  the  indications  of 
his  death  would  be  this  deportment  of  the  crow. 

July  %§th.  — Remarkable  characters  : A disagree 
able  figure,  waning  from  middle  age,  clad  in  a pair  of 
tow  homespun  pantaloons,  and  a very  soiled  shirt,  bare- 
foot, and  with  one  of  his  feet  maimed  by  an  axe  ; also  an 
arm  amputated  two  or  three  inches  below  the  elbow. 
His  beard  of  a week’s  growth,  grim  and  grisly,  with  a 
general  effect  of  black  ; altogether  a disgusting  object. 
Yet  he  has  the  signs  of  having  been  a handsome  man 
in  his  idea,  though  now  such  a beastly  figure  that 
probably  no  living  thing  but  his  great  dog  would  touch 
him  without  an  effort.  Coming  to  the  stoop,  where 
several  persons  were  sitting,  “ Good  morning,  gentle- 
men,” said  the  wretch.  Nobody  answered  for  a time, 
till  at  last  one  said,  “ I don’t  know  whom  you  speak  to . 
not  to  me,  I ’m  sure  ” (meaning  that  he  did  not  claim  to 
be  a gentleman).  “ Why,  I thought  I spoke  to  you  all 
*t  once,”  replied  the  figure,  laughing.  So  he  sat  him- 
self down  on  the  lower  step  of  the  stoop,  and  began  to 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS* 


1838*] 


333 


talk  ; and,  the  conversation  being  turned  upon  his  bare 
feet  by  one  of  the  company,  he  related  the  story  of  his 
losing  his  toes  by  the  glancing  aside  of  an  axe,  and  with 
what  great  fortitude  he  bore  it.  Then  he  made  a tran- 
sition to  the  loss  of  his  arm,  and,  setting  his  teeth  and 
drawing  in  his  breath,  said  that  the  pain  was  dreadful ; 
but  this,  too,  he  seems  to  have  borne  like  an  Indian  ; and 
a person  testified  to  his  fortitude  by  saying  that  he 
did  not  suppose  there  was  any  feeling  in  him,  from 
observing  how  he  bore  it.  The  man  spoke  of  the  pain 
of  cutting  the  muscles,  and  the  particular  agony  at  one 
moment,  while  the  bone  was  being  sawed  asunder  ; and 
there  was  a strange  expression  of  remembered  anguish, 
as  he  shrugged  his  half-limb,  and  described  the  matter. 
Afterwards,  in  a reply  to  a question  of  mine,  whether  he 
still  seemed  to  feel  the  hand  that  had  been  amputated,  he 
answered  that  he  did  always  ; and,  baring  the  stump, 
he  moved  the  severed  muscles,  saying,  “ There  is  the 
thumb,  there  the  forefinger,’’  and  so  on.  Then  he  talked 
to  me  about  phrenology,  of  which  he  seems  a firm  be- 
liever and  skilful  practitioner,  telling  how  he  had  hit 
upon  the  true  character  of  many  people.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  sense  and  acuteness  in  his  talk,  and  some- 
thing of  elevation  in  his  expressions,  — perhaps  a 
studied  elevation,  — and  a sort  of  courtesy  in  his  manner ; 
but  his  sense  had  something  out  of  the  way  in  it ; there 
was  something  wild  and  ruined  and  desperate  in  his 
talk,  though  I can  hardly  say  what  it  was.  There  was 
a trace  of  the  gentleman  and  man  of  intellect  through 
his  deep  degradation  ; and  a pleasure  in  intellectual 
pursuits,  and  an  acuteness  and  trained  judgment,  which 
bespoke  a mind  once  strong  and  cultivated.  “ My  study 


132  AMERICAN  NOtE-ROOKS.  [1838. 

is  man,”  said  lie.  And  looking  at  me,  “ I do  not  knout 
your  name,”  he  said,  “but  there  is  something  of  the 
hawk-eye  about 'you,  too.” 

This  man  was  formerly  a lawyer  in  good  practice  ; but, 
taking  to  drinking,  was  reduced  to  the  lowest  state.  Yet 
not  the  lowest ; for  after  the  amputation  of  his  arm, 
being  advised  by  divers  persons  to  throw  himself  upon  the 
public  for  support,  he  told  them  that,  even  if  he  should 
lose  his  other  arm,  he  would  still  be  able  to  support 
himself  and  a servant.  Certainly  he  is  a strong-minded 
and  iron-constitutioned  man  ; but,  looking  at  the  stump 
of  his  arm,  he  said  that  the  pain  of  the  mind  was  a 
thousand  times  greater  than  the  pain  of  the  body. 
“ That  hand  could  make  the  pen  go  fast,”  said  he. 
Among  people  in  general,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  any 
greater  consideration  in  his  ruin  because  of  his  former 
standing  in  society.  He  supports  himself  by  making 
soap ; and,  on  account  of  the  offals  used  in  that  business, 
there  is  probably  rather  an  evil  odor  in  his  domicile. 
Talking  about  a dead  horse  near  his  house,  he  said  that 
he  could  not  bear  the  scent  of  it.  “ 1 should  not  think 
you  could  smell  carrion  in  that  house,”  said  a stage- 
agent.  Whereupon  the  soap-maker  dropped  his  head, 
with  a little  snort,  as  it  were,  of  wounded  feeling;  but 
immediately  said  that  he  took  all  in  good  part.  There 
was  an  old  squire  of  the  village,  a lawyer,  probably, 
whose  demeanor  was  different,  — with  a distance,  yet 
with  a kindliness  ; for  he  remembered  the  times  when 
they  met  on  equal  terms.  44  You  and  I,”  said  the 
squire,  alluding  to  their  respective  troubles  and  sick- 
nesses, 44  would  have  died  long  ago,  if  we  had  not  had 
the  courage  to  live.”  The  poor  devil  kept  talking  tc 


<toS.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  J.33 

jae,  long  after  everybody  else  had  left  the  stoop,  giving 
vent  to  much  practical  philosophy,  and  just  observation 
on  the  ways  of  men,  mingled  with  rather  more  assump- 
tion of  literature  and  cultivation  than  belonged  to  the 
present  condition  of  his  mind.  Meantime  his  great 
dog,  a,  cleanly-looking  and  not  ill-bred  dog,  being  the 
only  decent  attribute  appertaining  to  his  master,  — a 
well-natured  dog,  too,  and  receiving  civilly  any  demon- 
stration of  courtesy  from  other  people,  though  preserv- 
ing a certain  distance  of  deportment,  — this  great  dog 
grew  weary  of  his  master’s  lengthy  talk,  and  expressed 
his  impatience  to  be  gone  by  thrusting  himself  between 
his  legs,  rolling  over  on  his  back,  seizing  his  ragged 
trousers,  or  playfully  taking  his  maimed,  bare  foot  into 
his  mouth,  — using,  in  short,  the  kindly  and  humorous 
freedom  of  a friend,  with  a wretch  to  whom  all  are  free 
enough,  but  none  other  kind.  His  master  rebuked 
him,  but  with  kindness  too,  and  not  so  that  the  dog  felt 
himself  bound  to  desist,  though  he  seemed  willing  to 
allow  his  master  all  the  time  that  could  possibly  be 
spared.  And  at  last,  having  said  many  times  that  he 
must  go  and  shave  and  dress  himself,  — and  as  his  beard 
had  been  at  least  a week  growing,  it  might  have  seemed 
almost  a week’s  work  to  get  rid  of  it,  — he  rose  from 
the  stoop  and  went  his  way, — a forlorn  and  miserable 
thing  in  the  light  of  the  cheerful  summer  morning.  Yet 
he  seems  to  keep  his  spirits  up,  and  still  preserves  him- 
self a man  among  men,  asking  nothing  from  them  ; 
nor  is  it  clearly  perceptible  what  right  they  have  to 
scorn  him,  though  he  seems  to  acquiesce,  in  a manner, 
in  their  doing  so.  And  yet  he  cannot  wholly  have  lost 
his  self-respect ; and  doubtless  there  were  persons  ob 
the  stoop  more  grovelling  than  himself. 


134  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [183&. 

Another  character:  — A blacksmith  of  fifty  or  up- 
wards, a corpulent  figure,  big  in  the  paunch  and  enor- 
mous in  the  rear ; yet  there  is  such  an  appearance  of 
strength  and  robustness  in  his  frame,  that  his  corpulence 
appears  very  proper  and  necessary  to  him.  A pound 
of  flesh  could  not,  be  spared  from  his  abundance,  any 
more  than  from  the  leanest  man  ; and  he  walks  about 
briskly,  without  any  panting  or  symptom  of  labor  or 
pain  in  his  motion.  He  has  a round,  jolly  face,  always 
mirthful  and  humorous  and  shrewd,  and  the  air  of  a 
man  well  to  do,  and  well  respected,  yet  not  caring  much 
about  the  opinions  of  men,  because  his  independence  is 
sufficient  to  itself.  Nobody  would  take  him  for  other 
than  a man  of  some  importance  in  the  community, 
though  his  summer  dress  is  a tow-cloth  pair  of  panta- 
loons, a shirt  not  of  the  cleanest,  open  at  the  breast,  and 
the  sleeves  rolled  up  at  the  elbows,  and  a straw  hat. 
There  is  not  such  a vast  difference  between  this  costume 

and  that  of  Lawyer  H above  mentioned,  yet  never 

was  there  a greater  diversity  of  appearance  than  between 
these  two  men  ; and  a glance  at  them  would  be  sufficient 
to  mark  the  difference.  The  blacksmith  loves  his  glass, 
and  comes  to  the  tavern  for  it,  whenever  it  seems  good  to 
him,  not  calling  for  it  slyly  and  shyly,  but  marching 
steadily  to  the  bar,  or  calling  across  the  room  for  it 
to  be  prepared.  He  speaks  with  great  bitterness  against 
the  new  license  lawr,  and  vows  if  it  be  not  repealed  by 
fair  means  it  shall  be  by  violence,  and  that  he  will  be 
as  ready  to  cock  his  rifle  for  such  a cause  as  for  any 
other.  On  this  subject  his  talk  is  really  fierce ; but  as 
to  all  other  matters  he  is  good-natured  and  good-hearted, 
fond  of  joke,  and  shaking  his  jolly  sides  with  frequent 


2F3S.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  135 

laughter.  His  conversation  has  much  strong,  unlettered 
sense,  imbued  with  humor,  as  everybody’s  talk  is  in 
New  England. 

He  takes  a queer  position  sometimes,  — queer  for 
his  figure  particularly,  — straddling  across  a chair,  facing 
the  back,  with  his  arms  resting  thereon,  and  his  chin  on 
them,  for  the  benefit  of  conversing  closely  with  some  one. 
When  he  has  spent  as  much  time  in  the  oar-room  or 
under  the  stoop  as  he  chooses  to  spare,  he  gets  up  at 
once,  and  goes  off  with  a brisk,  vigorous  pace.  He  owns 
a mill,  and  seems  to  be  prosperous  in  the  world.  I 
know  no  man  who  seems  more  like  a man,  more  in- 
describably human,  than  this  sturdy  blacksmith. 

There  came  in  the  afternoon  a respectable  man  in 
gray  homespun  cloth,  who  arrived  in  a wagon,  I believe, 
and  began  to  inquire,  after  supper,  about  a certain  new 
kind  of  mill  machinery.  Being  referred  to  the  black- 
smith, who  owned  one  of  these  mills,  the  stranger  said  that 
he  had  come  from  Vermont  to  learn  about  the  matter. 
“ What  may  I call  your  name  ?”  said  he  to  the  black- 
smith. “ My  name  is  Hodge,”  replied  the  latter.  “I 
believe  I have  heard  of  you,”  said  the  stranger.  Then 
they  colloquied  at  much  length  about  the  various  pecu- 
liarities and  merits  of  the  new  invention.  The  stranger 
continued  here  two  or  three  days,  making  his  research- 
es, and  forming  acquaintance  with  several  millwrights 
and  others.  He  was  a man  evidently  of  influence  in  his 
neighborhood,  and  the  tone  of  his  conversation  was  in 
the  style  of  one  accustomed  to  be  heard  with  deference, 

though  all  in  a plain  and  homely  way.  Lawyer  H 

.ook  notice  of  this  manner ; for  the  talk  being  about  the 
nature  of  soap,  and  the  evil  odor  arising  from  that  pro* 


i#6  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838 

cess,  the  stranger  joined  in.  * There  need  not  be  an\ 
disagreeable  smell  in  making  soap,”  said  he.  “ Now  we 

are  to  receive  a lesson,”  said  H , and  the  remark  was 

particularly  apropos  to  the  large  wisdom  of  the  stranger’s 
tone  and  air. 

Then  he  gave  an  account  of  the  process  in  his  domes- 
tic establishment,  saying  that  he  threw  away  the  whole 
offals  of  the  hog,  as  not  producing  any  soap,  and  pre- 
served the  skins  of  the  intestines  for  sausages.  He 
seemed  to  be  hospitable,  inviting  those  with  whom  he 
did  business  to  take  ua  mouthful  of  dinner”  with  him, 
and  treating  them  with  liquors ; for  he  was  not  an  utter 
temperance  man,  though  moderate  in  his  potations.  I 
suspect  he  would  turn  out  a pattern  character  of  the 
upper  class  of  New  England  yeomen,  if  I had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  studying  him.  Doubtless  lie  had  been  select- 
man, representative,  and  justice,  and  had  filled  all  but 
weighty  offices.  He  was  highly  pleased  with  the  new 
mill  contrivance,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that,  when 
his  neighbors  saw  the  success  of  his,  it  would  be  exten- 
sively introduced  into  that  vicinity. 

Mem . The  hostlers  at  taverns  call  the  money  given 
them  “ pergasus,” — corrupted  from  “perquisites.” 
Otherwise  “ knock-down  money.” 

Remarkable  character  : — A travelling  surgeon-den- 
tist, who  has  taken  a room  in  the  North  Adams  House, 
and  sticks  up  his  advertising  bills  on  the  pillars  of  the 
piazza,  and  all  about  the  town.  He  is  a tall,  slim  young 
man,  six  feet  two,  dressed  in  a country-made  coat  of 
light  blue  (taken,  as  he  tells  me,  in  exchange  for  dental 
operations),  black  pantaloons,  and  clumsy,  cowhide] 
boots  Self-conceit  is  very  strongly  expressed  in  bin 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


137 


183ft  J 

nir;  and  a doctor  once  told  him  that  he  owed  his  life  to 
tnat  quality  ; for,  by  keeping  himself  so  stiffly  upright, 
he  opens  his  chest,  and  counteracts  a consumptive  ten- 
dency. He  is  not  only  a dentist,  which  trade  lie  follows 
temporarily,  but  a licensed  preacher  of  the  Baptist 
persuasion,  and  is  now  on  his  way  to  the  West  to  seek 
a place  of  settlement  in  his  spiritual  vocation.  What- 
ever education  he  possesses,  he  has  acquired  by  his  own 
exertions  since  the  age  of  twenty-one,  — he  being  now 
twenty-four.  We  talk  together  very  freely;  and  he 
has  given  me  an  account,  among  other  matters,  of  all  his 
love-affairs,  which  are  rather  curious,  as  illustrative  of 
the  life  of  a smart  young  country  fellow  in  relation  to 
the  gentle  sex.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  exquisite  self- 
conceit  which  characterizes  these  confidences,  and  which 
is  expressed  inimitably  in  his  face,  his  upturned  nose, 
and  mouth,  so  as  to  be  truly  a caricature  ; and  he 
seems  strangely  to  find  as  much  food  for  his  passion  in 
having  been  jilted  once  or  twice  as  in  his  conquests. 
It  is  curious  to  notice  his  revengeful  feeling  against  the 
false  ones,  — hidden  from  himself,  however,  under  the 
guise  of  religious  interest,  and  desire  that  they  may  be 
cured  of  their  follies. 

A little  boy  named  Joe,  who  haunts  about  the  bar- 
room and  the  stoop,  four  years  old,  in  a thin,  short 
jacket,  and  full-breeched  trousers,  and  bare  feet.  The 
men  tease  him,  and  put  quids  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth, 
under  pretence  of  giving  him  a fig;  and  he  gets  en- 
raged, and  utters  a peculiar,  sharp,  spiteful  cry,  and 
strikes  at  them  with  a stick,  to  their  great  mirth.  He 
is  always, in  trouble,  yet  will  not  keep  away.  They  de- 
ipatch  him  with  two  or  three  cents  to  buy  candy  and 


138 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


nuts  and  raisins.  They  set  him  down  in  a niche  of 
the  door,  and  tell  him  to  remain  there  a day  and  a half 
he  sits  down  very  demurely,  as  if  he  meant  to  fulfil  his 
pe  lance  ; but  a moment  after,  behold  ! there  is  little 
Joe  capering  across  the  street  to  join  two  or  three 
boys  who  are  playing  in  a wagon.  Take  this  boy  as 
the  germ  of  a tavern-haunter,  a country  roue , to  spend 
a wild  and  brutal  youth,  ten  years  of  his  prime  in  the 
State  Prison,  and  his  old  age  in  the  poorhouse. 

There  are  a great  many  dogs  kept  in  the  village,  and 
many  of  the  travellers  also  have  dogs.  Some  are  al- 
most always  playing  about ; and  if  a cow  or  a pig  be 
passing,  two  or  three  of  themc  scamper  forth  for  an 
attack.  Some  of  the  younger  sort  chase  pigeons,  wheel- 
ing as  they  wheel.  If  a contest  arises  between  two 
dogs,  a number  of  others  come  with  huge  barking  to 
join  the  fray,  though  I believe  that  they  do  not  really 
take  any  active  part  in  the  contest,  but  swell  the  up- 
roar by  way  of  encouraging  the  combatants.  When  a 
traveller  is  starting  from  the  door,  his  dog  often  gets  in 
front  of  the  horse,  placing  his  forefeet  down,  looking  the 
horse  in  the  face,  and  barking  loudly,  then,  as  the  horse 
comes  on,  running  a little  farther,  and  repeating  the 
process  ; and  this  he  does  in  spite  of  his  master’s  remon- 
strances, till,  the  horse  being  fairly  started,  the  dog 
follows  on  quietly.  One  dog,  a diminutive  little  beast, 
has  been  taught  to  stand  on  his  hind  legs,  and  rub  his 
face  with  his  paw,  which  he  does  with  an  aspect  of 
much  endurance  and  deprecation.  Another  springs  at 
people  whom  his  master  points  out  to  him,  barking  and 
pretending  to  bite.  These  tricks  make  much  mirth  in 
the  bar-room.  All  dogs,  of  whatever  different  sizes  and 


&38.  ] AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  139 

dissimilar  varieties,  acknowledge  the  common  bond  of 
species  among  themselves,  and  the  largest  one  does  not 
disdain  to  suffer  his  tail  to  be  smelt  of,  nor  to  recipro- 
cate that  courtesy  to  the  smallest.  They  appear  to  take 
much  interest  in  one  another ; but  there  is  always  a 
degree  of  caution  between  two  strange  dogs  when  they 
meet. 

July  31s£.  — A visit  to  what  is  called  “ Hudson’s 
Cave,”  or  “ Hudson’s  Falls,”  —the  tradition  being  that 
a man  by  the  name  of  Henry  Hudson,  many  years  ago, 
chasing  a deer,  the  deer  fell  over  the  place,  which  then 
first  became  known  to  white  men.  It  is  not  properly  a 
cave,  but  a fissure  in  a huge  ledge  of  marble,  through 
which  a stream  has  been  for  ages  forcing  its  way,  and 
has  left  marks  of  its  gradually  wearing  power  on  the 
tall  crags,  having  made  curious  hollows  from  the  sum- 
mit down  to  the  level  which  it  has  reached  at  the  present 
day.  The  depth  of  the  fissure  in  some  places  is  at 
least  fifty  or  sixty  feet,  perhaps  more,  and  at  several 
points  it  nearly  closes  over,  and  often  the  sight  of  the 
sky  is  hidden  by  the  interposition  of  masses  of  the  marble 
crags.  The  fissure  is  very  irregular,  so  as  not  to  be 
describable  in  words,  and  scarcely  to  be  painted, — 
jetting  buttresses,  moss-grown,  impending  crags,  with 
tall  trees  growing  on  their  verge,  nodding  over  the 
head  of  the  observer  at  the  bottom  of  the  chasm,  and 
rooted,  as  it  were,  in  air.  The  part  where  the  water 
works  its  way  down  is  very  narrow  ; but  the  chasm 
widens,  after  the  descent,  so  as  to  form  a spacious 
chamber  between  the  crags,  open  to  the  sky,  and  its 
floor  is  stiewn  with  fallen  fragments  of  marble,  and  trera 


140  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838. 

that  have  been  precipitated  long  ago,  and  are  heaped 
with  drift-wood,  left  there  by  the  freshets,  when  the 
scanty  stream  becomes  a considerable  waterfall.  One 
crag,  with  a narrow  ridge,  which  might  be  climbed 
without  much  difficulty,  protrudes  from  the  middle  of 
the  rock,  and  divides  the-  fall.  The  passage  through 
the  cave  made  by  the  stream  is  very  crooked,  and 
interrupted,  not  only  by  fallen  wrecks,  but  by  deep 
pools  of  water,  which  probably  have  been  forded  by 
few.  As  the  deepest  pool  occurs  in  the  most  uneven 
part  of  the  chasm,  where  the  hollows  in  the  sides  of  the 
crag  are  deepest,  so  that  each  hollow  is  almost  a cave 
by  itself,  I determined  to  wade  through  it.  There  was 
an  accumulation  of  soft  stuff  on  the  bottom,  so  that  the 
water  did  not  look  more  than  knee-deep  ; but,  finding 
that  my  feet  sunk  in  it,  I took  off  my  trousers,  and 
waded  through,  up  to  my  middle.  Thus  I reached  the 
most  interesting  part  of  the  cave,  where  the  whirlings 
of  the  stream  had  left  the  marks  of  its  eddies  in  the  solid 
marble,  all  up  and  down  the  two  sides  of  the  chasm. 
The  water  is  now  dammed  for  the  construction  of  two 
marble  saw-mills,  else  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  effect  the  passage  ; and  I presume  that,  for  years 
after  the  cave  was  discovered,  the  waters  roared  and 
tore  their  way  in  a torrent  through  this  part  of  the 
chasm.  While  I was  there,  I heard  voices,  and  a small 
stone  tumbled  down  ; and  looking  up  towards  the  narrow 
strip  of  bright  light,  and  the  sunny  verdure  that  peeped 
c*vrer  the  top,  — looking  up  thither  from  the  deep, 
gloomy  depth, — I saw  two  or  three  men  ; and,  not  liking 
to  be  to  them  the  most  curious  part  of  the  spectacle, 
I waded  back,  and  put  on  my  clothes  The  marble 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


141 


i 836.] 


crags  are  overspread  with  a concretion,  which  makes 
them  look  as  gray  as  granite,  except  where  the  continual 
flow  of  water  keeps  them  of  a snowy  whiteness.  If  they 
were  so  white  all  over,  it  would  be  a splendid  show. 
There  is  a marble  quarry  close  in  the  rear,  above  the 
cave,  and  in  process  of  time  the  whole  of  the  crags  will 
be  quarried  into  tombstones,  doorsteps,  fronts  of  edi- 
fices, fireplaces,  &c.  That  will  be  a pity.  On  such 
portions  of  the  walls  as  are  within  reach,  visitors  have 
sculptured  their  initials,  or  names  at  full  length  ; and 
the  white  letters  showing  plainly  on  the  gray  surface, 
they  have  more  obvious  effect  than  such  inscriptions 
generally  have.  There  was  formerly,  I believe,  a com- 
plete arch  of  marble,  forming  a natural  bridge  over  the 
top  of  the  cave  ; but  this  is  no  longer  so.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  broad  chamber  of  the  cave,  standing  in  its  shad- 
ow, the  effect  of  the  morning  sunshine  on  the  dark  or 
bright  foliage  of  the  pines  and  other  trees  that  cluster 
on  the  summits  of  the  crags  was  particularly  beauti- 
ful ; and  it  was  strange  how  such  great  trees  had  rooted 
themselves  in  solid  marble,  for  so  it  seemed. 

After  passing  through  this  romantic  and  most  pictu- 
resque spot,  the  stream  goes  onward  to  turn  factories. 
Here  its  voice  resounds  within  the  hollow  crags  ; there 
it  goes  onward,  talking  to  itself,  with  babbling  din,  of  its 
own  wild  thoughts  and  fantasies,  — the  voice  of  soli- 
tude and  the  wilderness,  — loud  and  continual,  but 
which  yet  does  not  seem  to  disturb  the  thoughtful 
wanderer,  co  that  he  forgets  there  is  a noise.  It  talks 
along  its  storm-strewn  path  ; it  talks  beneath  tall  preci- 
pices and  high  banks,  — a voice  that  has  been  the  same 
for  innumerable  ages  ; «*nd  yet,  if  you  listen,  you  will 


142  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838 

perceive  a continual  change  and  variety  in  its  babblo 
and  sometimes  it  seems  to  swell  louder  upon  the  ear 
than  at  others,  — in  the  same  spot,  I mean.  By  and 
by  man  makes  a dam  for  it,  and  it  pours  over  it,  still 
making  its  voice  heard,  while  it  labors.  At  one  shop 
for  manufacturing  the  marble,  I saw  the  disk  of  a sun- 
dial as  large  as  the  top  of  a hogshead,  intended  for 
Williams  College  ; also  a small  obelisk,  and  numerous 
gravestones.  The  marble  is  coarse-grained,  but  of  a 
very  brilliant  whiteness.  It  is  rather  a pity  that  the 
cave  is  not  formed  of  some  worthless  stone. 

In  the  deep  valleys  of  the  neighborhood,  where  the 
shadows  at  sunset  are  thrown  from  mountain  to  moun- 
tain, the  clouds  have  a beautiful  effect,  flitting  high  over 
them,  bright  with  heavenly  gold.  It  seems  as  if 
the  soul  might  rise  up,  from  the  gloom,  and  alight  upon 
them  and  soar  away.  Walking  along  one  of  the  valleys 
the  other  evening,  while  a pretty  fresh  breeze  blew 
across  it,  the  clouds  that  were  skimming  over  my  head 
seemed  to  conform  themselves  to  the  valley’s  shape. 

At  a distance,  mountain  summits  look  close  together, 
almost  as  if  forming  one  mountain,  though  in  reality  a 
village  lies  in  the  depths  between  them. 

A steam-engine  in  a factory  to  be  supposed  to  possess 
a malignant  spirit.  It  catches  one  man’s  arm,  and  pulls 
it  off ; seizes  another  by  the  coat-tails,  and  almost  grap- 
ples him  bodily ; catches  a girl  by  the  hair,  and  scalps 
her ; and  finally  draws  in  a man,  and  crushes  him  to 
death. 

The  one-armed  soap-maker,  Lawyer  H , wears 

an  iron  hook,  which  serves  him  instead  of  a hand  fop 
the  purpose  of  holding  on.  They  nickname  him  “ Black 
Hawk.” 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


18138. 


*i 

J 


143 


North  Adams  still.  — The  village,  viewed  from  the 
top  of  a hill  to  the  westward  at  sunset,  has  a peculiarly 
happy  and  peaceful  look.  It  lies  on  a level,  surrounded 
by  hills,  and  seems  as  if  it  lay  in  the  hollow  of  a large 
hand.  The  Union  Village  may  be  seen,  a manufacturing 
place,  extending  up  a gorge  of  the  hills.  It  is  amusing 
to  set  all  the  distributed  property  of  the  aristocracy 
and  commonalty,  the  various  and  conflicting  interests 
of  the  town,  the  loves  and  hates,  compressed  into  a 
sp&ce  which  the  eye  takes  in  as  completely  as  the 
arrangement  of  a tea-table.  The  rush  of  the  streams 
comes  up  the  hill  somewhat  like  the  sound  of  a city. 

The  hills  about  the  village  appear  very  high  and 
steep  sometimes,  when  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  are 
thrown  blackly  upon  them,  while  there  is  sunshine  else 
where ; so  that,  seen  in  front,  the  effect  of  their  gradual 
slope  is  lost.  These  hills,  surrounding  the  town  on  all 
sides,  give  it  a snug  and  insulated  air ; and,  viewed 
from  certain  points,  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  how  to 
get  out,  without  climbing  the  mountain  ridges  ; but  the 
roads  wind  away  and  accomplish  the  passage  without 
ascending  very  high.  Sometimes  the  notes  of  a horn  or 
bugle  may  be  heard  sounding  afar  among  these  passes 
of  the  mountains,  announcing  the  coming  of  the  stage- 
coach from  Bennington  or  Troy  or  Greenfield  or  Pitts- 
field. * 

There  are  multitudes  of  sheep  among  the  hills,  and 
they  appear  very  tame  and  gentle ; though  sometimes, 
like  the  Wicked,  they  u flee  when  no  man  pursueth.” 
But,  climbing  a rude,  rough,  rocky,  stumpy,  ferny 
height  yesterday,  one  or  two  of  them  stood  and  stared 
at  me  with  great  earnestness*  I passed  on  quietly,  but 


144 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOO&S 


f 1833- 


soon  heard  an  immense  baa-ing  up  the  hill,  and  all  the 
sheep  came  galloping  and  scrambling  after  me,  baa-ing 
with  all  their  might  in  innumerable  voices,  running  in  a 
compact  body,  expressing  the  utmost  eagerness,  as  if 
they  sought  the  greatest  imaginable  favor  from  me ; and 
so  they  accompanied  me  down  the  hillside,  — a most 
ridiculous  cortege . Doubtless  they  had  taken  it  into 
their  heads  that  I brought  them  salt. 

The  aspect  of  the  village  is  peculiarly  beautiful  to- 
wards sunset,  when  there  are  masses  of  cloud  about  the 
sky,  — the  remnants  of  a thunder-storm.  These  clouds 
throw  a shade  upon  large  portions  of  the  rampart  of 
hills,  and  the  hills  towards  the  west  are  shaded  of  course  ; 
the  clouds  also  make  the  shades  deeper  in  the  village, 
and  thus  the  sunshine  on  the  houses  and  trees,  and  along 
the  street,  Is  a bright,  rich  gold.  The  green  is  deeper 
in  consequence  of  the  recent  rain. 

The  doctors  walk  about  the  village  with  their  sad- 
dle-bags on  their  arms,  one  always  with  a pipe  in  his 
mouth. 

A little  dog,  named  Snapper,  the  same  who  stands  on 
his  hind  legs,  appears  to  be  a roguish  little  dog,  and 
the  other  day  he  stole  one  of  the  servant-girl’s  shoes, 
and  ran  into  the  street  with  it.  Being  pursued,  he 
would  lift  the  shoe  in  his  mouth  (while  it  almost  dragged 
on  the  ground),  and  run  a little  way,  then  lie  down 
with  his  paws  on  it,  and  wait  to  be  pursued  again. 

August  1 \th. — This  morning,  it  being  cloudy  and 
boding  of  rain,  the  clouds  had  settled  upon  the  moun- 
tains, both  on  the  summits  and  ridges,  all  round  the 
town,  so  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  of  gaining 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


145 


access  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  unless  by  climbing  above 
the  clouds.  By  and  by  they  partially  dispersed,  giving 
glimpses  of  the  mountain  ramparts  through  their  ob- 
scurity, the  separate  clouds  lying  heavily  upon  the 
mountain’s  breast.  In  warm  mornmgs,  after  rain,  the 
mist  breaks  forth  from  the  forests  on  the  ascent  of  the 
mountains,  like  smoke,  — the  smoke  of  a volcano ; 
then  it  soars  up,  and  becomes  a cloud  in  heaven.  But 
these  clouds  to-day  were  real  rain-clouds.  Sometime^, 
it  is  said,  while  laboring  up  the  mountain-side,  they 
suddenly  burst,  and  pour  down  their  moisture  in  a cata- 
ract, sweeping  all  before  it. 

Every  new  aspect  of  the  mountains,  or  view  from  a 
different  position,  creates  a surprise  in  the  mind. 

Scenes  and  characters:  — A young  country  fellow, 
twenty  or  thereabouts,  decently  dressed,  pained  with  the 
toothache.  A doctor,  passing  on  horseback,  with  his 
black  leather  saddle-bags  behind  him,  a thin,  frosty- 
haired  man.  Being  asked  to  operate,  he  looks  at  the 
tooth,  lances  the  gum,  and  the  fellow  being  content  to 
be  dealt  with  on  the  spot,  he  seats  himself  in  a chair  on 
the  stoop  with  great  heroism.  The  doctor  produces  a 
rusty  pair  of  iron  forceps ; a man  holds  the  patient’s 
head  ; the  doctor  perceives  that,  it  being  a difficult  tooth 
to  get  at,  wedged  between  the  two  largest  in  his  jaws, 
he  must  pull  very  hard ; and  the  instrument  is  intro- 
duced A turn  of  the  doctor’s  hand  ; the  patient  begins 
to  utter  a cry,  but  the  tooth  comes  out  first,  with  four 
prongs.  The  patient  gets  up,  half  amazed,  pays  the 
doctor  ninepence,  pockgfrs  the  tooth,  and  the  spectators 
are  in  glee  and  admiration. 

There  was  a fat  woman,  a stage  passenger  to-day,  — 

VOL.  i.  7 


j 


146  AMERICAN  NOTE-HOOKS.  [1868 

a wonder  howr  she  could  possibly  get  through  the  door 
which  seemed  not  so  wide  as  she.  When  she  put  her 
foot  on  the  step,  the  stage  gave  a great  lurch,  she  joking 
all  the  while.  A great,  coarse,  red-faced  dame.  Other 
passengers,  — three  or  four  slender  William stown  stu- 
dents, a young  girl,  and  a man  with  one  leg  and  two 
crutches. 

One  of  the  most  sensible  men  in  this  village  is  a plain, 
tall,  elderly  person,  who  is  overseeing  the  mending  of  a 
road,  — humorous,  intelligent,  with  much  thought  about 
matters  and  things  ; and  while  at  work  he  has  a sort  of 
dignity  in  handling  the  hoe  or  crow-bar,  which  shows 
him  to  be  the  chief.  In  the  evening  he  sits  under  the 
stoop,  silent  and  observant  from  under  the  brim  of  his 
hat ; but,  occasion  calling,  he  holds  an  argument  about 
the  benefit  or  otherwise  of  manufactories  or  other 
things.  A simplicity  characterizes  him  more  than  ap- 
pertains to  most  Yankees. 

A man  in  a pea-green  frock-coat,  with  velvet  collar. 
Another  in  a flowered  chintz  frock-coat.  There  is  a 
great  diversity  of  hues  in  garments.  A doctor,  a stout, 
tall,  round-paunched,  red-faced,  brutal-looking  old 
fellow,  who  gets  drunk  daily.  He  sat  down  on  the  step 
of  our  stoop,  looking  surly,  and  speaking  to  nobody ; 
then  got  up  and  walked  homeward,  with  a morose 
sw’agger  and  a slight  unevenness  of  gait,  attended  by  a 
fine  Newfoundland  dog. 

A barouche  with  driver  returned  from  beyond 
Greenfield  or  Troy  empty,  the  passengers  being  left 
at  the  former  place.  The  driver  stops  here  for  the 
night,  and,  while  washing,  enters  into  talk  with  an  old 
man  abDut  the  different  roads  over  the  mountain, 


1838.  J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


147 


People  washing  themselves  at  a common  basin  in  the 
bar-room  ! and  using  the  common  hair-brushes ! perhaps 
with  a consciousness  of  praiseworthy  neatness ! 

A man  with  a cradle  on  his  shoulder,  having  been 
cradling  oats.  I attended  a child’s  funeral  yesterday 
afternoon.  There  was  an  assemblage  of  people  in  a 
plain,  homely  apartment.  Most  of  the  men  were  diessed 
in  their  ordinary  clothes,  and  one  or  two  were  in  shirt- 
sleeves. The  coffin  was  placed  in  the  midst  of  us,  cov- 
ered with  a velvet  pall.  A bepaid  clergyman  prayed 
(the  audience  remaining  seated,  while  he  stood  up  at 
the  head  of  the  coffin),  read  a passage  of  Scripture  and 
commented  upon  it.  While  he  read  and  prayed  and 
expounded  there  was  a heavy  thunder-storm  rumbling 
among  the  surrounding  hills,  and  the  lightning  dashed 
fiercely  through  the  gloomy  room  ; and  the  preacher 
alluded  to  God’s  voice  of  thunder. 

It  is  the  custom  in  this  part  of  the  country  — and 
perhaps  extensively  in  the  interior  of  New  England  — 
to  bury  the  dead  first  in  a charnel-house,  or  common 
tomb,  where  they  remain  till  decay  has  so  far  pro- 
gressed as  to  secure  them  from  the  resurrectionists. 
They  are  then  reburied,  with  certain  ceremonies,  in 
their  own  peculiar  graves. 

O.  E.  S , a widower  of  forty  or  upwards,  with  a 

son  of  twelve  and  a pair  of  infant  twins.  He  is  a sharp, 
shrewd  Yankee,  with  a Yankee’s  license  of  honesty 
He  drinks  sometimes  more  than  enough,  and  is  guilty 
of  peccadilloes  with  the  fair  sex  ; yet  speaks  most  affec- 
tionately of  his  wife,  and  is  a fond  and  careful  father. 
He  is  a tall,  thin,  hard-featured  man,  with  a sly  expres- 
sion of  almost  hidden  grave  humor,  as  if  there  were  some 


118  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838. 

deviltry  pretty  constantly  in  his  mind,  — which  is  proba- 
bly the  case.  His  brother  tells  me  that  he  was  driven 
almost  crazy  by  the  loss  of  his  wife.  It  appears  to  me 
that  men  are  more  affected  by  the  deaths  of  their  wrives 
than  wives  by  the  deaths  of  their  husbands.  Orrin 
S smokes  a pipe,  as  do  many  of  the  guests. 

A walk  this  forenoon  up  the  mountain  ridge  that 
w'alls  in  the  town  towards  the  east.  The  road  is  cut 
zigzag,  the  mountain  being  generally  as  steep  as  the 
roof  of  a house ; yet  the  stage  to  Greenfield  passes  over 
this  road  two  or  three  times  a week.  Graylock  rose 
up  behind  me,  appearing,  with  its  two  summits  and  a 
long  ridge  between,  like  a huge  monster  crouching 
dowrn  slumbering,  with  its  head  slightly  elevated.  Gray- 
lock is  properly  the  name  for  the  highest  elevation.  It 
appeared  to  better  advantage  the  higher  the  point 
from  which  I viewed  it.  There  were  houses  scattered 
here  and  there  up  the  mountain-side,  growing  poorer  as 
[ ascended ; the  last  that  I passed  was  a mean  log- 
out, rough,  rude,  and  dilapidated,  with  the  smoke  issu- 
ing from  a chimney  of  small  stones,  plastered  writh  clay  : 
around  it  a garden  of  beans,  with  some  attempt  at  flow- 
ers, and  a green  creeper  running  over  the  side  of  the 
cottage.  Above  this  point  there  were  various  excellent 
views  of  mountain  scenery,  far  off  and  near,  and 
one  village  lying  below  in  the  hollowT  vale. 

Having  climbed  so  far  that  the  road  seemed  now  to 
go  dowmward,  I retraced  my  steps.  There  was  a wag 
on  descending  behind  me  ; and  as  it  followed  the  zig- 
zag of  the  road  I could  hear  the  voices  of  the  men 
high  over  my  head,  and  sometimes  I caught  a glimpse 
of  the  wagon  almost  perpendicularly  above  me,  while  I 


183d.j  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  149 

was  looking  almost  perpendicularly  down  to  the  log-hut 
aforementioned.  Trees  were  thick  on  either  hand,  — 
oaks,  pines,  and  others  ; and  marble  occasionally  peeped 
up  in  the  road  ; and  there  was  a lime-kiln  by  the  way- 
side,  ready  for  burning. 

Graylock  had  a cloud  on  his  head  this  morning,  tho 
base  of  a heavy  white  cloud.  The  distribution  of  the 
sunshine  amid  mountain  scenery  is  very  striking  ; one 
does  not  see  exactly  why  one  spot  should  be  in  deep 
obscurity  while  others  are  all  bright.  The  clouds 
throw  their  shadows  upon  the  hillsides  as  they  mow 
slowly  along,  — a transitory  blackness. 

I passed  a doctor  high  up  the  road  in  a sulky,  with 
his  black  leather  saddle-bags. 

Hudson’s  Cave  is  formed  by  Hudson’s  Brook.  There 
is  a natural  arch  of  marble  still  in  one  part  of  it.  The 
cliffs  are  partly  made  verdant  with  green  moss,  chief- 
1 y gray  with  oxidation ; on  some  parts  the  white  of 
the  marble  is  seen ; in  interstices  grow  brake  and 
other  shrubs,  so  that  there  is  naked  sublimity  seen 
through  a good  deal  of  clustering  beauty.  Above,  the 
birch,  poplars,  and  pines  grow  on  the  utmost  verge 
of  the  cliffs,  which  jut  far  over,  so  that  they  are  sus- 
pended in  air ; and  whenever  the  sunshine  finds  its  way 
into  the  depths  of  the  chasm,  the  branches  wave  across 
it.  There  is  a lightness,  however,  about  their  foliage, 
which  greatly  relieves  what  would  otherwise  be  a 
gloomy  scene.  After  the  passage  of  the  stream  through 
the  cliffs  of  marble,  the  cliffs  separate  on  either  side, 
and  leave  it  to  flow  onward ; intercepting  its  passage, 
however,  by  fragments  of  marble,  some  of  them  huge 
ones,  which  ‘he  cliffs  have  flung  down,  thundering  into 


150 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


[1835 


the  bed  of  the  stream  through  numberless  ages.  Doubt 
less  some  of  these  immense  fragments  had  trees  grow- 
ing on  them,  which  have  now  mouldered  away.  De- 
caying trunks  are  heaped  in  various  parts  of  the  gorge. 
The  pieces  ol  marble  that  are  washed  by  the  water 
are  of  a snow-white,  and  partially  covered  with  a bright 
green  water-moss,  making  a beautiful  contrast. 

Among  the  cliffs,  strips  of  earth-beach  extend  down- 
ward, and  trees  and  large  shrubs  root  themselves  in 
that  earth,  thus  further  contrasting  the  nakedness  of  the 
stone  with  their  green  foliage.  But  the  immediate 
part  where  the  stream  forces  its  winding  passage  throug 
the  rock  is  stern,  dark,  and  mysterious. 

Along  the  road,  where  it  runs  beneath  a steep,  ther 
are  high  ridges,  covered  with  trees,  — the  dew  of  mid 
night  damping  the  earth,  far  towards  midnoon.  I ob 
served  the  shadows  of  water-insects,  as  they  swam  ii 
the  pools  of  a stream.  Looking  down  a streamlet,  ] 
saw  a trunk  of  a tree,  which  has  been  overthrown  by 
the  wind,  so  as  to  form  a bridge,  yet  sticking  up  all  its 
branches,  as  if  it  were  unwilling  to  assist  anybody 
over. 

Green  leaves,  following  the  eddies  of  the  rivulet, 
were  now  borne  deep  under  water,  and  now  emerged. 
Great  uprooted  trees,  adhering  midway  down  a preci- 
pice of  earth,  hung  with  their  tops  downward. 

There  is  an  old  man,  selling  the  meats  of  butternuts 
under  the  stoop  of  the  hotel.  He  makes  that  his  station 
during  a part  of  the  season.  He  was  dressed  in  a dark 
thin  coat,  ribbed  velvet  pantaloons,  and  a sort  of  moc- 
casons,  or  shoes,  appended  to  the  legs  of  woollen  stock 
tngs.  He  had  on  a straw  hat,  and  his  hail  was  gray 


1838.] 


.kMEUICAN  NOTE-IiOOKS. 


151 


with  a loig,  thin  visage.  His  nuts  were  contained  in  a 
square  tin  box,  having  two  compartments,  one  for  the 
nuts,  and  another  for  maple  sugar,  which  he  sells  in 
small  cakes.  He  had  three  small  tin  measures  for 
nuts,  — one  at  one  cent,  others  at  two,  four,  and  six 
cents ; and  as  fast  as  they  were  emptied,  he  filled  them 
again,  and  put  them  on  the  top  of  his  box.  He  smoked 
a pipe,  and  talked  with  one  man  about  whether  it  would 
be  worth  while  to  grow  young  again,  and  the  duty  of 
being  contented  with  old  age ; about  predestination  and 
free-will  and  other  metaphysics.  I asked  him  what  his 
sales  amounted  to  in  the  course  of  a day.  He  said  that 
butternuts  did  not  sell  so  well  as  walnuts,  which  are 
not  yet  in  season  ; that  he  might  to-day  have  sold  fifty 
cents’  worth ; of  walnuts,  never  less  than  a dollar’s 
worth,  often  more  ; and  when  he  went  round  with  a 
caravan,  he  had  sold  fifteen  dollars’  worth  per  day,  and 
once  as  much  as  twenty  dollars’  worth.  This  promises 
to  be  an  excellent  year  for  walnuts.  Chestnuts  have 
been  scarce  for  two  or  three  years.  He  had  one  hun- 
dred chestnut-trees  on  his  own  land,  and  last  year  he 
offered  a man  twenty-five  cents  if  he  would  find  him  a 
quart  of  good  chestnuts  on  them.  A bushel  of  walnuts 
would  cost  about  ten  dollars.  He  wears  a pair  of  sil- 
ver-rimmed spectacles. 

A drunken  fellow  sat  down  by  him,  and  bought  a 
cent’s  worth  of  his  butternuts,  and  inquired  what  he 
would  sell  out  to  him  for.  The  old  man  made  an  esti- 
mate, though  evidently  in  jest,  and  then  reckoned  his 
box,  measures,  meats,  and  what  little  maple  sugar  he 
had,  at  four  dollars.  He  had  a very  quiet  manner,  and 
expressed  an  intention  of  going  to  the  Commeneemeni 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


152 


[1838. 


at  Williarastown  to-morrow.  His  name,  I believe,  is 
Captain  Gavett. 


Wednesday,  August  1 5th. — I went  to  Commence- 
ment at  Williams  College,  — five  miles  distant. 
Ad  the  tavern  were  students  with  ribbons,  pink  or  blue, 
fluttering  from  their  button-holes,  these  being  the  badges 
of  rival  societies.  There  was  a considerable  gathering 
of  people,  chiefly  arriving  in  wagons  or  buggies,  some 
in  barouches,  and  very  few  in  chaises.  The  most  char- 
acteristic part  of  the  scene  was  where  the  pedlers,  ginger- 
bread-sellers, &c.,  were  collected,  a few  hundred  yards 
from  the  meeting-house.  There  was  a pedler  there 
from  New  York  State,  who  sold  his  wares  by  auction, 
and  I could  have  stood  and  listened  to  him  all  day  long. 
Sometimes  he  would  put  up  a heterogeny  * of  articles 
in  a lot,  — as  a paper  of  pins,  a lead  pencil,  and  a 
shaving-box,  — and  knock  them  all  down,  perhaps  for 
ninepence.  Bunches  of  lead  pencils,  steel  pens,  pound- 
cakes of  shaving-soap,  gilt  finger-rings,  bracelets,  clasps, 
and  other  jewelry,  cards  of  pearl  buttons,  or  steel 
(“  There  is  some  steel  about  them,  gentlemen,  for  my 
brother  stole  ’em,  and  I bore  him  out  in  it  bundles 
of  wooden  combs,  boxes  of  matches,  suspenders,  and,  in 
short,  everything, — dipping  his  hand  down  into  his 
wares  with  the  promise  of  a wonderful  lot,  and  pro- 
ducing, perhaps,  a bottle  of  opodeldoc,  and  joining  it 
with  a lead  pencil,  — and  when  he  had  sold  several 
things  of  the  same  kind,  pretending  huge  surprise  at 
finding  “just  one  more,”  if  the  lads  lingered  ; saying,  “ J 

* This  is  a word  made  by  Mr.  Hawthorne,  but  one  that  win 
needed.  — S.  H. 


ItTd.J  AMERICAN'  NOTE-  ROOKS.  153 

could  not  afford  to  steal  them  for  the  price ; for  the  re- 
morse of  conscience  would  be  worth  more,”  — all  the 
tiirn  keeping  an  eye  upon  those  who  bought,  calling  for 
the  pay,  making  change  with  silver  or  bills,  and  de- 
ciding on  the  goodness  of  banks  ; and  saying  to  the 
boys  who  climbed  upon  his  cart,  u Fall  down,  roll  down, 
tumble  down,  only  get  down  ” ; and  uttering  every- 
thing in  the  queer,  humorous  recitative  in  which  he 
sold  his  articles.  Sometimes  he  would  pretend  that  a 
person  had  bid,  either  by  word  or  wink,  and  raised  a 
laugh  thus  ; never  losing  his  self-possession,  nor  getting 
out  ot  humor.  When  a man  asked  whether  a bill  were 
good : “ No  ! do  you  suppose  I ’d  give  you  good  money  ? ” 
When  he  delivered  an  article,  he  exclaimed,  “ You  ’re 
the  lucky  man,”  setting  off  his  wares  with  the  most 
extravagant  eulogies.  The  people  bought  very  freely, 
and  seemed  also  to  enjoy  the  fun.  One  little  boy 
bought  a shaving-box,  perhaps  meaning  to  speculate 
upon  it.  This  character  could  not  possibly  be  over- 
drawn ; and  he  was  really  excellent,  with  his  allusion 
to  what  was  passing,  intei  mingled,  doubtless,  with  a 
good  deal  that  was  studied.  He  was  a man  between 
thirty  and  forty,  with  a face  expressive  of  other  ability, 
as  well  as  of  humor. 

A good  many  people  were  the  better  or  the  worse  for 
liquor.  There  was  one  fellow,  — named  Randall,  I 
think,  — a round-shouldered,  bulky,  ill-hung  devil,  with 
a pale,  sallow  skin,  black  beard,  and  a sort  of  grin 
upon  his  face,  — a species  of  laugh,  yet  not  so  much 
mirthful  as  indicating  a strange  mental  and  moral  twist. 
He  was  very  riotous  in  the  crowd,  elbowing,  thrusting, 
seizing  hold  of  people ; and  at  last  a ring  was  formed* 
7* 


154 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


T 1838 


and  a regular  wrestling-match  commenced  between 
him  and  a farmer-looking  man.  Randall  brandished 
liis  legs  about  in  the  most  ridiculous  style,  but  proved 
himself  a good  wrestler,  and  finally  threw  his  antago- 
nist. He  got  up  with  the  same  grin  upon  his  features, 
- — not  a grin  of  simplicity,  but  intimating  knowingness. 
When  more  depth  or  force  of  expression  was  required, 
he  could  put  on  the  most  strangely  ludicrous  and  ugly 
aspect  (suiting  his  gesture  and  attitude  to  it)  that  can 
be  imagined.  I should  like  to  see  this  fellow  when  he 
was  perfectly  sober. 

There  were  a good  many  blacks  among  the  crowd. 
I suppose  they  used  to  emigrate  across  the  border,  while 
New  York  was  a slave  State.  There  were  enough  of 
them  to  form  a party,  though  greatly  in  the  minority ; 
and,  a squabble  arising,  some  of  the  blacks  were  knocked 
down,  and  otherwise  maltreated.  I saw  one  old  negro, 
a genuine  specimen  of  the  slave  negro,  without  any  of 
the  foppeiy  of  the  race  in  our  part  of  the  State, — an  old 
fellow,  with  a bag,  I suppose  of  broken  victuals,  on  his 
shoulder,  and  his  pockets  stuffed  out  at  his  hips  with 
the  like  provender ; full  of  grimaces  and  ridiculous 
antics,  laughing  laughably,  yet  without  affectation ; 
then  talking  with  a strange  kind  of  pathos  about  the 
whippings  he  used  to  get  while  he  was  a slave  ; — a 
singular  creature,  of  mere  feeling,  with  some  glimmer 
ing  of  sense.  Then  there  was  another  gray  old  negro, 
but  of  a different  stamp,  politic,  sage,  cautious,  yet  with 
boldness  enough,  talking  about  the  rights  of  his  race, 
yet  so  as  not  to  provoke  his  audience  ; discoursing  of 
the  advantage  of  living  under  laws,  and  the  wonders 
that  might  ensue,  in  that  very  assemblage,  if  there 


1 838- AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  155 

,7 ere  no  laws ; in  the  midst  of  this  deep  wisdom,  turn 
ing  off  the  anger  of  a half-drunken  fellow  by  a merry 
retort,  a leap  in  the  air,  and  a negro’s  laugh.  I was 
interested  — there  being  a drunken  negro  ascending  the 
meeting-house  steps,  and  near  him  three  or  four  well- 
dressed  and  decent  negro  wenches  — to  see  the  look 
of  scorn  and  shame  and  sorrow  and  painful  sympathy 
which  one  of  them  assumed  at  this  disgrace  of  her 
color. 

The  people  here  show  out  their  character  much  more 
strongly  than  they  do  with  us ; there  was  not  the 
quiet,  silent,  dull  decency  of  our  public  assemblages, 
but  mirth,  anger,  eccentricity,  — all  manifesting  them- 
selves freely. 

There  were  many  watermelons  for  sale,  and  people 
burying  their  muzzles  deep  in  the  juicy  flesh  of  them. 
There  were  cider  and  beer.  Many  of  the  people  had 
their  mouths  half  opened  in  a grin,  which,  more  than 
anything  else,  I think,  indicates  a low  stage  of  refine- 
ment. A low-crowned  hat  — very  low  — is  common. 
They  are  respectful  to  gentlemen. 

A bat  being  startled,  probably,  out  of  the  meeting 
house,  by  the  commotion  around,  flew  blindly  about  in 
the  sunshine,  and  alighted  on  a man’s  sleeve.  I looked 
at  him,  — a droll,  winged,  beast-insect,  creeping  up  the 
man’s  arm,  not  over-clean,  and  scattering  dust  on  the 
man’s  coat  from  his  vampire  wings.  The  man  stared 
at  him,  and  let  the  spectators  stare  for  a minute,  and 
then  shook  him  gently  off ; and  the  poor  devil  took  a 
flight  across  the  green  to  the  meeting-house,  and  then, 
I believe,  alighted  on  somebody  else.  Probably  he  was 
nut  to  death.  Bats  are  very  numerous  in  these  parts. 


156 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[183d 


There  was  a drunken  man,  annoying  people  with  his 
senseless  talk  and  impertinences,  impelled  to  perform 
eccentricities  by  an  evil  spirit  in  him ; and  a pale  little 
boy,  with  a bandaged  leg,  whom  his  father  brought  out 
of  the  tavern  and  put  into  a barouche.  Then  the  boy 
heedfully  placed  shawls  and  cushions  about  his  leg  to 
support  it,  his  face  expressive  of  pain  and  care,  — not 
transitory,  but  settled  pain,  of  long  and  forcedly  patient 
endurance ; and  this  painful  look,  perhaps,  gave  his 
face  more  intelligence  than  it  might  otherwise  have 
had,  though  it  was  naturally  a sensitive  face.  Well- 
dressed  ladies  were  in  the  meeting-house  in  silks  and 
cambrics, — the  sunburnt  necks  in  contiguity  with  the 
delicate  fabrics  of  the  dresses  showing  the  yeomen’s 
daughters. 

Country  graduates,  — rough,  brown-featured,  school- 
master-looking, half-bumpkin,  half-scholarly  figures,  in 
black  ill-cut  broadcloth,  — their  manners  quite  spoilt 
by  what  little  of  the  gentleman  there  was  in  them. 

The  landlord  of  the  tavern  keeping  his  eye  on  a 
man  whom  he  suspected  of  an  intention  to  bolt.* 

The  next  day  after  Commencement  was  bleak  and 
rainy  from  midnight  till  midnight,  and  a good  many 
guests  were  added  to  our  table  in  consequence.  Among 
them  were  some  of  the  Williamstown  students,  gentle- 
manly young  fellows,  with  a brotherly  feeling  for  each 
other,  a freedom  about  money  concerns,  a half-boyish, 
half-manly  character ; and  my  heart  warmed  to  them. 
They  took  their  departure  — two  for  South  Adams 
and  two  across  the  Green  Mountains  — in  the  midst  of 

* A word  meaning  in  Worcester,  I find,  “ to  spring  out  witlr 
i*peed  and  suddenness.” — S.  H. 


1838,  | AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  15? 

the  rain.  There  was  one  of  the  graduates  with  hi& 
betrothed,  and  his  brother-in-law  and  wife,  who  stayed 
during  the  day,  — the  graduate  the  very  model  of  a 
country  schoolmaster  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  being  his 
Commencement  suit  of  black  broadcloth  and  pumps. 
Fie  is  engaged  as  assistant  teacher  of  the  academy  at 
Shelburne  Falls.  There  was  also  the  high  sheriff  of 
Berkshire,  Mr.  Twining,  with  a bundle  of  writs  under 
his  arm,  and  some  of  them  peeping  out  of  his  pockets. 
Also  several  Trojan  men  and  women,  who  had  been  to 
Commencement.  Likewise  a young  clergyman,  gradu- 
ate of  Brown  College,  and  student  of  the  Divinity  School 
at  Cambridge.  He  had  come  across  the  Hoosic,  or 
Green  Mountains,  about  eighteen  miles,  on  foot,  from 
Charlemont,  where  he  is  preaching;  and  had  been  to 
Commencement.  Knowing  little  of  men  and  matters, 
and  desiring  to  know  more,  he  was  very  free  in  making 
acquaintance  with  people,  but  could  not  do  it  hand- 
somely. A singular  smile  broke  out  upon  his  face  on 
slight  provocation.  He  was  awkward  in  his  manners, 
yet  it  was  not  an  ungentlemanly  awkwardness,  — in- 
telligent as  respects  book-learning,  but  much  deficient 
in  worldly  tact.  It  was  pleasant  to  observe  his  con- 
sciousness of  this  deficiency,  and  how  he  strove  to  rem- 
edy it  by  mixing  as  much  as  possible  with  people  and 
sitting  almost  all  day  in  the  bar-room  to  study  character. 
Sometimes  he  would  endeavor  to  contribute  his  share 
to  the  general  amusement,  — as  by  growling  comically, 
to  provoke  and  mystify  a dog;  and  by  some  bashful 
and  half-apropos  observations. 

In  the  afternoon  there  came  a fresh  bevy  of  students 
onward  from  Williamstown ; but  they  made  only  a 


158  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [183& 

transient  visit,  though  it  was  still  raining.  These  were 
a rough-hewn*  heavy  set  of  fellows,  from  the  hills  and 
woods  in  this  neighborhood,  — great,  unpolished  bump- 
kins, who  had  grown  up  farmer-boys,  and  had  little  of 
the  literary  man,  save  green  spectacles  and  black  broad- 
cloth (which  all  of  them  had  not),  talking  with  a broad 
accent,  and  laughing  clown-like,  while  sheepishness 
overspread  all,  together  with  a vanity  at  being  students. 
One  of  the  party  was  six  feet  seven  inches  high,  and  all 
his  herculean  dimensions  were  in  proportion  ; his  fea- 
tures, too,  were  cast  in  a mould  suitable  to  his  stature. 
This  giant  was  not  ill-looking,  but  of  a rather  intelli- 
gent aspect.  His  motions  were  devoid  of  grace,  but 
yet  had  a rough  freedom,  appropriate  enough  to  such 
a figure.  These  fellows  stayed  awhile,  talked  uncouth- 
(y  about  college  matters,  and  started  in  the  great  open 
wagon  which  had  brought  them  and  their  luggage 
Hither.  We  had  a fire  in  the  bar-room  almost  all  day, 
— a great,  blazing  fire,  — and  it  was  pleasaut  to  have 
this  day  of  bleak  November  weather,  and  cheerful  fire- 
side talk,  and  wet  garments  smoking  in  the  fireside 
heat,  still  in  the  summer-time.  Thus  the  day  wore  on 
with  a sort  of  heavy,  lazy  pleasantness  ; and  night  set 
in,  still  stormy. 

In  the  morning  it  was  cloudy,  but  did  not  rain,  and  I 
went  with  the  little  clergyman  to  Hudson’s  Cave.  The 
stream  which  they  call  the  North  Branch,  and  into  which 
Hudson’s  Brook  empties,  was  much  swollen,  and  tum- 
bled and  dashed  and  whitened  over  the  rocks,  and 
formed  real  cascades  over  the  dams,  and  rushed  fast 
along  the  side  of  the  cliffs,  which  had  their  feet  in  it. 
Its  color  was  deep  brown,  owing  to  the-  washing  of  the 


1838.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  159 

banks,  which  the  rain  had  poured  into  it.  Licking 
back,  we  could  see  a cloud  on  Graylock  ; but  on  other 
parts  of  Saddle  Mountain  there  were  spots  of  sunshine, 
some  of  most  glorious  brightness,  contrasting  with  the 
general  gloom  of  the  sky  and  the  deep  shadow  which 
lay  on  the  earth. 

We  looked  at  the  spot  where  the  stream  makes  its 
entrance  into  the  marble  cliff,  and  it  was  (this  morning, 
at  least)  the  most  striking  view  of  the  cave.  The  water 
dashed  down  in  a misty  cascade,  through  what  looked 
like  the  portal  of  some  infernal  subterranean  structure ; 
and  far  within  the  portal  we  could  see  the  mist  and  the 
falling  water  ; and  it  looked  as  if,  but  for  these  obstruc- 
tions of  view,  we  might  have  had  a deeper  insight  into 
a gloomy  region. 

After  our  return,  the  little  minister  set  off  for  his 
eighteen  miles’  journey  across  the  mountain ; and  I 
was  occupied  the  rest  of  the  forenoon  with  an  affair  of 
stealing,  — a woman  of  forty  or  upwards  being  accused 
of  stealing  a needle-case  and  other  trifles  from  a factory- 
girl  at  a boarding-house.  She  came  here  to  take  pas- 
sage in  a stage  ; but  Putnam,  a justice  of  the  peace, 
examined  her,  and  afterwards  ordered  her  to  be  searched 
by  Laura  and  Eliza,  the  chambermaid  and  table-wait- 
er. Hereupon  was  much  fun  and  some  sympathy. 
They  searched,  and  found  nothing  that  they  sought, 
though  she  gave  up  a pair  of  pantalets,  which  she 
pretended  to  have  taken  by  mistake.  Afterwards,  she 
being  in  the  parlor,  I went  in  ; and  she  immediately 
began  to  talk  to  me,  giving  me  an  account  of  the  affair, 
speaking  with  the  bitterness  of  a wronged  person,  with 
% sparkling  eye,  yet  with  great  fluency  and  self-pos* 


160 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


session.  She  is  a yellow,  thin,  and  battered  old  thing, 
yet  rather  eountry-lady-like  in  aspect  and  manners 
I heard  Eliza  telling  another  girl  about  it,  under 
my  window ; and  she  seemed  to  think  that  the  poor 
woman’s  reluctance  to  be  searched  arose  from  the  poor- 
ness of  her  wardrobe  and  of  the  contents  of  her  band- 
box. 

At  parting,  Eliza  said  to  the  girl,  “ What  do  you 
think  I heard  somebody  say  about  you  ? That  it  was 
enough  to  make  anybody’s  eyes  start  square  out  of  their 
head  to  look  at  such  red  cheeks  as  yours.”  Where- 
upon the  girl  turned  off  the  compliment  with  a laugh, 
and  took  her  leave. 

There  is  an  old  blind  dog,  recognizing  his  friends  by 
the  sense  of  smell.  I observe  the  eager  awkwardness 
with  which  he  accomplishes  the  recognition,  his  care- 
fulness in  descending  steps,  and  generally  in  his  loco- 
motion. He  evidently  has  not  forgotten  that  he  once 
had  the  faculty  of  sight ; for  he  turns  his  eyes  with 
earnestness  towards  those  who  attract  his  attention, 
though  the  orbs  are  plainly  sightless. 

Here  is  an  Englishman,  — a thorough-going  Tory 
and  Monarchist,  — upholding  everything  English,  gov- 
ernment, people,  habits,  education,  manufactures,  modes 
of  living,  and  expressing  his  dislike  of  all  American- 
isms, — and  this  in  a quiet,  calm,  reasonable  way,  as 
if  it  were  quite  proper  to  live  in  a country  and  draw 
his  subsistence  from  it,  and  openly  abuse  it.  He  im- 
ports his  clothes  from  England,  and  expatiates  on  the 
superiority  of  English  boots,  huts,  cravats,  &c.  He  is 
a man  of  unmalleable  habits,  and  wears  his  dress  of  the 
same  fasnion  as  'hat  of  twenty  yoars  ago. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


161 


1838  J 


August  \&th. — There  has  come  one  of  the  proprie- 
tors, or  superintendents,  of  a caravan  of  animals, — 
a large,  portly-paunched,  dark-complexioned,  brandy- 
burnt,  heavy-faced  man  of  about  fifty  ; with  a diminu- 
tive nose  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  his  face,  — thick 
lips  ; nevertheless  he  has  the  air  of  a man  who  has  seen 
much,  and  derived  such  experience  as  was  for  his  purpose. 
Also  it  is  the  .air  of  a man  not  in  a subordinate  station, 
though  vulgar  and  coarse.  He  arrived  in  a wagon, 
with  a span  of  handsome  gray  horses,  and  ordered  din 
ner.  He  had  left  his  caravan  at  Worcester,  and  came 
from  thence  and  over  the  mountain  hither,  to  settle 
stopping-places  for  the  caravan.  The  nearest  place  to 
this,  I believe,  was  Charlemont ; the  penultimate  at 
Greenfield.  In  stopping  at  such  a village  as  this,  they 
do  not  expect  much  profit,  if  any;  but  would  be  content 
with  enough  to  pay  their  travelling  expenses,  while  they 
look  to  gather  gain  at  larger  places.  In  this  village,  it 
seems,  the  selectmen  had  resolved  not  to  license  any  pub- 
lic exhibition  of  the  kind  ; and  it  was  interesting  to  at- 
tend to  the  consultations  whether  it  were  feasible  to  over- 
come the  objections,  and  what  might  be  the  best  means. 

Orrin  S and  the  chance  passers-by  took  part  in 

the  discussion.  The  scruple  is  that  the  factory-girls, 
having  ready  money  by  them,  spend  it  for  these  non- 
senses, quitting  their  work  ; whereas,  were  it  a mere 
farming-town,  the  caravan  would  take  little  in  propor- 
tion to  their  spendings.  The  opinion  generally  was  that 
the  license  could  not  be  obtained  ; and  the  port* y man’s 
face  grew  darker  and  downcast  at  the  prospect ; and  he 
took  out  a travelling-map,  and  looked  it  carefully  over, 
to  discover  some  other  station.  This  is  something  like 


& 


162  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838. 

the  planning  of  the  march  of  an  army.  It  was  finally 
resolved  to  enlist  the  influence  of  a brother-in-law  of 
the  head  selectman,  and  try  to  gain  his  consent.  Where- 
upon the  caravan-man  and  the  brother-in-law  (who, 
being  a tavern-keeper,  was  to  divide  the  custom  of  the 
caravan  people  with  this  house)  went  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, — the  caravan-man  stalking  along  with  stiff,  awk- 
ward bulk  and  stature,  yet  preserving  a respectability 
withal,  though  with  somewhat  of  the  blackguard.  Be- 
fore he  went,  he  offered  a wager  of  “ a drink  of  rum  to  a 
chaw  of  tobacco  ” that  he  did  not  succeed.  When  he 
came  back,  there  was  a flush  in  his  face  and  a sparkle 
in  his  eye  that  did  not  look  like  failure ; but  I know  not 
what  was  the  result.  He  took  a glass  of  wine  with  the 
brother-in-law,  — a grave,  thin,  frosty-haired,  shrewd- 
looking  yeoman,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  — then  ordered 
his  horses,  paid  his  bill,  and  drove  off,  accompanied  still 
by  the  same  yeoman,  perhaps  to  get  the  permission  of 
the  other  two  selectmen.  If  he  does  not  get  a license 
here,  he  will  try  at  Cheshire. 

A fellow  appears  with  a pink  guard-chain  and  two 
breast-pins  in  his  shirt,  — one  a masonic  one  of  gold, 
with  compass  and  square,  and  the  other  of  colored  glass, 
set  in  filigree  brass,  — and  the  shirt  a soiled  one. 

A tendency  to  obesity  is  more  common  in  this  part 
of  the  country  than  I have  noticed  it  elsewhere. 

August  19 th.  — I drove  with  Orrin  S last  eve- 

ning to  an  old  farmer’s  house  to  get  some  chickens. 
Entering  the  kitchen,  I observed  a fireplace  with  rough 
stone  jambs  and  back,  and  a marble  hearth,  cracked, 
and  otherwise  contrasting  a roughness  of  workmanship 


1838.] 


AMERICAN  N0TE-13001CS. 


163 


with  the  value  of  the  material.  There  was  a clock 
without  a case,  the  weights  being  visible,  and  the  pern 
dulum  swinging  in  air,  — and  a coffee-mill  fixed  against 
the  wall.  A religious  newspaper  lay  on  the  mantelpiece. 
The  old  farmer  was  reluctant  to  go  after  the  fowls, 
declaring  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  lind  them  in 
the  dark ; but  Orrin  insisting,  he  lighted  a lamp,  and 
we  all  went  together,  and  quickly  found  them,  roosted 
about  the  wood-pile ; whereupon  Orrin  speedily  laid 
hands  on  five,  and  wrung  their  necks  in  a twinkling, 
they  fluttering  long  after  they  should  have  been  dead. 
When  we  had  taken  our  departure,  Orrin  remarked, 
“ How  faint-hearted  these  old  fellows  are  ! ” and  it  was 
a good  observation  ; for  it  was  the  farmer’s  timorous 
age  that  made  him  doubt  the  practicability  of  catching 
the  chickens,  and  it  contrasted  well  with  the  persevering 
energy  of  the  middle-aged  Orrin.  But  Orrin  inquired, 
somewhat  dolefully,  whether  I should  suppose  that  he 
himself  bewailed  the  advances  of  age.  It  is  a grievous 
point  with  him. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a strange  fellow  in  the  bar- 
room, — a sort  of  mock  Methodist,  — a cattle-drover, 
who  had  stopped  here  for  the  night  with  two  cows  and  a 
Durham  bull.  All  his  talk  turned  upon  religion,  and 
he  would  ever  and  anon  burst  out  in  some  strain  of 
seriptural-styled  eloquence,  chanted  through  his  nose, 
like  an  exhortation  at  a camp-meeting.  A group  of 
Universalists  and  no-religionists  sat  around  him,  making 
him  their  butt,  and  holding  wild  argument  with  him  ; 
and  he  strangely  mingled  humor  with  his  enthusiasm, 
and  enthusiasm  with  his  humor,  so  that  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  tell  whether  he  were  in  jest  or  earnest 


164 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


Probably  it  was  neither,  but  an  eccentricity,  an  almost 
monomania,  that  has  grown  upon  him,  — perhaps  the  re* 
suit  of  strong  religious  excitement.  And,  having  beer 
a backslider,  he  is  . cursed  with  a half-frenzied  humor. 
In  the  morning  he  talked  in  the  same  strain  at  break- 
fast, while  quaffing  fourteen  cups  of  tea,  — Eliza,  all 
the  while,  as  she  supplied  him,  entreating  him  not  to 
drink  any  more.  After  breakfast  (it  being  the  Sab- 
bath) he  drove  his  two  cows  and  bull  past  the  stoop, 
raising  his  staff,  and  running  after  them  with  strange, 
uncouth  gestures  ; and  the  last  word  I heard  from  him 
was  an  exhortation : “ Gentlemen,  now  all  of  you 

take  your  Bibles,  and  meditate  on  divine  things,”  — this 
being  uttered  with  raised  hands,  and  a Methodistical 
tone,  intermingled,  as  was  his  expression,  with  some- 
thing humorous  ; so  that,  to  the  last,  the  puzzle  was 
still  kept  up,  whether  he  was  an  enthusiast  or  a jester. 
He  wore  a suit  of  coarse  brown  cloth,  cut  in  rather  a 
Quaker  fashion  ; and  he  had  a large  nose,  and  his  face 
expressed  enthusiasm  and  humor,  — a sort  of  smile  and 
twinkle  of  the  eye,  with  wildness.  He  is  excellent  at  a 
bargain ; and  if,  in  the  midst  of  his  ghostly  exhortation, 
the  talk  were  turned  on  cattle,  he  eagerly  seized  the 
topic  and  expatiated  on  it. 

While  this  fellow  was  enumerating  the  Universalists 
in  neighboring  towns  who  had  turned  from  their  errors 
on  their  death-beds,  — some  one  exclaimed,  “ John 
Hodges  ! why,  he  is  n’t  dead,  — he ’s  alive  and  well.” 
Whereat  there  was  a roar  of  laughter.  White  holding 
an  argument  at  table,  I heard  him  mutter  to  himself  at 
something  that  his  adversary  said ; and  though  I could 
not  distinguish  what  it  was,  the  tone  did  more  to  con 


»338.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


165 


vince  me  of  some  degree  of  earnestness  than  aught  be 
side.  This  character  might  be  wrought  into  a strange 
portrait  of  something  sad,  terrific,  and  laughable. 

The  Sabbath  wore  away  lazily,  and  therefore  wick- 
edly. The  heavy  caravan-man  inquired  for  some  book 
of  light  reading,  and,  having  obtained  an  old  volume  of 
a literary  paper,  betook  himself  to  the  seat  of  his  wagon, 
to  read.  At  other  times  he  smoked,  and  talked  sensi- 
bly enough  with  anybody  that  offered.  He  is  a man 
of  sense,  though  not  quick,  and  seems  to  be  a fair 
man. 

When  he  walks,  he  puts  the  thumb  of  each  hand  into 
the  armhole  of  his  waistcoat,  and  moves  along  stiffly, 
with  a knock-kneed  gait.  His  talk  was  chiefly  of  hotels, 
and  such  matters  as  a man,  always  travelling,  with- 
out any  purpose  of  observation  for  mental  improvement, 
would  be  interested  in.  He  spoke  of  his  life  as  a hard 
one. 

There  was  a Methodist  quarterly  meeting  here,  and 
a love-feast. 

There  is  a fellow  hereabout  who  refuses  to  pay  six 
dollars  for  the  coffin  in  which  his  wife  was  buried. 
She  died  about  six  months  since,  and  I believe  he  is 
already  engaged  to  another.  He  is  young  and  rather 
comely,  but  has  not  a straightforward  look. 

One  man  plods  along,  looking  always  on  the  ground, 
without  ever  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  mountain  scenery, 
and  forest,  and  clouds,  above  and  around  him.  Another 
walks  the  street  with  a quick,  prying  eye,  and  sharp 
face,  — the  most  expressive  possible  of  one  on  the  look- 
out for  gain,  — of  the  most  disagreeable  class  of 
Yankees.  There  is  also  a soiir-looking,  unwholesome 


166 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


| 1838. 

boy,  the  son  of  this  man,  whose  voice  is  querulous 
and  ill-natured,  precisely  suited  to  his  aspect.  So  is  his 
character. 

We  have  another  with  Indian  blood  in  him.  and  the 
straight,  black  hair,  — something  of  the  tawny  skin 
and  the  quick,  shining  eye  of  the  Indian.  lie  seems 
reserved,  but  is  not  ill-natured  when  spoken  to.  There 
is  so  much  of  the  white  in  him,  that  he  gives  the  im- 
pression of  belonging  to  a civilized  race,  which  causes 
the  more  strange  sensation  on  discovering  that  he  has 
a wild  lineage. 

August  22 d.  — I walked  out  into  what  is  called  the 
Notch  this  forenoon,  between  Saddle  Mountain  and 
another.  There  are  good  farms  in  this  Notch,  although 
the  ground  is  considerably  elevated,  — this  morning, 
indeed*  above  the  clouds ; for  I penetrated  through 
one  in  reaching  the  higher  region,  although  I found 
sunshine  there.  Graylock  was  hidden  in  clouds,  and 
the  rest  of  Saddle  Mountain  had  one  partially  wreathed 
about  it ; but  it  was  withdrawn  before  long.  It  was 
very  beautiful  cloud-scenery.  The  clouds  lay  on  the 
breast  of  the  mountain,  dense,  white,  well-defined,  and 
some  of  them  were  in  such  close  vicinity  that  it  seemed 
as  if  I could  infold  myself  in  them ; while  others,  be- 
longing to  the  same  fleet,  were  floating  through  the  blue 
sky  above.  I had  a view  of  Williamstown  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a few  miles,  — two  or  three,  perhaps,  — a white 
village  and  steeple  in  a gradual  hollow,  with  high 
mountainous  swells  heaving  themselves  up,  like  im- 
mense, subsiding  waves,  far  and  wide  around  it.  On 
these  high  mountain-waves  rested  the  white  summer 


1 538. J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  16? 

clouds,  oi  they  rested  as  still  in  the  air  above  ; and 
they  were  formed  into  such  fantastic  shapes  that  they 
gave  the  strongest  possible  impression  of  being  con- 
founded or  intermixed  with  the  sky.  It  was  like  a 
day-dream  to  look  at  it ; and  the  students  ought  to  be 
day-dreamers,  all  of  them,  — when  cloud-land  is  one 
and  the  same  thing  with  the  substantial  earth.  By 
degrees  all  these  clouds  flitted  away,  and  the  sultry 
summer  sun  burned  on  hill  and  valley.  As  I was 
walking  home,  an  old  man  came  down  the  mountain- 
path  behind  me  in  a wagon,  and  gave  me  a drive  to 
the  village.  Visitors  being  few  in  the  Notch,  the 
women  and  girls  looked  from  the  windows  after  me ; 
the  men  nodded  and  greeted  me  with  a look  of  curios- 
ity ; and  two  little  girls  whom  I met,  bearing  tin  pails, 
whispered  one  another  and  smiled. 

North  Adams , August  23 d.  — The  county  eommig 
sioners  held  a court  in  the  bar-room  yesterday  after- 
noon, for  the  purpose  of  letting  out  the  making  of  the 
new  road  over  the  mountain.  The  commissioners  sat 
together  in  attitudes  of  some  dignity,  with  one  leg  laid 
across  another;  and  the  people,  to  the  number  of  twenty 
or  thirty,  sat  round  about  with  their  hats  on,  in  their 
shirt-sleeves,  with  but  little,  yet  with  some  formality. 
Several  had  come  from  a distance  to  bid  for  the  job. 
They  sat  with  whips  in  their  hands.  The  first  bid  was 
three  dollars,  — then  there  was  a long  silence,  — then 
a bid  of  two  dollars  eighty-five  cents,  and  finally  it 
was  knocked  down  at  twTo  eighteen,  per  rod.  A dispo- 
sition to  bid  was  evidenced  in  one  man  by  his  joking 
*n  the  bid  of  another. 


168 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[i83a 


After  supper,  as  the  sun  was  setting,  a man  passed  by 
the  door  with  a hand-organ,  connected  with  which  was 
a row  of  figures,  such  as  dancers,  pirouetting  and  turn- 
ing, a lady  playing  on  a piano,  soldiers,  a negro  wench 
dancing,  and  opening  and  shutting  a huge  red  mftuth,  — 
all  these  keeping  time  to  the  lively  or  slow  tunes  of  the 
organ.  The  man  had  a pleasant,  but  sly,  dark  face  ; he 
carried  his  whole  establishment  on  his  shoulder,  it  being 
fastened  to  a staff  which  he  rested  on  the  ground  when 
he  performed.  A little  crowd  of  people  gathered  about 
him  on  the  stoop,  peeping  over  each  other’s  heads  with 
huge  admiration,  — fat  Otis  Hodge,  and  the  tall  stage- 
driver,  and  the  little  boys,  all  declaring  that  it  was  the 
masterpiece  of  sights.  Some  few  coppers  did  the  man 
obtain,  as  well  as  much  praise.  He  had  come  over  the 
high,  solitary  mountain,  where  for  miles  there  could 
hardly  be  a soul  to  hear  his  music. 

In  the  evening,  a*  portly  old  commissioner,  a cheerful 
man  enough,  was  sitting  reading  the  newspaper  in  the 
parlor,  holding  the  candle  between  the  newspaper  and 
his  eyes, — its  rays  glittering  on  his  silver-bowed  spec- 
tacles and  silvery  hair.  A pensive  mood  of  age  had 
come  upon  him,  and  sometimes  he  heaved  a long  sigh, 
while  he  turned  and  re-turned  the  paper,  and  folded  it 
for  convenient  reading.  By  and  by  a gentleman  came 
to  see  him,  and  he  talked  with  him  cheerfully. 

The  fat  old  squire,  whom  I have  mentioned  more  than 
once,  is  an  odd  figure,  with  his  bluff,  red  face  — coarse- 
ly red  — set  in  silver  hair,  — his  clumsy  legs,  which 
he  moves  in  a strange  straddle,  using,  I believe,  a 
broomstick  for  a staff.  The  breadth  of  back  of  these 
fat  men  is  truly  a wonder. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


169 


Id38  j 

A decent  man,  at  table  the  other  day,  took  the  only 
remaining  potato  out  of  the  dish,  on  the  end  of  his 
knife,  and  offered  his  friend  half  of  it ! 

The  mountains  look  much  larger  and  more  majestic 
sometimes  than  at  others,  — partly  because  the  mind 
may  be  variously  disposed,  so  as  to  comprehend  them 
more  or  less,  and  partly  that  an  imperceptible  (or  almost 
so)  haze  adds  a great  deal  to  the  effect.  Saddleback 
often  looks  a huge,  black  mass,  — black-green,  or  black- 
blue. 

The  cave  makes  a fresh  impression  upon  me  every 
time  I visit  it,  — so  deep,  so  irregular,  so  gloomy,  so 
stern,  — part  of  its  walls  the  pure  white  of  the  marble, 
— others  covered  with  a gray  decomposition  and  with 
spots  of  moss,  and  with  brake  growing  where  there  is  a 
handful  of  earth.  I stand  and  look  into  its  depths  at 
various  points,  and  hear  the  roar  of  the  stream  re-echo- 
ing up.  It  is  like  a heart  that  has  been  rent  asunder  by 
a torrent  of  passion,  which  has  raged  and  foamed,  and 
left  its  ineffaceable  traces ; though  now  there  is  but  a 
little  rill  of  feeling  at  the  bottom. 

In  parts,  trees  have  fallen  across  the  fissure,  — trees 
with  large  trunks. 

I bathed  in  the  stream  in  this  old,  secluded  spot, 
which  I frequent  for  that  purpose.  To  reach  it,  I cross 
one  branch  of  the  stream  on  stones,  and  then  pass  to 
the  other  side  of  a little  island,  overgrown  with  trees 
and  underbrush.  Where  I bathe,  the  stream  has  partially 
dammed  itself  up  by  sweeping  together  tree-trunks  and 
slabs  and  branches,  and  a thousand  things  that  have 
come  down  its  current  for  years  perhaps ; so  that  there 
is  a deep  pool,  full  of  eddies  and  lit  tie  whirlpools  which 
8 


VOL.  I. 


i 70 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[183a 


would  carry  me  away,  did  I not  take  hold  of  the  stem 
of  a small  tree  that  lies  opportunely  transversely  across 
the  water.  The  bottom  is  uneven,  with  rocks  of  various 
size,  against  which  it  is  difficult  to  keep  from  stumbling, 
so  rapid  is  the  stream.  Sometimes  it  bears  along 
branches  and  strips  of  bark,  — sometimes  a green  leaf, 
or  perchance  a dry  one,  — occasionally  overwhelmed 
by  the  eddies  and  borne  deep  under  water,  then  rush- 
ing atop  the  waves. 

The  forest,  bordering  the  stream,  produces  its  effect 
by  a complexity  of  causes,  — the  old  and  stern  trees, 
with  stately  trunks  and  dark  foliage,  — as  the  almost 
black  pines,  — the  young  trees,  with  lightsome  green 
foliage,  — as  sapling  oaks,  maples  and  poplars,  — then 
the  old,  decayed  trunks,  that  are  seen  lying  here  and 
there,  all  mouldered,  so  that  the  foot  would  sink  into 
them.  The  sunshine,  falling  capriciously  on  a casual 
branch  considerably  within  the  forest  verge,  while  it 
leaves  nearer  trees  in  shadow7,  leads  the  imagination 
into  the  depths.  But  it  soon  becomes  bewildered  there. 
Rocks  strewn  about,  half  hidden  in  the  fallen  leaves, 
must  not  be  overlooked. 

August  2 &th.  — A funeral  last  evening,  nearly  at 
sunset,  — a coffin  of  a boy  about  ten  years  old  laid  on  a 
one-horse  wagon  among  some  straw,  — two  or  three 
barouches  and  w agons  following.  As  the  funeral  passed 
through  the  village  street,  a few  men  formed  a short 
procession  in  front  of  the  coffin,  among  whom  were 

Orrin  S and  I.  The  burial-ground  (there  are 

two  in  the  towm)  is  on  the  sides  and  summit  of  a round 
hill,  which  is  planted  with  cypress  and  other  trees, 


i83&.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  171 

among  which  the  white  marble  gravestones  show  pleas- 
antly. The  grave  was  dug  on  the  steep  slope  of  a hill ; 
and  the  grave-digger  was  waiting  there,  and  two  or 
three  other  shirt-sleeved  yeomen,  leaning  against  the 
trees. 

Orrin  3 , a wanton  and  mirth-making  middle- 

aged  man,  who  would  not  seem  to  have  much  domestic 
feeling,  took  a chief  part  on  the  occasion,  assisting  in 
taking  the  coffin  from  the  wagon  and  in  lowering  it 
into  the  grave.  There  being  some  superfluous  earth  at 
the  bottom  of  the  grave,  the  coffin  was  drawn  up  again, 
after  being  once  buried,  and  the  obstacle*  removed  with 
a hoe  ; then  it  was  lowered  again  for  the  last  time. 
While  this  was  going  on,  the  father  and  mother  stood 
weeping  at  the  upper  end  of  the  grave,  at  the  head  of 
the  little  procession,  — the  mother  sobbing  with  stifled 
violence,  and  peeping  forth  to  discover  why  the  coffin 
was  drawn  up  again.  It  being  fitted  in  its  place,  Orrin 

S strewed  some  straw  upon  it,  — this  being  the 

custom  here,  because  44  the  clods  on  the  coffin-lid  have 
an  ugly  sound.”  Then  the  Baptist  minister,  having 
first  whispered  to  the  father,  removed  his  hat,  the 
spectators  all  doing  the  same,  and  thanked  them  44  in 
the  name  of  these  mourners,  for  this  last  act  of  kindness 
to  them.” 

In  all  these  rites  Orrin  S bore  the  chief  part  with 

real  feeling  and  sadly  decorous  demeanor.  After  the 
funeral,  I took  a walk  on  the  Williamstown  road,  towards 
the  west.  There  had  been  a heavy  shower  in  the  after- 
noon, and  clouds  were  brilliant  all  over  the  sky,  around 
Graylock  and  everywhere  else.  Those  over  the  hills 
df  the  west  were  the  most  splendid  in  purple  and  gold. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


172 


[1838. 


and,  there  being  a haze,  it  added  immensely  to  theii 
majesty  and  dusky  magnificence. 

This  morning  I walked  a little  way  along  the  moun- 
tain road,  and  stood  awhile  in  the  shadow  of  some  oak 
and  chestnut  trees,  — it  being  a warm,  bright,  sunshiny 
morning.  The  shades  lay  long  from  trees  and  other 
objects,  as  at  sunset,  but  how  different  this  cheerful  and 
light  radiance  from  the  mild  repose  of  sunset ! Locusts, 
crickets,  and  other  insects  were  making  music.  Cattle 
were  feeding  briskly,  with  morning  appetites.  The 
wakeful  voices  of  children  were  heard  in  a neighboring 
hollow.  The  dew  damped  the  road,  and  formed  many- 
colored  drops  in  the  grass.  In  short,  the  world  was  not 
weary  with  a long,  sultry  day,  but  in  a fresh,  recruited 
state,  fit  to  carry  it  through  such  a day. 

A rough-looking,  sunburnt,  soiled-shirted,  odd,  middle- 
aged  little  man  came  to  the  house  a day  or  two  ago, 
seeking  work.  He  had  come  from  Ohio,  and  was  re- 
turning to  his  native  place,  somewhere  in  New  England, 
stopping  occasionally  to  earn  money  to  pay  his  way. 
There  was  something  rather  ludicrous  in  his  physiog- 
nomy and  aspect.  He  was  very  free  to  talk  with  all  and 
sundry.  He  made  a long  eulogy  on  his  dog  Tiger, 
yesterday,  insisting  on  his  good  moral  character,  his 
not  being  quarrelsome,  his  docility,  and  all  other  ex- 
cellent qualities  that  a huge,  strong,  fierce  mastiff  could 
have.  Tiger  is  the  bully  of  the  village,  and  keeps  all 
the  other  dogs  in  awe.  His  aspect  is  very  spirited, 
trotting  massively  along,  with  his  tail  elevated  and  his 
head  likewise.  “When  he  sees  a dog  that’s  anything 
near  his  size,  he’s  apt  to  growl  a little,”  — Tiger  had 
the  marks  of  a battle  on  him,  — - “ yet  he ’s  a good  dog.” 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


173 


i838.J 

Friday , August  31  st.  — A drive  on  Tuesday  to  Shel- 
burne Falls,  twenty-two  miles  or  thereabouts  distant. 
Started  at  about  eight  o’clock  in  a wagon  with  Mr. 
Leach  and  Mr.  Birch.  Our  road  lay  over  the  Green 
Mountains,  the  long  ridge  of  which  was  made  awful  by 
a dark,  heavy,  threatening  cloud,  apparently  rolled  and 
condensed  along  the  whole  summit.  As  we  ascended 
the  zigzag  road,  we  looked  behind,  at  every  opening  in 
the  forest,  and  beheld  a wide  landscape  of  mountain- 
swells  and  valleys  intermixed,  and  old  Graylock  and  the 
whole  of  Saddleback.  Over  the  wide  scene  there  was 
a general  gloom ; but  there  was  a continual  vicissitude 
of  bright  sunshine  flitting  over  it,  now  resting  for  a 
brief  space  on  portions  of  the  heights,  now  flooding 
the  valleys  with  green  brightness,  now  making  out  dis- 
tinctly each  dwelling,  and  the  hotels,  and  then  two  small 
brick  churches  of  the  distant  village,  denoting  its  pros- 
perity, while  all  around  seemed  under  adverse  fortunes. 
But  we,  who  stood  so  elevated  above  mortal  things,  and 
saw  so  wide  and  far,  could  see  the  sunshine  of  prosper- 
ity departing  from  one  spot  and  rolling  towards  another, 
so  that  we  could  not  think  it  much  matter  which  spot 
were  sunny  or  gloomy  at  any  one  moment. 

The  top  of  this  Hoosic  Mountain  is  a long  ridge, 
marked  on  the  county  map  as  two  thousand  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  feet  above  the  sea;  on  this  summit  is  a 
valley,  not  very  deep,  but  one  or  two  miles  wide,  in 

which  is  the  town  of  L . Here  there  are  respecta 

ble  farmers,  though  it  is  a rough,  and  must  be  a bleak 
place.  The  first  house,  after  reaching  the  summit,  is  a 
small,  homely  tavern.  We  left  our  Loise  in  the  shed, 
and,  entering  the  little  unpainted  bar-room,  we  heard  a 


174 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838. 


voice,  in  a strange,  outlandish  accent,  exclaiming  *•'  Dio 
rama.”  It  was  an  old  man,  with  a full,  gray-bearded 
countenance,  and  Mr.  Leach  exclaimed,  “ Ah,  here ’s  the 
old  Dutchman  again  ! ” And  he  answered,  “ Yes,  Cap- 
tain, here ’s  the  old  Dutchman,” — though,  by  the  way,  he 
is  a German,  and  travels  the  country  with  this  diorama 
in  a wagon,  and  had  recently  been  at  South  Adams,  and 
was  now  returning  from  Saratoga  Springs.  We  looked 
through  the  glass  orifice  of  his  machine,  while  he  exhib- 
ited a succession  of  the  very  worst  scratches  and  daub- 
ings  that  can  be  imagined,  — worn  out,  too,  and  full  of 
cracks  and  wrinkles,  dimmed  with  tobacco  smoke,  and 
every  other  wise  dilapidated.  There  were  none  in  a 
later  fashion  than  thirty  years  since,  except  some  figures 
that  had  been  cut  from  tailors’  show-bills.  There  were 
views  of  cities  and  edifices  in  Europe,  of  Napoleon’s 
battles  and  Nelson’s  sea-fights,  in  the  midst  of  which 
would  be  seen  a gigantic,  brown,  hairy  hand  (the 
Hand  of  Destiny)  pointing  at  the  principal  points  of  the 
conflict,  while  the  old  Dutchman  explained.  He  gave 
a good  deal  of  dramatic  effect  to  his  descriptions,  but 
his  accent  and  intonation  cannot  be  written.  He 
seemed  to  take  interest  and  pride  in  his  exhibition ; yet 
when  the  utter  and  ludicrous  miserability  thereof  made 
us  laugh,  he  joined  in  the  joke  very  readily.  When  the 
last  picture  had  been  shown,  he  caused  a country  boor, 
who  stood  gaping  beside  the  machine,  to  put  his  head 
within  it,  and  thrust  out  his  tongue.  The  head  becom- 
ing gigantic,  a singular  effect  was  produced. 

The  oM  Dutchman’s  exhibition  being  over,  a great 
dog,  apparently  an  elderly  dog,  suddenly  made  himself 
the  object  of  notice,  evidently  in  rivalship  of  the  Dutch'* 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1r*  * 

/o 


man.  He  had  seemed  to  be  a good-natured,  quiet  kind 
of  dog,  offering  his  head  to  be  patted  by  those  who  were 
kindly  disposed  towards  him.  This  great,  old  dog,  un- 
expectedly, and  of  his  own  motion,  began  to  run  xound 
after  his  not  very  long  tail  with  the  utmost  eagerness ; 
and,  catching  hold  of  it,  he  growled  furiously  at  it,  and 
still  continued  to  circle  round,  growling  and  snarling 
with  increasing  rage,  as  if  one  half  of  his  body  were  at 
deadly  enmity  with  the  other.  Faster  and  faster  went 
he,  round  and  roundabout,  growing  still  fiercer,  till  at 
last  he  ceased  in  a state  of  utter  exhaustion ; but  no 
sooner  had  his  exhibition  finished  than  he  became  the 
same  mild,  quiet,  sensible  old  dog  as  before ; and  no 
one  could  have  suspected  him  of  such  nonsense  as  get- 
ting enraged  with  his  own  tail.  He  was  first  taught 
this  trick  by  attaching  a bell  to  the  end  of  his  tail ; 
but  he  now  commences  entirely  of  his  own  accord, 
and  I really  believe  he  feels  vain  at  the  attention  he 
excites. 

It  was  chill  and  bleak  on  the  mountain-top,  and  a fire 
was  burning  in  the  bar-room.  The  old  Dutchman  be 
stowed  on  everybody  the  title  of  “ Captain,”  perhaps 
because  such  a title  has  a great  chance  of  suiting  an 
American. 

Leaving  the  tavern,  we  drove  a mile  or  two  farther 
to  the  eastern  brow  of  the  mountain,  whence  we  had  a 
view,  over  the  tops  of  a multitude  of  heights,  into  the 
intersecting  valleys  down  which  we  were  to  plunge,  — 
and  beyond  them  the  blue  and  indistinctive  scene  ex- 
tended to  the  east  and  north  for  at  least  sixty  miles. 
Beyond  the  hills  it  looked  almost  as  if  the  blue  ocean 
might  be  seen.  Monadnock  was  visible,  like  a sapphire 


176 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


cloud  against  the  sky.  Descending,  we  by  and  by  got 
a view  of  the  Deerfield  River,  .which  makes  a bend  in 
its  course  from  about  north  and  south  to  about  east  and 
west,  coming  out  from  one  defile  among  the  mountains, 
and  flowing  through  another.  The  scenery  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  Green  Mountains  is  incomparably 
more  striking  than  on  the  western,  where  the  long 
swells  and  ridges  have  a flatness  of  effect ; and  even 
Graylock  heaves  itself  so  gradually  that  it  does  not 
much  strike  the  beholder.  But  on  the  eastern  part, 
peaks  one  or  two  thousand  feet  high  rush  up  on  either 
bank  of  the  river  in  ranges,  thrusting  out  their  shoul- 
ders side  by  side.  They  are  almost  precipitous,  clothed 
in  woods,  through  which  the  naked  rock  pushes  itself 
forth  to  view.  Sometimes  the  peak  is  bald,  while  the 
forest  wraps  the  body  of  the  hill,  and  the  baldness  gives 
it  an  indescribably  stern  effect.  Sometimes  the  preci- 
pice rises  with  abruptness  from  the  immediate  side  of 
the  river ; sometimes  there  is  a cultivated  valley  on 
either  side,  — cultivated  long,  and  with  all  the  smooth- 
ness and  antique  rurality  of  a farm  near  cities,  — this 
gentle  picture  strongly  set  off  by  the  wild  mountain- 
frame  around  it.  Often  it  would  seem  a wonder  how 
our  road  was  to  continue,  the  mountains  rose  so  ab- 
ruptly on  either  side,  and  stood,  so  direct  a wall,  across 
our  onward  course ; while,  looking  behind,  it  would  be 
an  efijual  mystery  how  we  had  gotten  thither,  through 
the  huge  base  of  the  mountain,  that  seemed  to  have 
reared  itself  erect  after  our  passage.  But,  passing  on- 
ward, a narrow  defile  would  give  us  egress  into  a scene 
where  new  mountains  would  still  appear  to  bar  us. 
Our  road  was  much  of  it  level ; but  scooped  out  among 


f 833.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS  177 

mountains.  The  river  was  a brawling  stream,  shallow, 
and  roughened  by  rocks  ; now  we  drove  on  a plane  with 
it ; now  there  was  a sheer  descent  down  from  the  road- 
side upon  it,  often  unguarded  by  any  kind  of  fence, 
except  by  the  trees  that  contrived  to  grow  on  the  head- 
long interval.  Between  the  mountains  there  were 
gorges,  that  led  the  imaginati  >n  away  into  new  scenes 
of  wildness.  I have  never  driven  through  such  roman- 
tic scenery,  where  there  was  such  variety  and  boldness 
of  mountain  shapes  as  this ; and  though  it  was  a broad 
sunny  day,  the  mountains  diversified  the  view  with  sun 
shine  and  shadow,  and  glory  and  gloom. 

In  Charlemont  (I  think),  after  passing  a bridge,  we 
saw  a very  curious  rock  on  the  shore  of  the  river,  about 
twenty  feet  from  the  roadside.  Clambering  down  the 
bank,  we  found  it  a complete  arch,  hollowed  out  of  the 
solid  rock,  and  as  high  as  the  arched  entrance  of  an  an- 
cient church,  which  it  might  be  taken  to  be,  though 
considerably  dilapidated  and  weather-worn.  The  water 
flows  through  it,  though  the  rock  afforded  standing  room, 
beside  the  pillars.  It  was  really  like  the  archway  of  an 
enchanted  palace,  all  of  which  has  vanished  except  the 
entrance,  — now  only  into  nothingness  and  empty  space. 
We  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  arch,  in  which  the  traces 
of  water  having  eddied  are  very  perceptible.  This 
curiosity  occurs  in  a wild  part  of  the  river’s  course,  and 
in  a solitude  of  mountains. 

Farther  down,  the  river  becoming  deeper,  broader, 
and  more  placid,  little  boats  were  seen  moored  along  it, 
for  the  convenience  of  crossing.  Sometimes,  too,  the 
well-beaten  track  of  wheels  and  hoofs  ssed  down  to 
its  verge  4hen  vanished,  and  appeared  on  the  other  side, 

8*  L 


178 


AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS. 


f 1838 


indicating  a ford.  We  saw  one  house,  pretty,  small, 
with  green  blinds,  and  much  quietness  in  its  environ- 
ments, on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  with  a flat-bot- 
tomed boat  for  communication.  It  was  a pleasant  idea 
that  the  world  was  kept  off  by  the  river. 

Proceeding  onward,  we  reached  Shelburne  Falls. 
Here  the  river,  in  the  distance  of  a few  hundred  yards, 
makes  a descent  of  about  a hundred  and  fifty  feet  over 
a prodigious  bed  of  rock.  Formerly  it  doubtless  flowed 
unbroken  over  the  rock,  merely  creating  a rapid ; and 
traces  of  water  having  raged  over  it  are  visible  in  por- 
tions of  the  rock  that  now  lie  high  and  dry.  At  present 
the  river  roars  through  a channel  which  it  has  worn  in 
the  stone,  leaping  in  two  or  three  distinct  falls,  and 
rushing  downward,  as  from  flight  to  flight  of  a broken 
and  irregular  staircase.  The  mist  rises  from  the  high- 
est of  these  cataracts,  and  forms  a pleasant  object  in  the 
sunshine.  The  best  view,  I think,  is  to  stand  on  the 
verge  of  the  upper  and  largest  fall,  and  look  down 
through  the  whole  rapid  descent  of  the  river,  as  it  hur- 
ries, foaming,  through  its  rock-worn  path,  — the  rocks 
seeming  to  have  been  hewm  away,  as  when  mortals 
make  a road.  These  falls  are  the  largest  in  this  State, 
and  have  a very  peculiar  character.  It  seems  as  if 
water  had  had  more  power  at  some  former  period  than 
now,  to  hew  and  tear  its  passage  through  such  an  im- 
mense ledge  of  rock  as  here  withstood  it.  In  this  crag 
or  parts  of  it,  now  far  beyond  the  reach  of  the  water,  it 
has  worn  what  are  called  pot-holes,  — being  circular  hol- 
lows in  the  rock,  where  for  ages  stones  have  been 
whirled  round  and  round  by  the  eddies  of  the  water 
*o  that  the  interior  of  the  pot  is  as  circular  and  as 


1838.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


179 


smooth  as  it  could  have  been  made  by  art.  Often  the 
mouth  of  the  pot  is  the  narrowest  part,  the  inner  space 
being  deeply  scooped  out.  Water  is  contained  in  most 
of  these  pot-holes,  sometimes  so  deep  that  a man  might 
drown  himself  therein,  and  lie  undetected  at  the  bot- 
tom. Some  of  them  are  of  a convenient  size  for  cook- 
ing, which  might  be  practicable  by  putting  in  hot 
stones. 

The  tavern  at  Shelburne  Falls  was  about  the  worst  I 
ever  saw,  — there  being  hardly  anything  to  eat,  at  least 
nothing  of  the  meat  kind.  There  was  a party  of  stu- 
dents from  the  Rensselaer  school  at  Troy,  who  had 
spent  the  night  there,  a set  of  rough  urchins  from  six- 
teen to  twenty  years  old,  accompanied  by  the  wagon- 
driver,  a short,  stubbed  little  fellow,  who  walked  about 
with  great  independence,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his 
breeches-pockets,  beneath  his  frock.  The  queerness  was, 
such  a figure  being  associated  with  classic  youth.  They 
were  on  an  excursion  which  is  yearly  made  from  that 
school  in  search  of  minerals.  They  seemed  in  rather 
better  moral  habits  than  students  used  to  be,  but  wild- 
spirited,  rude,  and  unpolished,  somewhat  like  German 
students,  which  resemblance  one  or  two  of  them  in- 
creased by  smoking  pipes.  In  the  morning,  my  break- 
fast being  set  in  a corner  of  the  same  room  with  them,  I 
saw  their  breakfast-table,  with  a huge  wash-bowl  of 
milk  in  the  centre,  and  a basin  and  spoon  placed  for 
each  guest. 

In  the  bar-room  of  this  tavern  were  posted  up  written 
advertisements,  the  smoked  chimney-piece  being  thus 
made  to  serve  for  a newspaper  : “ I have  rye  for  sale,” 
“ 1 have  a fine  mare  colt,”  &c.  There  was  one  quaint- 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


130 


[1836 


ly  expressed  advertisement  of  a horse  that  had  strayed 
or  been  stolen  from  a pasture. 

The  students,  from  year  to  year,  have  been  in  search 
of  a particular  fock,  somewhere  on  the  mountains  in 
the  vicinity  of  Shelburne  Falls,  which  is  supposed  to 
contain  some  valuable  ore  ; but  they  cannot  find  it.  One 
man  in  the  bar-room  observed  that  it  must  be  enchant- 
ed ; and  spoke  of  a tinker,  during  the  Revolutionary 
war,  who  met  with  a somewhat  similar  instance.  Roam- 
ing along  the  Hudson  River,  he  came  to  a precipice 
which  had  some  bunches  of  singular  appearance  em- 
bossed upon  it.  He  knocked  off  one  of  the  bunches, 
and  carrying  it  home,  or  to  a camp,  or  wherever  he 
lived,  he  put  it  on  the  fire,  and  melted  it  down  into 
clear  lead.  He  sought  for  the  spot  again  and  again,  but 
could  never  find  it. 

Mr.  Leach’s  brother  is  a student  at  Shelburne  Falls. 
He  is  about  thirty-five  years  old,  and  married  ; and  at 
this  mature  age  he  is  studying  for  the  ministry,  and 
will  not  finish  his  course  for  two  or  three  years.  He 
was  bred  a farmer,  but  has  sold  his  farm,  and  invested 
the  money,  and  supports  himself  and  wife  by  dentistry 
during  his  studies.  Many  of  the  academy  students  are 
men  grown,  and  some,  they  say,  well  towards  forty 
years  old.  Methinks  this  is  characteristic  of  American 
life,  — these  rough,  weather-beaten,  hard -handed,  farm- 
er-bred students.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  they  are 
incapable  of  any  effectual  cultivation  ; for  men  of  ripe 
years,  if  they  have  any  pith  in  them,  will  have  long 
ago  got  beyond  academy  or  even  college  instruction.  I 
suspect  nothing  better  than  a very  wretched  smattering 
is  to  be  obtained  in  these  country  academies 


1338.]  AMERICAN  ATOTE-BOOKS.  18\ 

Mr.  Jenkins,  an  instructor  at  Amherst,  speaking  of 
the  western  mounds,  expressed  an  opinion  that  they 
were  of  the  same  nature  and  origin  as  some  small  cir- 
cular hills  which  are  of  very  frequent  occurrence  here 
in  North  Adams.  The  burial-ground  is  on  one  of  them, 
and  there  is  another,  on  the  summit  of  which  appears  a 
single  tombstone,  as  if  there  were  something  natural  in 
making  these  hills  the  repositories  of  the  dead.  A 

question  of  old  H led  to  Mr.  Jenkins’s  dissertation 

on  this  subject,  to  the  great  contentment  of  a large  circle 
round  the  bar-room  fireside  on  the  last  rainy  day. 

A tailor  is  detected  by  Mr.  Leach,  because  his  coat 
had  not  a single  wrinkle  in  it.  I saw  him  exhibiting 
patterns  of  fashions  to  Randall,  the  village  tailor.  Mr. 
Leach  has  much  tact  in  finding  out  the  professions  of 
people.  He  foufid  out  a blacksmith,  because  his  right 
hand  was  much  larger  than  the  other. 

A man  getting  subscriptions  for  a religious  and  abo- 
lition newspaper  in  New  York, — somewhat  elderly  and 
gray-haired,  quick  in  his  movements,  hasty  in  his  walk, 
with  an  eager,  earnest  stare  through  his  spectacles, 
hurrying  about  with  a pocket-book  of  subscriptions  in 
his  hand,  — seldom  speaking,  and  then  in  brief  expres- 
sions, — sitting  down  before  the  stage  comes,  to  write  a 
list  of  subscribers  obtained  to  his  employers  in  New 
York.  Withal,  a city  and  business  air  about  him,  as  of 
pne  accustomed  to  hurry  through  narrow  alleys,  and 
dart  across  thronged  streets,  and  speak  hastily  to  ono 
man  and  another  at  jostling  corners,  though  now  trans* 
acting  his  affairs  in  the  solitude  of  mountains. 


182  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  ^183* 

An  old,  gray  man,  seemingly  astray  and  abandoned 
In  this  wide  world,  sitting  in  the  bar-room,  speaking  to 
none,  nor  addressed  by  any  one.  Not  understand 
ing  the  meaning  of  the  supper-bell  till  asked  to  supper 
by  word  of  mouth.  However,  he  called  for  a glass  0/ 
brandy. 

A pedler,  with  girls’  silk  neckerchiefs,  — or  gauze, — 
men’s  silk  pocket-handkerchiefs,  red  bandannas,  and  a 
variety  of  horn  combs,  trying  to  trade  with  the  servant- 
girls  of  the  house.  One  of  them,  Laura,  attempts  to 
exchange  a worked  Vandyke,  wrhich  she  values  at  two 
dollars  and  a half ; Eliza,  being  reproached  by  the 
pedler,  “ vows  that  she  buys  more  of  pedlers  than  any 
other  person  in  the  house.” 

A drove  of  pigs  passing  at  dusk.  They  appeared  not 
bo  much  disposed  to  ramble  and  go  astray  from  the  line 
of  march  as  in  daylight,  but  kept  together  in  a pretty 
compact  body.  There  was  a general  grunting,  not 
violent  at  all,  but  low  and  quiet,  as  if  they  were  express- 
ing their  sentiments  among  themselves  in  a companion- 
able way.  Pigs,  on  a march,  do  not  subject  themselves 
to  any  leader  among  themselves,  but  pass  on,  higgledy- 
piggledy,  without  regard  to  age  or  sex. 

September  IsA — Last  evening,  during  a walk,  Gray 
lock  and  the  whole  of  Saddleback  were  at  first  imbued 
with  a mild,  lialf-sunshiny  tinge,  then  grew  almost  black, 
— a huge,  dark  mass  lying  on  the  back  of  the  earth  and 
encumbering  it.  Stretching  up  from  behind  thq  black 
mountain,  over  a third  or  more  of  the  sky,  there  wras  a 


AMERICA'S  NO  I E-BOOKS. 


183 


I60S.] 


heas^y,  sombre  blue  heap  or  ledge  of  clouds,  looking 
almost  as  solid  as  rocks.  The  volumes  of  which  it  was 
composed  were  perceptible  by  translucent  lines  and  fis- 
sures ; but  the  mass,  as  a whole,  seemed  as  solid,  bulky, 
and  ponderous  in  the  cloud-world  as  the  mountain  was 
on  earth.  The  mountain  and  cloud  together  had  an  in- 
describably stern  and  majestic  aspect.  Beneath  this 
heavy  cloud,  there  was  a fleet  or  flock  of  light,  vapory 
mists,  flitting  in  middle  air;  and  these  were  tinted, 
from  the  vanished  sun,  with  the  most  gorgeous  and  liv- 
ing purple  that  can  be  conceived, — a fringe  upon  the 
stern  blue.  In  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  heavens,  a 
rose-light  was  reflected,  whence  I know  not,  which 
colored  the  clouds  around  the  moon,  then  well  above 
the  horizon,  so  that  the  nearly  round  and  silver  moon 
appeared  strangely  among  roseate  clouds,  — sometimes 
half  obscured  by  them. 


A man  with  a smart  horse,  upon  which  the  landlord 
makes  laudatory  remarks.  He  replies  that  he  has  “ a 
better  at  home.”  Dressed  in  a brown,  bright-buttoned 
coat,  smartly  cut.  He  immediately  becomes  familiar, 
and  begins  to  talk  of  the  license  law,  and  other  similar 
topics,  — making  himself  at  home,  as  one  who,  being 
much  of  his  time  upon  the  road,  finds  himself  at  ease 
at  any  tavern.  He  inquired  after  a stage-agent, 
named  Brigham,  who  formerly  resided  here,  but  now 
has  gone  to  the  West.  He  himself  was  probably 
a horse -jockey. 


An  old  lady,  stopping  here  over  the  Sabbath,  waiting 
for  to-morrow’s  stage  for  Greenfield,  having  been  de* 


184 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838. 


ceived  by  the  idea  that  she  could  proceed  on  her  jour- 
ney without  delay.  Quiet,  making  herself  comfortable, 
taken  into  the  society  of  the  women  of  the  house. 

September  3 d.  — On  the  slope  of  Bald  Mountain  a 
clearing,  set  in  the  frame  of  the  forest  on  all  sides,  — a 
growth  of  clover  upon  it,  which,  having  been  mewed 
once  this  year,  is  now  appropriated  to  pasturage. 
Stumps  remaining  in  the  ground ; one  tall,  barkless 
stem  of  a tree  standing  upright,  branchless,  and  with  a 
shattered  summit.  One  or  two  other  stems  lying  pros- 
trate and  partly  overgrown  with  bushes  and  shrubbery, 
some  of  them  bearing  a yellow  flower,  — a color  which 
Autumn  loves.  The  stumps  and  trunks  fire-blackened, 
yet  nothing  about  them  that  indicates  a recent  clearing, 
but  the  roughness  of  an  old  clearing,  that,  being  removed 
from  convenient  labor,  has  none  of  the  polish  of  the 
homestead.  The  field,  with  slight  undulations,  slopes 
pretty  directly  down.  Near  the  lower  verge,  a rude 
sort  of  barn,  or  rather  haystack  roofed  over,  and  with 
hay  protruding  and  hanging  out.  An  ox  feeding,  and 
putting  up  his  muzzle  to  pull  down  a mouthful  of  hay; 
but  seeing  me,  a stranger,  in  the  upper  part  of  the  field, 
he  remains  long  gazing,  and  finally  betakes  himself  to 
feeding  again.  A solitary  butterfly  flitting  to  and  fro, 
blown  slightly  on  its  course  by  a cool  September  wind, 
— the  coolness  of  which  begins  to  be  tempered  by  a 
bright,  glittering  sun.  There  is  dew  on  the  grass.  In 
front,  beyond  the  lower  spread  of  forest,  Saddle  Moun- 
tain rises,  and  the  valleys  and  long,  swelling  hills  sweep 
away.  But  the  impression  of  this  clearing  is  solitude, 
as  of  a forgotten  land. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


185 


1838.  J 


It  is  customary  here  to  toll  the  bell  at  the  death  of 
a person,  at  the  hour  of  his  death,  whether  A.  M.  or 
i\  m.  Not,  however,  I suppose,  if  it  happen  in  deep 
night. 


“ There  are  three  times  in  a man’s  life  when  he  is 
talked  about,  — when  he  is  born,  when  he  is  married, 
and  when  he  dies.”  “ Yes,”  said  Orrin  S — — , and  only 
one  of  the  times  has  he  to  pay  anything  for  it  out  of  his 
own  pocket.”  (In  reference  to  a claim  by  the  guests  of 
the  bar-room  on  the  man  Amasa  Richardson  for  a treat.) 

A wood-chopper,  travelling  the  country  in  search  of 
jobs  at  chopping.  His  baggage  a bundle,  a handker- 
chief, and  a pair  of  coarse  boots.  His  implement  an 
axe,  most  keenly  ground  and  sharpened,  which  I had 
noticed  standing  in  a corner,  and  thought  it  would 
almost  serve  as  a razor.  I saw  another  wood-chopper 
sitting  down  on  the  ascent  of  Bald  Mountain,  with  his 
axe  on  one  side  and  a jug  and  provisions  on  the  other, 
on  the  way  to  his  day’s  toil. 

The  Revolutionary  pensioners  come  out  into  the  sun- 
shine to  make  oath  that  they  are  still  above  ground. 

One,  whom  Mr.  S saluted  as  “ Uncle  John,”  went 

into  the  bar-room,  walking  pretty  stoutly  by  the  aid  of 
a long,  oaken  staff,  — with  an  old,  creased,  broken  and 
ashen  bell-crowned  hat  on  his  head,  and  wearing  a brown 
old-fashioned  suit  of  clothes.  Pretty  portly,  fleshy  in 
the  face,  and  with  somewhat  of  a paunch,  cheerful,  and 
his  senses,  bodily  and  mental,  in  no  very  bad  order, 
though  he  is  now  in  his  ninetieth  year.  “ An  old 


186  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [lb3& 

withered  and  wilted  apple,”  quoth  Uncle  John,  “ keeps 

a good  while.  ’ Mr.  S says  his  grandfather  lived 

to  be  a hundred,  and  that  his  legs  became  covered 
with  moss,  like  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree.  Uncle  John 
would  smile  and  cackle  at  a little  jest,  and  what  life 
there  was  in  him  seemed  a good-natured  and  comforta- 
ble one  enough.  He  can  walk  two  or  three  miles,  he 
says,  “ taking  it  moderate.”  I suppose  his  state  is  that 
of  a drowsy  man  but  partly  conscious  of  life,  — walking 
as  through  a dim  dream,  but  brighter  at  some  seasons 
than  at  others.  By  and  by  he  will  fall  quite  asleep, 

without  any  trouble.  Mr.  S , unbidden,  gave  him 

a glass  of  gin,  which  the  old  man  imbibed  by  the  warm 
fireside,  and  grew  the  younger  for  it. 

September  4 th.  — This  day  an  exhibition  of  animals  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  village,  under  a pavilion  of  sail-cloth,  — 
the  floor  being  the  natural  grass,  with  here  and  there  a 
rock  partially  protruding.  A pleasant,  mild  shade  ; a 
strip  of  sunshine  or  a spot  of  glimmering  brightness  in 
gome  parts.  Crowded,  — row  above  row  of  women,  on  an 
amphitheatre  of  seats,  on  one  side.  In  an  inner  pavil- 
ion an  exhibition  of  anacondas,  — four,  — which  the 
showman  took,  one  by  one,  from  a large  box,  under 
some  blankets,  and  hung  round  his  shoulders.  They 
seemed  almost  torpid  when  first  taken  out,  but  gradually 
began  to  assume  life,  to  stretch,  to  contract,  twine  and 
writhe  about  his  neck  and  person,  thrusting  out  their 
tongues  and  erecting  their  heads.  Their  weight  was  as 
much  as  he  could  bear,  and  they  hung  down  almost  to 
the  ground  when  not  contorted,  — as  big  round  as  a 
man’s  thigh,  almost,  — spotted  and  richly  variegated 


1838.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  187 

Then  lie  put  them  into  the  box  again,  their  heads 
emerging  and  writhing  forth,  which  the  showman  thrust 
back  again.  He  gave  a descriptive  and  historical  ac- 
count of  them,  and  a fanciful  and  poetical  one  also.  A 
man  put  his  arm  and  head  into  the  lion’s  mouth,  — all 
the  spectators  looking  on  so  attentively  that  a bre.ath 
could  not  be  heard.  That  was  impressive,  — its  effect 
on  a thousand  persons,  — more  so  than  the  thing  itself. 

In  the  evening  the  caravan  people  were  at  the  tavern, 
talking  of  their  troubles  in  coming  over  the  mountain. 
— the  overturn  of  a cage  containing  two  leopards  and  a 
hyena.  They  are  a rough,  ignorant  set  of  men,  appar- 
ently incapable  of  taking  any  particular  enjoyment  from 
the  life  of  variety  and  adventure  which  they  lead. 
There  was  the  man  who  put  his  head  into  the  lion’s 
mouth,  and,  I suppose,  the  man  about  whom  the  ana 
condas  twined,  talking  about  their  suppers,  and  bluster- 
ing for  hot  meat,  and  calling  for  something  to  drink, 
without  anything  of  the  wild  dignity  of  men  familiar 
with  the  nobility  of  nature. 

A character  of  a desperate  young  man,  who  employs 
high  courage  and  strong  faculties  in  this  sort  of  dangers, 
and  wastes  his  talents  in  wild  riot,  addressing  the  audi- 
ence as  a snake-man,  — keeping  the  ring  while  the 
monkey  rides  the  pony,  — singing  negro  and  other 
songs. 

The  country  boors  were  continually  getting  within 
the  barriers,  and  venturing  too  near  the  cages.  The 
great  lion  lay  with  his  fore  paws  extended,  and  a calm, 
majestic,  but  awful  countenance.  He  looked  on  the 


188 


AMERICAN  NOTE-fcOOKS. 


[1838. 


people  as  if  he  had  seen  many  such  concourses.  The 
hyena  was  the  most  ugly  and  dangerous  looking  beast, 
full  of  spite,  and  on  ill  terms  with  all  nature,  looking  a 
good  deal  like  a hog  with  the  devil  in  him,  the  ridge  of 
hair  along  his  back  bristling.  He  was  in  the  cage  with 
a leopard  and  a panther,  and  the  latter  seemed  continu- 
ally on  the  point  of  laying  his  paw  on  the  hyena,  who 
snarled,  and  showed  his  teeth.  It  is  strange,  though, 
to  see  how  these  wild  beasts  acknowledge  and  practise 
a degree  of  mutual  forbearance,  and  of  obedience  to 
iran,  with  their  wild  nature  yet  in  them.  The  great 
white  bear  seemed  in  distress  from  the  heat,  moving  his 
head  and  body  in  a peculiar,  fantastic  way,  and  eagerly 
drinking  water  when  given  it.  He  was  thin  and  lank. 

The  caravan  men  were  so  sleepy,  Orrin  S says, 

that  he  could  hardly  wake  them  in  the  morning.  They 
turned  over  on  their  faces  to  show  him. 

Coming  out  of  the  caravansary,  there  were  the  moun- 
tains, in  the  quiet  sunset,  and  many  men  drunk,  swear 
ing,  and  fighting.  Shanties  with  liquor  for  sale. 

The  elephant  lodged  in  the  barn. 

September  5th.  — I took  a walk  of  three  miles  from  the 
village,  which  brought  me  into  Vermont.  The  line  runs 
athwart  a bridge,  — a rude  bridge,  which  crosses  a moun- 
tain stream.  The  stream  runs  deep  at  the  bottom  of  a 
gorge,  plashing  downward,  with  rapids  and  pools,  and 
bestrewn  with  large  rocks,  deep  and  shady,  not  to 
be  reached  by  the  sun  except  in  its  meridian,  as  well 
on  account  of  the  depth  of  the  gorge  as  of  the  arch  of 
wilderness  trees  above  it.  There  was  a stumpy  clear- 
ing beyond  the  bridge,  where  some  men  were  building 


1838.]  American  note-books.  183 

a house.  I went  to  them,  and  inquired  if  I were  in 
Massachusetts  or  Vermont,  and  asked  for  some  water. 
Whereupon  they  showed  great  hospitality,  and  the  mas- 
ter-workman went  to  the  spring,  and  brought  delicious 
water  in  a tin  basin,  and  produced  another  jug  contain- 
ing “new  rum,  and  very  good;  and  rum  does  nobody 
any  harm  if  they  make  a good  use  of  it,”  quoth  he.  I 
invited  them  to  call  on  me  at  the  hotel,  if  they  should 
come  to  the  village  within  two  or  three  days.  Then  I 
took  my  way  back  through  the  forest,  for  this  is  a by- 
road, and  is,  much  of  its  course,  a sequestrated  and  wild 
one,  with  an  unseen  torrent  roaring  at  an  unseen  depth, 
along  the  roadside. 

My  walk  forth  had  been  an  almost  continued  ascent, 
and,  returning,  I had  an  excellent  view  of  Graylock  and 
the  adjacent  mountains,  at  such  a distance  that  they 
were  all  brought  into  one  group,  and  comprehended  at 
one  view,  as  belonging  to  the  same  company,  — all 
mighty,  with  a mightier  chief.  As  I drew  nearer  home, 
they  separated,  and  the  unity  of  effect  was  lost.  The 
more  distant  then  disappeared  behind  the  nearer  ones, 
and  finally  Graylock  itself  was  lost  behind  the  hill  which 
immediately  snuts  in  the  village.  There  was  a warm 
autumnal  haze,  which,  I think,  seemed  to  throw  the 
mountains  farther  off,  and  both  to  enlarge  and  soften 
them. 

To  imagine  the  gorges  and  deep  hollows  in  among 
the  group  of  mountains, — their  huge  shoulders  and  pro- 
trusions. 

“ They  were  just  beginning  to  pitch  over  the  moun- 
tains, as  I came  along,”  — stage-driver’s  expression 
about  the  caravan. 


190 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


A fantastic  figure  of  a village  coxcomb,  striding 
through  the  bar-room,  and  standing  with  folded  arms  to 
survey  the  (aravan  men.  There  is  much  exaggeration 
and  rattle-brain  about  this  fellow. 

A mad  girl  leaped  from  the  top  of  a tremendous  preci- 
pice in  Pownall,  hundreds  of  feet  high,  if  the  tale  be 
true,  and,  being  buoyed  up  by  her  clothes,  came  safely 
to  the  bottom. 

Inquiries  about  the  coming  of  the  caravan,  and 
whether  the  elephant  had  got  to  town,  and  reports  that 
he  had. 

A smart,  plump,  crimson-faced  gentleman,  with  a 
travelling-portmanteau  of  peculiar  neatness  and  con- 
venience. He  criticises  the  road  over  the  mountain, 
having  come  in  the  Greenfield  stage ; perhaps  an  en 
gineer. 

Bears  still  inhabit  Saddleback  and  the  neighboring 
mountains  and  forests.  Six  were  taken  in  Pownall 
last  year,  and  two  hundred  foxes.  Sometimes  they  ap- 
pear on  the  hills,  in  close  proximity  to  this  village. 

September  1th . — Mr.  Leach  and  I took  a walk  by 
moonlight  last  evening,  on  the  road  that  leads  over  the 
mountain.  Remote  from  houses,  far  up  on  the  hillside, 
we  found  a lime-kiln,  burning  near  the  road ; and,  ap- 
proaching it,  a watcher  started  from  the  ground,  where 
he  had  been  lying  at  his  length.  There  are  several 
of  these  lime- kilns  in  this  vicinity.  They  are  circular 


i83a] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


191 


built  with  stones,  like  a round  tower,  eighteen  or  twenty 
feet  high,  having  a hillock  heaped  around  in  a great 
portion  of  their  circumference,  so  that  the  marble  may 
be  brought  and  thrown  in  by  cart-loads  at  the  top.  At 
the  bottom  there  is  a doorway,  large  enough  to  admit  a 
man  in  a stooping  posture.  Thus  an  edifice  of  great 
solidity  is  constructed,  which  will  endure  for  centuries, 
unless  needless  pains  are  taken  to  tear  it  down.  There 
is  one  on  the  hillside,  close  to  the  village,  wherein  weeds 
grow  at  the  bottom,  and  grass  and  shrubs  too  are  rooted 
in  the  interstices  of  the  stones,  and  its  low  doorway  has 
a dungeon-like  aspect,  and  we  look  down  from  the  top 
as  into  a roofless  tower.  It  apparently  has  not  been 
used  for  man}’  years,  and  the  lime  and  weather-stained 
fragments  of  marble  are  scattered  about. 

But  in  the  one  we  saw  last  night  a hard-wood  fire 
was  burning  merrily,  beneath  the  superincumbent  mar- 
ble,— the  kiln  being  heaped  full;  and  shortly  after  we 
came,  the  man  (a  dark,  black-bearded  figure,  in  shirt- 
sleeves) opened  the  iron  door,  through  the  chinks  of 
which  the  fire  was  gleaming,  and  thrust  in  huge  logs  of 
wood,  and  stirred  the  immense  coals  with  a long  pole,  and 
showed  us  the  glowing  limestone,  — the  lower  layer  of  it. 
The  heat  of  the  fire  was  powerful,  at  the  distance  of 
several  yards  from  the  open  door.  He  talked  very  sen- 
sibly with  us,  being  doubtless  glad  to  have  two  visitors 
to  vary  his  solitary  night-watch  ; for  it  would  not  do  for 
him  to  fall  asleep,  since  the  fire  should  be  refreshed  as 
often  as  every  twenty  minutes.  We  ascended  the  hil- 
lock to  the  top  of  the  kiln,  and  the  marble  was  red-hot, 
and  burning  with  a bluish,  lambent  flame,  quivering  up, 
sometimes  nearly  a yard  high,  and  resembling  the  flame 


192  AMEIUCAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [183& 

of  anthracite  coal,  only,  the  marble  being  in  large  frag 
ments,  the  flame  was  higher.  The  kiln  was  perhaps 
six  or  eight  feet  across.  Four  hundred  bushels  of  mar- 
ole  were  then  in  a state  of  combustion.  The  expense 
of  converting  this  quantity  into  lime  is  about  fifty  dol- 
lars, and  it  sells  for  twenty-five  cents  per  bushel  at  the 
kiln.  We  asked  the  man  whether  he  would  run  across 
the  top  of  the  intensely  burning  kiln,  barefooted,  for  a 
thousand  dollars  ; and  he  said  he  would  for  ten.  He 
told  us  that  the  lime  had  been  burning  forty-eight  hours, 
and  would  be  finished  in  thirty-six  more.  He  liked  the 
business  of  watching  it  better  by  night  than  by  day ; 
because  the  days  were  often  hot,  but  such  a mild  and 
beautiful  night  as  the  last  was  just  right.  Here  a poet 
might  make  verses  with  moonlight  in  them,  and  a gleam 
of  fierce  firelight  flickering  through.  It  is  a shame  to 
use  this  brilliant,  white,  almost  transparent  marble  in 
this  way.  A man  said  of  it,  the  other  day,  that  into 
some  pieces  of  it,  when  polished,  one  could  see  a good 
distance ; and  he  instanced  a certain  gravestone. 

Visited  the  cave.  A large  portion  of  it,  where  water 
trickles  and  falls,  is  perfectly  white.  The  walls  pre- 
sent a specimen  of  how  Nature  packs  the  stone,  crowd- 
ing huge  masses,  as  it  were,  into  chinks  and  fissures, 
and  here  we  see  it  in  the  perpendicular  or  horizontal 
layers,  as  Nature  laid  it. 

September  9 tk.  — A walk  yesterday  forenoon  through 
the  Notch,  formed  between  Saddle  Mountain  and  another 
adjacent  one.  This  Noteh  is  otherwise  called  the  Bel- 
lowspipe,  being  a long  and  narrow  valley,  with  a steep 


IS;i3]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  193 

wall  on  either  side.  The  walls  are  very  high,  and  the 
fallen  timbers  lie  strewed  adown  the  precipitous  descent. 
The  valley  gradually  descends  from  the  narrowest  part 
of  the  Notch,  and  a ‘stream  of  water  flows  through  the 
midst  of  it,  which,  farther  onward  in  its  course,  turns  a 
mill.  The  valley  is  cultivated,  there  being  two  or  three 
farm-houses  towards  the  northern  end,  and  extensive 
fields  of  grass  beyond,  where  stand  the  hay-mows  of  last 
year,  with  the  hay  cut  away  regularly  around  their 
bases.  All  the  more  distant  portion  of  the  valley  is 
lonesome  in  the  extreme  ; and  on  the  hither  side  of  the 
narrowest  part  the  land  is  uncultivated,  partly  over- 
grown with  forest,  partly  used  as  sheep-pastures,  for 
which  purpose  it  is  not  nearly  so  barren  as  sheep-pas- 
tures usually  are.  On  the  right,  facing  southward,  rises 
Graylock,  all  beshagged  with  forest,  and  with  headlong 
precipices  of  rock  appearing  among  the  black  pines. 
Southward  there  is  a most  extensive  view  of  the  valley, 
in  which  Saddleback  and  its  companion  mountains 
are  crouched,  — wide  and  far,  — a broad,  misty  valley, 
fenced  in  by  a mountain  wall,  and  with  villages  scattered 
along  it,  and  miles  of  forest,  which  appear  but  as  patches, 
scattered  here  and  there  upon  the  landscape.  The  de- 
scent from  the  Notch  southward  is  much  more  abrupl 
than  on  the  other  side.  A stream  flows  down  through 
it ; and  along  much  of  its  course  it  has  washed  away  all 
the  earth  from  a ledge  of  rock,  and  then  formed  a de- 
scending pavement,  smooth  and  regular,  which  the 
scanty  flow  of  water  scarcely  suffices  to  moisten  at  this 
period,  though  a heavy  rain,  probably,  would  send  down 
a torrent,  raging,  roaring,  and  foaming.  1 descended 
along  the  course  of  the  stream,  and  sometimes  on  the 

VOL.  I.  9 M 


194  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838 

rocky  path  of  it,  and,  turning  off  towards  the  south  vil- 
lage, followed  a cattle-path  till  I came  to  a cottage. 

A horse  was  standing  saddled  near  the  door,  but  I 
did  not  see  the  rider.  I knocked,  and  an  elderly  wo- 
man, of  very  pleasing  and  intelligent  aspect,  came  at  the 
summons,  and  gave  me  directions  how  to  get  to  the 
south  village  through  an  orchard  and  a across  lots,” 
which  would  bring  me  into  the  road  near  the  Quaker 
meeting-house,  with  gravestones  round  it.  While  she 
talked,  a young  woman  came  into  the  pantry  from  the 
kitchen,  with  a dirty  little  brat,  whose  squalls  I had 
heard  all  along ; the  reason  of  his  outcry  being  that  his 
mother  was  washing  him.  — a very  unusual  process,  if 
I may  judge  by  his  looks.  I asked  the  old  lady  for 
some  water,  and  she  gave  me,  I think,  the  most  delicious 
I ever  tasted.  These  mountaineers  ought  certainly  to 
be  temperance  people  ; for  their  mountain  springs  sup- 
ply them  with  a liquor  of  which  the  cities  and  the  low 
countries  can  have  no  conception.  Pure,  fresh,  almost 
sparkling,  exhilarating,  — such  water  as  Adam  and  Eve 
drank. 

I passed  the  south  village  on  a by-road,  without  en- 
tering it,  and  was  taken  up  by  the  stage  from  Pittsfield 
a mile  or  two  this  side  of  it.  Platt,  the  driver,  a friend 
of  mine,  talked  familiarly  about  many  matters,  inter- 
mixing his  talk  with  remarks  on  his  team  and  addresses 
to  the  beasts  composing  it,  who  were  three  mares,  and 
a horse  on  the  near  wheel,  — all  bays.  The  horse  he 
pronounced  “ a dreadful  nice  horse  to  go ; but  if  he 
could  shirk  off  the  work  upon  the  others,  he  would,” 
— which  unfairness  Platt  corrected  by  timely  strokes  of 
the  whip  whenever  the  horse’s  traces  were  not  tightened 


I83S.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  19 S 

One  of  the  mares  wished  to  go  faster,  hearing  another 
horse  tramp  behind  her  ; “ and  nothing  made  her  so 
mad,”  quoth  Platt,  “ as  to  be  held  in  when  she  wanted 
to  go.”  The  near  leader  started.  “ O the  little  dev- 
il,” said  he,  “ how  skittish  she  is  ! ” Another  stumbled, 
and  Platt  bantered  her  thereupon.  Then  he  told  of 
foundering  through  snow-drifts  in  winter,  and  carrying 
the  mail  on  his  back  four  miles  from  Bennington.  And 
thus  we  jogged  on,  and  got  to  “ mine  inn  ” just  as  the 
dinner-bell  was  ringing. 

Pig-drover,  with  two  hundred  pigs.  They  are  much 
more  easily  driven  on  rainy  days  than  on  fair  ones. 
One  of  his  pigs,  a large  one,  particularly  troublesome 
as  to  running  off  the  road  towards  every  object,  and 
leading  the  drove.  Thirteen  miles  about  a day’s  jour- 
ney, in  the  course  of  which  the  drover  has  to  travel 
about  thirty. 

They  have  a dog,  who  runs  to  and  fro  indefatigably, 
barking  at  those  who  straggle  on  the  flanks  of  the  line 
of  march,  then  scampering  to  the  other  side  and  bark- 
ing, there,  and  sometimes  having  quite  an  affair  of  bark- 
ing and  surly  grunting  with  some  refractory  pig,  who 
has  found  something  to  munch,  and  refuses  to  quit  it. 
The  pigs  are  fed  on  corn  at  their  halts.  The  drove  has 
some  ultimate  market,  and  individuals  are  peddled  out 
on  the  march.  Some  die. 

Merino  sheep  (which  are  much  raised  in  Berkshire) 
are  good  for  hardly  anything  to  eat,  — a fair-sized  quar- 
ter dwindling  down  to  almost  nothing  in  the  process  of 
roasting. 

The  tavern-keeper  in  Stockbridge,  an  elderly  bach- 


AMERICA**  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838. 


116 

eior, — a vlnsty,  black-dressed,  antiquated  figure,  with  a 
white  neckcioth  setting  off  a dim,  yellow  complexion; 
looking  like  one  of  the  old  wax  figures  of  ministers  in 
a corner  of  the  New  England  Museum.  He  did  not 
seem  okf,  but  like  a middle-aged  man,  who  had  been 
preserved  in  some  dark  and  cobwebby  corner  for  a 
great  while.  He  is  asthmatic* 

In  Connecticut,  and  also  sometimes  in  Berkshire,  the 
villages  are  situated  on  the  most  elevated  ground  that 
can  be  found,  so  that  they  are  visible  for  miles  around. 
Litchfield  is  a remarkable  instance,  occupying  a high 
plain,  without  the  least  shelter  from  the  winds,  and  with 
almost  as  wide  an  expanse  of  view  as  from  a mountain- 
top.  The  streets  are  very  wide,  — two  or  three  hundred 
feet}  at  least}  — with  wide,  green  margins,  and  sometimes 
there  is  a wide  green  space  between  two  road  tracks. 
Nothing  can  be  neater  than  the  churches  and  houses. 
The  graveyard  is  on  the  slope,  and  at  the  foot  of  a 
swell,  filled  with  old  and  new  gravestones,  some  of  red 
freestone,  some  of  gray  granite,  most  of  them  of  white 
marble,  and  one  of  cast-iron  with  an  inscription  of 
raised  letters.  There  was  one  of  the  date  of  about 
1776,  on  which  was  represented  the  third  length,  bas- 
relief  portrait  of  a gentleman  in  a wig  and  other  cos- 
tume of  that  day ; and  as  a framework  about  this  por- 
trait was  wreathed  a garland  of  vine-leaves  and  heavy 
clusters  of  grapes.  The  deceased  should  have  been  a 
jolly  bottleman  ; but  the  epitaph  indicated  nothing  of 
the  kind. 

In  a remote  part  of  the  graveyard,  — remote  from 
the  main  body  of  dead  people,  - - 1 noticed  a humbler 


163d.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


195 


mossy  stone,  on  which  I traced  out,  “ To  the  memory  ol 
Julia  Africa,  servant  of  Rev.”  somebody.  There  were 
also  the  half-obliterated  traces  of  other  graves,  without 
any  monuments,  in  the  vicinity  of  this  one.  Doubtless 
the  slaves  here  mingled  their ‘dark  clay  with  the  earth. 

At  Litchfield  there  is  a doctor  who  undertakes  to 
cure  deformed  people,  — and  humpbacked,  lame,  and 
otherwise  defective  folk  go  there.  Besides  these,  there 
were  many  ladies  and  others  boarding  there,  for  the 
oenefit  of  the  air,  I suppose. 

At  Canaan,  Connecticut,  before  the  tavern,  there  is  a 
doorstep  two  or  three  paces  large  in  each  of  its  dimen- 
sions ; and  on  this  is  inscribed  the  date  when  the 
builder  of  the  house  came  to  the  town,  — namely,  1731. 
The  house  was  built  in  1751.  Then  follows  the  age  and 
death  of  the  patriarch  (at  over  ninety)  and  his  wife,  and 
the  births  of,  I think,  eleven  sons  and  daughters.  It 
wouid  seem  as  if  they  were  buried  underneath ; and 
many  people  take  that  idea.  It  is  odd  to  put  a family 
recoid  in  a spot  where  it  is  sure  to  be  trampled  under- 
foot. 

At  Springfield,  a blind-man,  who  came  in  the  stage, 
— elderly,  — sitting  in  the  reading-room,  and,  as  soon  as 
seated,  feeling  all  around  him  with  his  cane,  so  as  to 
find  out  his  locality,  and  know  where  he  may  spit  with 
safety ! The  cautious  and  scientific  air  with  which  he 
measures  his  distances.  Then  he  sits  still  and  silent  a 
long  while,  — then  inquires  the  hour,  — then  says,  “ I 
should  like  to  go  to  bed.”  Nobody  of  the  house  being 
near,  he  receives  no  answer,  and  repeats  impatiently, 
u I ’ll  go  to  bed.”  One  would  suppose,  that,  conscious  of 


198 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


bis  dependent  condition,  he  would  have  learned  a dif- 
ferent sort  of  manner  ; but  probably  he  has  lived  where 
he  could  command  attention. 

Two  travellers,  eating  bread  and  cheese  of  their  own 
in  the  bar-room  at  Stockbridge,  and  drinking  water  out 
of  a tumbler  borrowed  from  the  landlord.  Eating  im- 
mensely,  and,  when  satisfied,  putting  the  relics  in  their 
trunk,  and  rubbing  down  the  table. 

Sample  ears  of  various  kinds  of  corn  hanging  over 
the  looking-glass  or  in  the  bars  of  taverns.  Four  ears 
on  a stalk  (good  ones)  are  considered  a heavy  har- 
vest. 

A withered,  yellow,  sodden,  dead-alive  looking  woman, 
— an  opium-eater.  A deaf  man,  with  a great  fancy  for 
conversation,  so  that  his  interlocutor  is  compelled  to 
halloo  and  bawl  over  the  rumbling  of  the  coach,  amid 
which  he  hears  best.  The  sharp  tones  of  a woman’s 
voice  appear  to  pierce  his  dull  organs  much  better 
than  a masculine  voice.  The  impossibility  of  saying 
anything  but  commonplace  matters  to  a deaf  man, 
of  expressing  any  delicacy  of  thought  in  a raised 
tone,  of  giving  utterance  to  fine  feelings  in  a bawl. 
This  man’s  deafness  seemed  to  have  made  his  mind  and 
feelings  uncommonly  coarse;  for,  after  the  opium-eater 
had  renewed  an  old  acquaintance  with  him,  almost  the 
first  question  he  asked,  in  his  raised  voice,  was,  “ Do 
you  eat  opium  now  ? ” 

At  Hartford,  the  keeper  of  a temperance  hotel  read- 
ing a Hebrew  Bible  in  the  bar  by  means  of  a lexicon 
and  an  English  version. 


1838] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS 


199 


A negro,  respectably  dressed,  and  well-mounted  on 
horseback,  travelling  on  his  own  hook,  calling  for  oats, 
and  drinking  a glass  of  bran dy-and- water  at  the  bar, 
like  any  other  Christian.  A young  man  from  Wiscon- 
sin said : “ I wish  I had  a thousand  such  fellows  in  Ala- 
bama.’’ It  made  a strange  impression  on  me,  — the 
negro  was  really  so  human ! — and  to  talk  of  owning  a 
thousand  like  him ! 

Left  North  Adams  September  11th.  Reached  home 
September  24th,  1838. 

October  24 th.  — View  from  a chamber  of  the  Tre- 
mont  of  the  brick  edifice  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of 
Beacon  Street.  At  one  of  the  lower  windows,  a woman 
at  work ; at  one  above,  a lady  hemming  a ruff  or  some 
such  lady-like  thing.  She  is  pretty,  young,  and  mar- 
ried ; for  a little  boy  comes  to  her  knees,  and  she  parts 
his  hair,  and  caresses  him  in  a motherly  way.  A note 
on  colored  paper  is  brought  her ; and  she  reads  it,  and 
puts  it  in  her  bosom.  At  another  window,  at  some 
depth  within  the  apartment,  a gentleman  in  a dressing- 
gown,  reading,  and  rocking  in  an  easy-chair,  &c.,  &c., 
&c.  A rainy  day,  and  people  passing  with  umbrellas 
disconsolately  between  the  spectator  and  these  various 
scenes  of  indoor  occupation  and  comfort.  With  this 
sketch  might  be  mingled  and  worked  up  some  story 
that  was  going  on  within  the  chamber  where  the  spec- 
tator was  situated. 

All  the  dead  that  had  ever  been  drowned  in  a certain 
lake  to  arise. 


200  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1838 

The  history  of  a small  lake  from  the  first,  till  it  was 
drained. 

An  autumnal  feature,  — boys  had  swept  together  the 
fallen  leaves  from  the  elms  along  the  street  in  one  huge 
pile,  and  had  made  a hollow,  nest-shaped,  in  this  pile, 
in  which  three  or  four  of  them  lay  curled,  like  young 
birds. 

A tombstone-maker,  whom  Miss  B y knew,  used 

to  cut  cherubs  on  the  top  of  the  tombstones,  and  had  the 
art  of  carving  the  cherubs’  faces  in  the  likeness  of  the 
deceased. 

A child  of  Rev.  E.  P was  threatened  with  total 

blindness.  A week  after  the  father  had  been  informed 
of  this,  the  child  died ; and,  in  the  mean  while,  his  feel- 
ings had  become  so  much  the  more  interested  in  the 
child,  from  its  threatened  blindness,  that  it  was  infinitely 
harder  to  give  it  up.  Had  he  not  been  aware  of  it  till 
after  the  child’s  death,  it  would  probably  have  been  a 
consolation. 

Singular  character  of  a gentleman  (H.  H , Esq.) 

living  in  retirement  in  Boston,  — esteemed  a man  of  nicest 
honor,  and  his  seclusion  attributed  to  wounded  feelings 
on  account  of  the  failure  of  his  firm  in  business.  Yet  it 
was  discovered  that  this  man  had  been  the  mover  oi 
intrigues  by  which  men  in  business  had  been  ruined, 
and  their  property  absorbed,  none  knew  how  or  by 
whom ; love-affairs  had  been  broken  off,  and  much  other 
mischief  done  ; and  for  years  he  was  not  in  th*  le^st 


/838.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


20 1 


suspected.  He  died  suddenly,  soon  after  suspicion  fell 
upon  him.  Probably  it  was  the  love  of  management, 
of  having  an  influence  on  affairs,  that  produced  these 
phenomena. 

Character  of  a man  who,  in  himself  and  his  external 
circumstances,  shall  be  equally  and  totally  false : his 
foitune  resting  on  baseless  credit,  — his  patriotism 
assumed,  — his  domestic  affections,  his  honor  and  hon- 
esty, all  a sham.  His  own  misery  in  the  midst  of  it,  — 
it  making  the  whole  universe,  heaven  and  earth  alike, 
an  unsubstantial  mockery  to  him. 

Dr.  Johnson’s  penance  in  Uttoxeter  Market.  A man 
who  does  penance  in  what  might  appear  to  lookers-on 
the  most  glorious  and  triumphal  circumstance  of  his 
life.  Each  circumstance  of  the  career  of  an  apparently 
successful  man  to  be  a penance  and  torture  to  him  on 
account  of  some  fundamental  error  in  early  life. 

A person  to  catch  fireflies,  and  try  to  kindle  his 
household  fire  with  them.  It  would  be  symbolical  of 
something. 

Thanksgiving  at  the  Worcester  Lunatic  Asylum.  A 
ball  and  dance  of  the  inmates  in  the  evening,  — a furi- 
ous lunatic  dancing  with  the  principal’s  wife.  Thanks- 
giving in  an  almshouse  might  make  a better  sketch. 

The  house  on  the  eastern  corner  of  North  and  Essex 
Streets  [Salem],  supposed  to  have  been  built  about 
1640,  had,  say  sixty  years  later,  a brick  turret  erected, 
9 * 


202 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1838 


wherein  one  of  the  ancestors  of  the  present  occupants 
used  to  practise  alchemy.  lie  was  the  operative  of  a 
scientific  person  in  Boston,  the  director.  There  have 
been  oilier  alchemists  of  old  in  this  town,  — one  who 
kept  his  fire  burning  seven  weeks,  and  then  lost  the 
elixir  by  letting  it  go  out. 

An  ancient  wineglass  (Miss  Ingersol’s),  long-stalked, 
with  a small,  cup-like  bowl,  round  which  is  wreathed  a 
branch  of  grape-vine,  with  a rich  cluster  of  grapes,  and 
leaves  spread  out.  There  is  also  some  kind  of  a bird 
flying.  The  whole  is  excellently  cut  or  engraved. 

In  the  Duke  of  Buckingham’s  comedy  “ The 
Chances,”  Don  Frederic  says  of  Don  John  (they  are 
two  noble  Spanish  gentlemen),  “ One  bed  contains  us 
<aver.” 

A person,  while  awake  and  in  the  business  of  life,  to 
think  highly  of  another,  and  place  perfect  confidence  in 
him,  but  to  be  troubled  with  dreams  in  which  this  seem- 
ing friend  appears  to  act  the  part  of  a most  deadly  en- 
emy. Finally  it  is  discovered  that  the  dream-character 
is  the  true  one.  The  explanation  would  be  — the  soul’s 
instinctive  perception. 

Pandora’s  box  for  a child’s  story. 

Moonlight  is  sculpture ; sunlight  is  painting. 

“ A person  to  look  back  on  a long  life  ill-spent,  and 
to  picture  forth  a beautiful  life  which  he  would  live. 


J839.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


203 


if  he  could  be  permitted  to  begin  his  life  over  again. 
Finally  to  discover  that  he  had  only  been  dreaming  of 
old  age,  — that  he  was  really  young,  and  could  live 
such  a life  as  he  had  pictured.” 

A newspaper,  purporting  to  be  published  in  a family, 
and  satirizing  the  political  and  general  world  by  adver- 
tisements, remarks  on  domestic  affairs,  — advertisement 
of  a lady’s  lost  thimble,  &c. 

L.  H . She  was  unwilling  to  die,  because  she  had 

no  friends  to  meet  her  in  the  other  world.  Her  little 
son  F.  being  very  ill,  on  his  recovery  she  confessed  a 
feeling  of  disappointment,  having  supposed  that  he  would 
have  gone  before,  and  welcomed  her  into  heaven  ! 

H.  L.  C— — heard  from  a French  Canadian  a story 
of  a young  couple  in  Acadie.  On  their  marriage  day,  all 
the  men  of  the  Province  were  summoned  to  assemble 
in  the  church  to  hear  a proclamation.  When  assem- 
bled, they  were  all  seized  and  shipped  off  to  be  dis- 
tributed through  New  England,  — among  them  the  new 
bridegroom.  His  bride  set  off  in  search  of  hirp, — 
wandered  about  New  England  all  her  lifetime,  and  at 
last,  when  she  was  old,  she  found  her  bridegroom  on 
his  death-bed.  The  shock  was  so  great  that  it  killed 
her  likewise. 

January  kth,  1839.  — When  scattered  clouds  are 
resting  on  the  bosoms  of  hills,  it  seems  as  if  one  might 
climb  into  the  heavenly  region,  earth  being  so  inter- 
mixed with  sky,  and  gradually  transfoimed  into  i U 


204 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1839. 


A stranger,  dying,  is  buried  ; and  after  many  years 
two  strangers  come  in  search  of  his  grave,  and  open 
it. 


The  strange  sensation  of  a person  who  feels  himself 
an  object  of  deep  interest,  and  close  observation,  and 
various  construction  of  all  his  actions,  by  another  per 
son. 

Letters  in  the  shape  of  figures  of  men,  &c.  At  a 
distance,  the  words  composed  by  the  letters  are  alone 
distinguishable.  Close  at  hand,  the  figures  alone  are 
seen,  and  not  distinguished  as  letters.  Thus  things  may 
have  a positive,  a relative,  and  a composite  meaning, 
according  to  the  point  of  view. 

“ Passing  along  the  street,  all  muddy  with  puddles, 
and  suddenly  seeing  the  sky  reflected  in  these  puddles 
in  such  a way  as  quite  to  conceal  the  foulness  of  the 
street.,, 

A young  man  in  search  of  happiness,  — to  be  per- 
sonified by  a figure  whom  he  expects  to  meet  in  a 
crowd,  and  is  to  be  recognized  by  certain  signs.  All 
these  signs  are  given  by  a figure  in  various  garbs  and 
actions,  but  he  does  not  recognize  that  this  is  the 
sought-for  person  till  too  late. 

If  cities  were  built  by  the  sound  of  music,  then  some 
edifices  would  appear  to  be  constructed  by  grave,  sol- 
emn tones,  *— others  to  have  danced  forth  to  light,  fan- 
tastic airs. 


1839.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  205 

Familiar  spirits,  according  to  Lilly,  used  to  be  worn 
in  rings,  watches,  sword-hilts.  Thumb-rings  were  set 
with  jewels  of  extraordinary  size. 

A very  fanciful  person,  when  dead,  to  have  his  burial 
in  a cloud. 

“ A story  there  passeth  of  an  Indian  king  that  sent 
unto  Alexander  a fair  woman,  fed  with  aconite  and 
other  poisons,  with  this  intent  complexionally  to  destroy 
him  ! ” — Sir  7\  Browne . 

Dialogues  of  the  unborn,  like  dialogues  of  the  dead, — 
or  between  two  young  children. 

A mortal  symptom  for  a person  being  to  lose 
his  own  aspect  and  to  take  the  family  lineaments, 
which  were  hidden  deep  in  the  healthful  visage. 
Perhaps  a seeker  might  thus  recognize  the  man  he 
had  sought,  after  long  intercourse  with  him  unknow- 
ingly. 

Some  moderns  to  build  a fire  on  Ararat  with  the 
remnants  of  the  ark. 

Two  little  boats  of  cork,  with  a magnet  in  one  and 
steel  in  the  other. 

To  have  ice  in  one’s  blood. 

To  make  a story  of  all  strange  and  impossible  things, 
as  the  Salamander,  the  Phoenix. 


206 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[J840, 


The  semblance  of  a human  face  to  be  formed  on  the 
side  of  a mountain,  or  in  the  fracture  of  a small  stone, 
by  a lusus  nature*.  The  face  is  an  object  of  curiosity 
for  years  oi  centuries,  and  by  and  by  a boy  is  born, 
whose  features  gradually  assume  the  aspect  of  that  por- 
trait. At  some  critical  juncture,  the  resemblance  is 
found  to  be  perfect.  A prophecy  may  be  connected. 

A person  to  be  the  death  of  his  beloved  in  trying  to 
raise  her  to  more  than  mortal  perfection ; yet  this 
should  be  a comfort  to  him  for  having  aimed  so  highly 
and  holily. 

1840.  — A man,  unknown,  conscious  of  temptation  to 
secret  crimes,  puts  up  a note  in  church,  desiring  the 
prayers  of  the  congregation  for  one  so  tempted. 

Some  most  secret  thing,  valued  and  honored  between 
lovers,  to  be  hung  up  in  public  places,  and  made  the 
subject  of  remark  by  the  city,  — remarks,  sneers,  and 
laughter. 

To  make  a story  out  of  a scarecrow,  giving  it  odd 
attributes.  From  different  points  of  view,  it  should 
appear  to  change,  — now  an  old  man,  now  an  old  wo- 
man, — a gunner,  a farmer,  or  the  Old  Nick. 

A ground-sparrow’s  nest  in  the  slope  of  a bank 
brought  to  view  by  mowing  the  grass,  but  still  sheltered 
and  comfortably  hidden  by  a blackberry-vine  trailing 
over  it.  At  first,  four  brown-speckled  eggs,  — then 
two  little  bare  young  ones,  which,  on  the  slightest  noise, 


1810.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


20? 


lift  their  heads,  and  open  wide  mouths  for  food,  — 
immediately  dropping  their  heads,  after  a broad  gape. 
The  action  looks  as  if  they  were  making  a most  earnest, 
agonized  petition.  In  another  egg,  as  in  a coffin,  I 
could  discern  the  quiet,  death-like  form  of  the  little  bird. 
The  whole  thing  had  something  awful  and  mysterious 
in  it. 

A coroner’s  inquest  on  a murdered  man,  — the  gath- 
ering of  the  jury  to  be  described,  and  the  characters  of 
the  members,  — some  with  secret  guilt  upon  their  souls. 

To  represent  a man  as  spending  life  and  the  intens- 
est  labor  in  the  accomplishment  of  some  mechanical  tri- 
fle, — as  in  making  a miniature  coach  to  be  drawn  by 
fleas,  or  a dinner-service  to  be  put  into  a cherry-stone. 

A bonfire  to  be  made  of  the  gallows  and  of  all  sym- 
bols of  evil. 

The  love  of  posterity  is  a consequence  of  the  neces-< 
sity  of  death.  If  a man  were  sure  of  living  forever 
here,  he  would  not  care  about  his  offspring. 

The  device  of  a sundial  for  a monument  over  a grave, 
with  some  suitable  motto. 

A man  with  the  right  perception  of  things,  — a feel- 
ing within  him  of  what  is  true  and  what  is  false.  It 
might  be  symbolized  by  the  talisman  with  which,  in  fairy 
tales,  an  adventurer  wa3  enabled  to  distinguish  enchant* 
ments  from  realities. 


208  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [ 1839. 

A phantom  of  the  old  royal  governors,  or  some  such 
shadowy  pageant,  on  the  night  of  the  evacuation  of  Bos- 
ton by  the  British. 

taking  my  likeness,  I said  that  such  changes 

would  come  over  my  face  that  she  wohld  not  know 
me  when  we  met  again  in  heaven.  “ See  if  I do 
not ! ” said  she,  smiling.  There  was  the  most  peculiar 
and  beautiful  humor  in  the  point  itself,  and  in  her  man- 
ner,  that  can  be  imagined. 

Little  F.  H used  to  look  into  E *s  mouth  to 

see  where  her  smiles  came  from. 

“ There  is  no  Measure  for  Measure  to  my  affections. 
If  the  earth  fails  me,  I can  die,  and  go  to  God,” 
said . 

Selfishness  is  one  of  the  qualities  apt  to  inspire  love. 
This  might  be  thought  out  at  great  length. 

[extracts  from  his  private  letters.] 

Boston , July  3d,  1839.  — I do  not  mean  to  imply  that 
I am  unhappy  or  discontented,  for  this  is  not  the  case. 
My  life  only  is  a burden  in  the  same  way  that  it  is  to 
every  toilsome  man  ; and  mine  is  a healthy  weariness, 
such  as  needs  only  a night’s  sleep  to  remove  it.  But 
from  henceforth  forever  I shall  be  entitled  to  call  the 
sons  of  toil  my  brethren,  and  shall  know  how  to  sympa- 
thize with  them,  seeing  that  I likewise  have  risen  at 
the  dawn,  and  borne  the  fervor  of  the  midday  sun,  no* 


1840.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


20C 


turned  my  heavy  footsteps  homeward  till  eventide. 
Years  hence,  perhaps,  the  experience  that  my  heart  is 
acquiring  now  will  flow  out  in  truth  and  wisdom. 

August  27 th.  — I have  been  stationed  all  day  at  the 
end  of  Long  Wharf,  and  I rather  think  that  I had  the 
most  eligible  situation  of  anybody  in  Boston.  I was  aware 
that  it  must  be  intensely  hot  in  the  midst  of  the  city  ; but 
there  was  only  a short  space  of  uncomfortable  heat  in  my 
region,  half-way  towards  the  centre  of  the  harbor ; and  * 
almost  all  the  time  there  was  a pure  and  delightful  breeze, 
fluttering  and  palpitating,  sometimes  shyly  kissing  my 
brow,  then  dying  away,  and  then  rushing  upon  me  in 
livelier  sport,  so  that  I was  fain  to  settle  my  straw  hat 
more  tightly  upon  my  head.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  there 
was  a sunny  shower,  which  came  down  so  like  a benedic- 
tion that  it  seemed  ungrateful  to  take  shelter  in  the 
cabin  or  to  put  up  an  umbrella.  Then  there  was  a rain- 
bow, or  a large  segment  of  one,  so  exceedingly  brilliant 
and  of  such  long  endurance  that  I almost  fancied  it  was 
stained  into  the  sky,  and  would  continue  there  perma- 
nently. And  there  were  clouds  floating  all  about, — 
great  clouds  and  small,  of  all  glorious  and  lovely  hues 
(save  that  imperial  crimson  which  was  revealed  to  our 
united  gaze),  — so  glorious  indeed,  and  so  lovely,  that  I 
had  a fantasy  of  heaven’s  being  broken  into  fleecy  frag- 
ments and  dispersed  through  space,  with  its  blest  in- 
habitants dwelling  blissfully  upon  those  scattered  isl- 
ands. 

February  7th , 1840  — What  beautiful  weather  this  is ! 
~ beautiful,  at  least,  so  far  as  sun,  sky,  and  atmosphere 


210 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1840 


<*re  concerned,  though  a poor,  wingless  biped  is  some* 
times  constrained  to  wish  that  he  could  raise  himself  a 
little  above  the  earth.  How  much  mud  and  mire,  how 
many  pools  of  unclean  water,  how  many  slippery  foot- 
steps, and  perchance  heavy  tumbles,  might  be  avoided,  if 
we  could  tread  but  six  inches  above  the  crust  of  this 
world.  Physically  we  cannot  do  this ; our  bodies  can- 
not ; but  it  seems  to  me  that  our  hearts  and  minds  may 
keep  themselves  above  moral  mud-puddles  and  other 
, discomforts  of  the  soul’s  pathway. 

February  1 1th. — I have  been  measuring  coal  all  day, 
on  board  of  a black  little  British  schooner,  in  a dismal 
dock  at  the  north  end  of  the  city.  Most  of  the  time  I 
paced  the  deck  to  keep  myself  warm  ; for  the  wind 
(northeast,  I believe)  blew  up  through  the  dock,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  pipe  of  a pair  of  bellows:  The  vessel  ly- 

ing deep  between  two  wharfs,  there  was  no  more  de^ 
lightful  prospect,  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  than 
the  posts  and  timbers,  half  immersed  in  the  water,  and 
covered  with  ice,  which  the  rising  and  falling  of  suc- 
cessive tides  had  left  upon  them,  so  that  they  looked 
like  immense  icicles.  Across  the  water,  however,  not 
more  than  half  a mile  off,  appeared  the  Bunker  Hill 
Monument ; and  what  interested  me  considerably  more, 
a church-steeple,  with  the  dial  of  a clock  upon  it,  where- 
by I was  enabled  to  measure  the  march  of  the  wreary 
hours.  Sometimes  I descended  into  the  dirty  little 
cabin  of  the  schooner,  and  warmed  myself  by  a red-hot 
stove,  among  biscuit  barrels,  pots  and  kettles,  sea-chests, 
and  innumerable  lumber  of  all  sorts,  — my  olfactories, 
meanwhile,  being  greatly  refreshed  by  the  odor  i(  a 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


211 


1840.] 

pipe,  which  the  captain,  or  some  one  of  his  crew,  was 
smoking.  But  at  last  came  the  sunset,  with  delicate 
clouds,  and  a purple  light  upon  the  islands ; and  1 
blessed  it,  because  it  was  the  signal  of  my  release. 

February  12th. — All  day  long  again  have  I been 
engaged  in  a very  black  business,  — as  black  as  a coal ; 
and,  though  my  face  and  hands  have  undergone  a 
thorough  purification,  I feel  not  altogether  fit  to  hold 
communion  with  doves.  Methinks  my  profession  is 
somewhat  akin  to  that  of  a chimney-sweeper ; but  the 
latter  has  the  advantage  over  me,  because,  after  climb- 
ing up  through  the  darksome  flue  of  the  chimney,  he 
emerges  into  the  midst  of  the  golden  air,  and  sings  out 
his  melodies  far  over  the  heads  of  the  whole  tribe  of 
weary  earth-plodders.  My  toil  to-day  has  been  cold 
and  dull  enough  ; nevertheless,  I was  neither  cold  nor 
dull. 

March  1 5th.  — I pray  that  in  one  year  more  1 may 
find  6ome  way  of  escaping  from  this  unblest  Custom 
House  ; for  it  is  a very  grievous  thraldom.  I do  detest 
all  offices,  — all,  at  least,  that  are  held  on  a political 
tenure.  And  I want  nothing  to  do  with  politicians. 
Their  hearts  wither  away,  and  die  out  of  their  bodies. 
Their  consciences  are  turned  to  india-rubber,  or  to  some 
substance  as  black  as  that,  and  which  will  stretch  as 
much.  One  thing,  if  no  more,  I have  gained  by  my 
custom-house  experience,  — to  know  a politician.  It 
is  a knowledge  which  no  previous  thought  or  power  of 
sympathy  could  have  taught  me,  because  the  animal,  or 
the  machine  rather,  is  not  in  nature. 


212 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1840 


March  23 d.  — I do  think  that  it  is  the  doom  laid 
upon  me,  of  murdering  so  many  of  the  brightest  hours 
of  the  day  at  the  Custom  House,  that  makes  such  havoc 
with  my  wits,  for  here  I am  again  trying  to  write 
worthily,  ....  yet  with  a sense  as  if  all  the  noblest 
part  of  man  had  been  left  out  of  my  composition,  or 
had  decayed  out  of  it  since  my  nature  was  given  to  my 
own  keeping Never  comes  any  bird  of  Para- 

dise into  that  dismal  region.  A salt  or  even  a coal  ship 
is  ten  million  times  preferable ; for  there  the  sky  is 
above  me,  and  the  fresh  breeze  around  me,  and  my 
thoughts,  having  hardly  anything  to  do  with  my  occupa- 
tion, are  as  free  as  air. 

Nevertheless,  you  are  not  to  fancy  that  the  above 
paragraph  gives  a correct  idea  of  my  mental  and  spiritual 

state It  is  only  once  in  a while  that  the  image 

and  desire  of  a better  and  happier  life  makes  me  feel 
the  iron  of  my  chain ; for,  after  all,  a human  spirit  may 
find  no  insufficiency  of  food  fit  for  it,  even  in  the  Custom 
House.  And,  with  such  materials  as  these,  I do  think 
and  feel  and  learn  things  that  are  worth  knowing,  and 
which  I should  not  know  unless  I had  learned ' them 
there,  so  that  the  present  portion  of  my  life  shall  not  be 
quite  left  out  of  the  sum  of  my  real  existence.  ...  It  is 
good  for  me,  on  many  accounts,  that  my  life  has  had 
this  passage  in  it.  I know  much  more  than  I did  a year 
ago.  I have  a stronger  sense  of  power  to  act  as  a man 
among  men.  I have  gained  worldly  wisdom,  and  wisdom 
also  that  is  not  altogether  of  this  world.  And,  when  I 
quit  this  earthly  cavern  where  T am  now  buried,  nothing 
will  cling  to  me  that  ought  to  be  left  behind.  Men  will 
not  perceive,  I trust,  by  my  look,  or  the  tenor  of  my 


1840.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  213 

thoughts  and  feelings,  that  I have  been  a custom-house 
officer. 

April  1th . — It  appears  to  me  to  have  been  the  most 
uncomfortable  day  that  ever  was  inflicted  on  poor  mor- 
tals  Besides  the  bleak,  unkindly  air,  I have 

been  plagued  by  two  sets  of  coal-shovellers  at  the  same 
time,  and  have  been  obliged  to  keep  two  separate  tallies 
simultaneously.  But  I was  conscious  that  all  this  was 
merely  a vision  and  a fantasy,  and  that,  in  reality,  I 
was  not  half  frozen  by  the  bitter  blast,  nor  tormented 
by  those  grimy  coal-heavers,  but  that  I was  basking 

quietly  in  the  sunshine  of  eternity Any  sort  of 

bodily  and  earthly  torment  may  serve  to  make  us  sensi- 
ble that  we  have  a soul  that  is  not  within  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  such  shadowy  demons,  — it  separates  the  immor- 
tal within  us  from  the  mortal.  But  the  wind  has  blown 
my  brains  into  such  confusion  that  I cannot  philosophize 
now. 

April  19 th.  — ....  What  a beautiful  day  was  yes- 
terday ! My  spirit  rebelled  against  being  confined  in 
my  darksome  dungeon  at  the  Custom  House.  It 
seemed  a sin,  — a murder  of  the  joyful  young  day,  — a 
quenching  of  the  sunshine.  Nevertheless,  there  I was 
kept  a prisoner  till  it  was  too  late  to  fling  myself  on  a 

gentle  wind,  and  be  blowm  away  into  the  country 

When  1 shall  be  again  free,  I wdll  enjoy  all  things  with 
the  fresh  simplicity  of  a child  of  five  years  old.  I shall 
grow  young  again,  made  all  over  anew.  I will  go  forth 
and  stand  in  a summer  shower,  and  all  the  worldly  dust 
that  has  collected  on  me  shall  be  washed  away  at  once 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


214 


[1840. 


and  my  heart  will  be  like  a bank  of  fresh  flowers  for  the 
weary  to  rest  upon 

6 p.  m.  — I went  out  to  walk  about  an  hour  ago,  and 
found  it  very  pleasant,  though  there  was  a somewhat 
cool  wind.  I went  round  and  across  the  Common,  and 
stood  on  the  highest  point  of  it,  where  I could  see  miles 
and  miles  into  the  country.  Blessed  be  God  for  this 
green  tract,  and  the  view  which  it  affords,  whereby  we 
poor  citizens  may  be  put  in  mind,  sometimes,  that  all 
his  earth  is  not  composed  of  blocks  of  brick  houses,  and 
of  stone  or  wooden  pavements.  Blessed  be  God  for  the 
sky  too,  though  the  smoke  of  the  city  may  somewhat 
change  its  aspect,  — but  still  it  is  better  than  if  each 
street  were  covered  over  with  a roof.  There  were  a 
good  many  people  walking  on  the  mall, — mechanics 
apparently,  and  shopkeepers’  clerks,  with  their  wives ; 
and  boys  were  rolling  on  the  grass,  and  I would  have 
liked  to  lie  down  and  roll  too. 

April  2>0th.  — ....  I arose  this  morning  feeling 
more  elastic  than  I have  throughout  the  winter ; for  the 
breathing  of  the  ocean  air  has  wrought  a very  beneficial 
effect What  a beautiful,  most  beautiful  after- 

noon this  has  been  ! It  was  a real  happiness  to  live 
If  I had  been  merely  a vegetable,  — a hawthorn-bush, 
for  instance,  — I must  have  been  happy  in  such  an  air 
and  sunshine ; but,  having  a mind  and  a soul,  .... 
I enjoyed  somewhat  more  than  mere  vegetable  happi- 
ness  The  footsteps  of  May  can  be  traced  upon 

the  islands  in  the  harbor,  and  I have  been  watching  the 
tints  of  green  upon  them  gradually  deepening,  till  now 
they  are  almost  as  beautiful  as  they  ever  can  be. 


1840. J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


215 


May  19 th. — . . . . Lights  and  shadows  are  contin- 
ually flitting  across  my  inward  sky,  and  I know  neither 
whence  they  come  nor  whither  they  go ; nor  do  I inquire 
too  closely  into  them.  It  is  dangerous  to  look  too  mi- 
nutely into  such  phenomena.  It  is  apt  to  create  a sub- 
stance where  at  first  there  was  a mere  shadow If 

at  any  time  there  should  seem  to  be  an  expression  unin- 
telligible from  one  soul  to  another,  it  is  best  not  to  strive 
to  interpret  it  in  earthly  language,  but  wait  for  the  soul  to 
make  itself  understood ; and,  were  we  to  wait  a thousand 
years,  we  need  deem  it  no  more  time  than  we  can  spare. 
. ...  It  is  not  that  I have  any  love  of  mystery,  but 
because  I abhor  it,  and  because  I have  often  felt  that 
words  may  be  a thick  and  darksome  veil  of  mystery 
between  the  soul  and  the  truth  which  it  seeks.  Wretched 
were  we,  indeed,  if  we  had  no  better  means  of  commu- 
nicating ourselves,  no  fairer  garb  in  which  to  array  our 
essential  being,  than  these  poor  rags  and  tatters  of  Babel. 
Yet  words  are  not  without  their  use  even  for  purposes 
of  explanation,  — but  merely  for  explaining  outward 
acts  and  all  sorts  of  external  things,  leaving  the  soul's 
life  and  action  to  explain  itself  in  its  own  way. 

What  a misty  disquisition  I have  scribbled ! I 
would  not  read  it  over  for  sixpence. 

May  29 th.  — Rejoice  with  me,  for  I am  free  from  a 
load  of  coal  which  has  been  pressing  upon  my  shoul- 
ders throughout  all  the  hot  weather.  I am  convinced 
that  Christian's  burden  consisted  of  coal ; and  no  won- 
der he  felt  so  much  relieved,  when  it  fell  off  and  rolled 
into  the  sepulchre.  His  load,  however,  at  the  ut- 
most, could  not  have  been  more  than  a few  bushels,* 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


216 


[1340 


whereas  mine  was  exactly  one  hundred  and  thirty-five 
chaldrons  and  seven  tubs. 


May  30 th.  — ....  On  board  my  salt-vessels  and  col- 
liers there  are  many  things  happening,  many  pictures 
which,  in  future  years,  when  I am  again  busy  at  the  loom 
of  fiction,  I could  weave  in  ; but  my  fancy  is  rendered  so 
torpid  by  my  ungenial  way  of  life  that  I cannot  sketch 
off  the  scenes  and  portraits  that  interest  me,  and  I am 
forced  to  trust  them  to  my  memory,  with  the  hope  of 
recalling  them  at  some  more  favorable  period.  For 
these  three  or  four  days  I have  been  observing  a little 
Mediterranean  boy  from  Malaga,  not  more  than  ten  oi 
eleven  years  old,  but  who  is  already  a citizen  of  the 
world,  and  seems  to  be  just  as  gay  and  contented  on 
the  deck  of  a Yankee  coal-vessel  as  he  could  be 
while  playing  beside  his  mother’s  door.  It  is  realty 
touching  to  see  how  free  and  happy  he  is,  — how  the 
little  fellow  takes  the  whole  wide  world  for  his  home, 
and  all  mankind  for  his  family.  He  talks  Spanish,  — 
at  least  that  is  his  native  tongue ; but  he  is  also  \ery 
intelligible  in  English,  and  perhaps  he  likewise  has 
smatterings  of  the  speech  of  other  countries,  whither 
the  winds  may  have  wafted  this  little  sea-bird.  He  ia 
a Catholic  ; and  yesterday  being  Friday  he  caught  some 
fish  and  fried  them  for  his  dinner  in  sweet-oil,  and 
really  they  looked  so  delicate  that  I almost  wished  he 
would  invite  me  to  partake.  Every  once  in  a while  he 
undresses  himself  and  leaps  overboard,  plunging  down 
beneath  the  waves  as  if  the  sea  were  as  native  to  him 
as  the  earth.  Then  he  .runs  up  the  rigging  of  the  ves- 
sel as  if  he  meant  to  fly  away  through  the  air.  I musl 


340.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


217 


remember  this  little  boy,  and  perhaps  I may  make 
something  more  beautiful  of  him  than  these  rough  and 
imperfect  touches  would  promise. 


June  11^.  — . ...  I could  wish  that  the  east  wind 
would  blow  every  day  from  ten  o’clock  till  five;  for 
there  is  great  refreshment  in  it  to  us  poor  mortals  that 
toil*  beneath  the  sun.  We  must  not  think  too  unkindly 
even  of  the  east  wind.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  a wind  to  be 
loved,  even  in  its  benignest  moods  ; but  there  are  seasons 
when  I delight  to  feel  its  breath  upon  my  cheek,  though 
it  be  never  advisable  to  throw  open  my  bosom  and  take 
it  into  my  heart,  as  I would  its  gentle  sisters  of  the 
south  and  west.  To-day,  if  I had  been  on  the*  w'harv'- 
the  slight  chill  of  an  east  wind  would  ho,T 
blessing,  like  the  chill  of  death  to 


218 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


[1S40. 


August  21.  — Last  night  I slept  like  a child  of  dve 
years  old,  and  had  no  dreams  at  all, — unless  just  be- 
fore it  was  time  to  rise,  and  I have  forgotten  what  those 
dreams  were.  After  I was  fairly  awake  this  morning, 
I felt  very  bright  and  airy,  and  was  glad  that  I had 
been  compelled  to  snatch  two  additional  hours  of  exist- 
ence from  annihilation.  The  sun’s  disk  was  but  half 
above  the  ocean’s  verge  when  I ascended  the  ship’s  side. 
These  early  morning  hours  are  very  lightsome  and 
quiet.  Almost  the  whole  day  I have  been  in  the  shade, 
reclining  on  a pile  of  sails,  so  that  the  life  and  spirit  are 

not  entirely  worn  out  of  me The  wind  has  been 

east  this  afternoon,  — perhaps  in  the  forenoon,  too,  — and 
uld  not  help  feeling  refreshed,  when  the  gentle  chill 
stole  over  my  cheek.  I would  fain  abom- 
. but  it  persists  in  doing  me 
What  a perverse  wind  it 
e of  torment. 

ion\.  — 
mber, 


ve  . 
to 


1840.']  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS  219 

despondent.  And  here  I sat  a long,  long  time,  waiting 
patiently  for  the  world  to  know  me,  and  sometimes  won- 
dering why  it  did  not  know  me  sooner,  or  whether  it  would 
ever  know  me  at  all,  — at  least,  till  I were  in  my  grave. 
And  sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  I were  already  in  the 
grave,  with  only  life  enough  to  be  chilled  and  benumbed. 
But  oftener  I was  happy,  — at  least,  as  happy  as  I then 
knew  how  to  be,  or  was  aware  of  the  possibility  of 
being.  By  and  by,  the  world  found  me  out  in  my  lonely 
chamber,  and  called  me  forth,  — not,  indeed,  with  a 
loud  roar  of  acclamation,  but  rather  with  a still,  small 
voice,  — and  forth  I went,  but  found  nothing  in  the 
world  that  I thought  preferable  to  my  old  solitude  till 

now And  now  I begin  to  understand  why  I was 

imprisoned  so  many  years  in  this  lonely  chamber,  and 
why  I could  never  break  through  the  viewless  bolts 
and  bars  ; for  if  I had  sooner  made  my  escape  into  the 
world,  I should  have  grown  hard  and  rough,  and  been 
covered  with  earthly  dust,  and  my  heart  might  have 
become  callous  by  rude  encounters  with  the  multi- 
tude  But  living  in  solitude  till  the  fulness  of 

time  was  come,  I still  kept  the  dew  of  my  youth  and 

the  freshness  of  my  heart I used  to  think  I could 

imagine  all  passions,  all  feelings,  and  states  of  the  heart 
and  mind  ,*  but  how  little  did  I know  ! . . . . Indeed,  we 
are  but  shadows ; we  are  not  endowed  with  real  life, 
and  all  that  seems  most  real  about  us  is  but  the  thin- 
nest substance  of  a dream,  — till  the  heart  be  touched. 
That  touch  creates  us,  — then  we  begin  to  be,  — there- 
by we  are  Beings  of  reality  and  inheritors  of  eternity.  . . . 

When  we  shall  be  endowed  with  our  spiritual 


220 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1840. 


bodies,  I think  that  they  will  be  so  constituted  that  we 
may  send  thoughts  and  feelings  any  distance  in  po  time 
at  all,  and  transfuse  them  warm  and  fresh  into  the  con- 
sciousness of  those  whom  we  love But,  after  all, 

perhaps  it  is  not  wise  to  intermix  fantastic  ideas  with 
the  reality  of  affection.  Let  us  content  ourselves  to  be 
earthly  creatures,  and  hold  communion  of  spirit  in  such 
modes  as  are  ordained  to  us 

I was  not  at  the  end  of  Long  Wharf  to-day,  but 
in  a distant  region,  — my  authority  having  been  put 
in  requisition  to  quell  a rebellion  of  the  captain  and 
“ gang  ” of  shovellers  aboard  a coal-vessel.  I would 
you  could  have  beheld  the  awful  sternness  of  my  visage 
and  demeanor  in  the  execution  of  this  momentous  duty. 
Well,  — I have  conquered  the  rebels,  and  proclaimed 
an  amnesty  ; so  to-morrow  I shall  return  to  that  para- 
dise of  measurers,  the  end  of  Long  Wharf,  — not  to 
my  former  salt-ship,  she  being  now  discharged,  but  to 
another,  which  will  probably  employ  me  wellnigh  a 

fortnight  longer Salt  is  white  and  pure, — there 

is  something  holy  in  salt 

I have  observed  that  butterflies  — very  broad-winged 
and  magnificent  butterflies  — frequently  come  on  board 
of  the  salt-ship,  where  I am  at  work.  What  have 
those  bright  strangers  to  do  on  Long  Wharf,  where  there 
are  no  flowers  nor  any  green  thing,  — nothing  but 
brick  storehouses,  stone  piers,  black  ships,  and  the  bus- 
tle of  toilsome  men,  who  neither  look  up  to  the  blue  sky, 
nor  take  note  of  these  wandering  gems  of  the  air  ? I 
cannot  account  fer  them,  unless  they  are  the  lovely  fan- 
tasies of  the  mind. 


AMEtttCAN  NOTE-BOOKS* 


221 


1841.] 

November.  — ...  How  delightfully  long  the  evenings 
are  now  ! I do  not  get  intolerably  tired  any  longer, 
and  my  thoughts  sometimes  wander  back  to  literature, 
and  I have  momentary  impulses  to  write  stories.  But 
this  will  not  be  at  present.  The  utmost  that  I can  hope 
to  do  will  be  to  portray  some  of  the  characteristics  of 
the  life  which  I am  now  living,  and  of  the  people  with 

whom  I am  brought  into  contact,  for  future  use 

The  days  are  cold  now,  the  air  eager  and  nipping,  yet 
it  suits  my  health  amazingly.  I feel  as  if  I could  run  a 
hundred  miles  at  a stretch,  and  jump  overall  the  houses 
that  happen  to  be  in  my  w^ay 

I have  never  had  the  good  luck  to  profit  much, 
or  indeed  any,  by  attending  lectures,  so  that  I think  the 
ticket  had  better  be  bestowed  on  somebody  who  can 

listen  to  Mr. more  worthily.  My  evenings  are 

very  precious  to  me,  and  some  of  them  are  unavoidably 
thrown  aw-ay  in  paying  or  receiving  visits,  or  in  writing 
letters  of  business,  and  therefore  I prize  the  lest  as  if 
the  sands  of  the  hour-glass  were  gold  or  diamond  dust. 

I was  invited  to  dine  at  Mr.  Bancroft’s  yesterday  with 
Miss  Margaret  Fuller;  but  Providence  had  g ven  me 
some  business  to  do,  for  which  I was  very  thankful. 

Is  not  this  a beautiful  morning?  The  sun  shines 
into  my  soul. 

April , 1841.  — . ...  I have  been  busy  all  day,  from 
early  breakfast-time  till  late  in  the  afternoon;  and  old 
Father  Time  has  gone  onward  somewhat  less  heavily 
than  is  his  wont  w'hen  I am  imprisoned  within  the  walls 
yf  the  Custom  House.  It  has  been  a brisk,  breezy  day, 


222 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841 


an  effervescent  atmosphere,  and  I have  enjoyed  it  in 
all  its  freshness,  — breathing  air  which  had  not  been 
breathed  in  advance  by  the  hundred  thousand  pairs  of 
lungs  which  have  common  and  indivisible  property  in 
the  atmosphere  of  this  great  city.  My  breath  had  never 
belonged  to  anybody  but  me.  It  came  fresh  from  the 

wilderness  of  ocean It  was  exhilarating  to  see  the 

vessels,  how  they  bounded  over  the  waves,  while  a sheet 
of  foam  broke  out  around  them.  I found  a good  deal 
of  enjoyment,  too,  in  the  busy  scene  around  me ; for 
several  vessels  were  disgorging  themselves  (what  an 
unseemly  figure  is  this,  — “ disgorge,”  quotha,  as  if  the 
vessels  were  sick)  on  the  wharf,  and  everybody  seemed 
to  be  working  with  might  and  main.  It  pleased  me  to 
think  that  I also  had  a part  to  act  in  the  material  and 
tangible  business  of  this  life,  and  that  a portion  of  all 
this  industry  could  not  have  gone  on  without  my  pres- 
ence. Nevertheless,  I must  not  pride  myself  too  much 
on  my  activity  and  utilitarianism.  I shall,  doubtless, 
soon  bewail  myself  at  being  compelled  to  earn  my 
bread  by  taking  some  little  share  in  the  toils  of  mortal 
men 

Articulate  words  are  a harsh  clamor  and  disso- 
nance. When  man  arrives  at  his  highest  perfection, 
he  will  again  be  dumb  ! for  I suppose  he  was  dumb 
at  the  Creation,  and  must  go  round  an  entire  eircle  in 
order  to  return  to  that  blessed  state. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


Floating.  See  page  102. 


PASSAGES 


FROM  THE 

AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


VOL.  II. 


PASSAG  E$ 


FROM 

HAWTHORNE’S  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  HIS  PRIVATE  LETTERS. 

.Brook  Farm,  Oak  Hill,  April  13 th,  1841.  — . . . 
Here  I am  in  a polar  Paradise ! I know  not  how . to 
Interpret  this  aspect  of  nature,  — whether  it  be  of  good 
or  evil  omen  to  our  enterprise.  But  I reflect  that  the 
Plymouth  pilgrims  arrived  in  the  midst  of  storm,  and 
stepped  ashore  upon  mountain  snow-drifts ; and,  never- 
theless, they  prospered,  and  became  a great  people,  — and 
doubtless.it  will  be  the  same  with  us.  I laud  my  stars, 
however,  that  you  will  not  have  your  first  impressions 
o**  (perhaps)  our  future  home  from  such  a day  as  this. 
. . . Through  faith,  I persist  in  believing  that  Spring 
and  Summer  will  come  in  their  due  season  ; but  the 
unregenerated  man  shivers  within  me,  and  suggests  a 
doubt  whether  I may  not  have  wandered  within  the 
precincts  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  and  chosen  my  heritage 

among  everlasting  snows Provide  yourself  with  a 

good  stock  of  furs,  and,  if  you  can  obtain  the  skin  of  a 
polar  bear,  you  will  find  it  a very  suitable  summer  dress 
for  this  region 

VOL.  II.  I A 


2 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[184 t. 


1 have  not  yet  taken  my  first  lesson  in  agricul- 
ture, except  that  I went  to  see  our  cows  foddered, 
yesterday  afternoon.  We  have  eight  of  our  own  ; and 
the  number  is  now  increased  by  a transcendental  heifer 
belonging  to  Miss  Margaret  Fuller.  She  is  very  frac- 
tious, I believe,  and  apt  to  kick  over  the  milk-pail 

I intend  to  convert  myself  into  a milkmaid  this  even- 
ing, but  I pray  Heaven  that  Mr.  Ripley  may  be  moved 
to  assign  me  the  kindliest  cow  in  the  herd,  otherwise 
I shall  perform  my  duty  with  fear  and  trembling 

I like  my  brethren  in  affliction  very  well ; and,  could 
you  see  us  sitting  round  our  table  at  meal-times,  before 
the  great  kitchen  fire,  you  would  call  it  a cheerful  sight. 

Mrs.  B is  a most  comfortable  woman  to  behold. 

She  looks  as  if  her  ample  person  were  stuffed  full  of  ten- 
derness, — indeed,  as  if  she  were  all  one  great,  kind  heart. 

April  IRA,  10  A.  m.  — . . . . I did  not  milk  the  cows 
last  night,  because  Mr.  Ripley  was  afraid  to  trust  them  to 
my  hands,  or  me  to  their  horns,  I know  not  which.  But 
this  morning  I have  done  wonders.  Before  breakfast, 
] went  out  to  the  barn  and  began  to  chop  hay  for  the 
cattle,  and  with  such  “ righteous  vehemence,1 ” as  Mr. 
Ripley  says,  did  I labor,  that  in  the  space  of  ten  min- 
utes I broke  the  machine.  Then  I brought  wood  and 
replenished  the  fires ; and  finally  went  down  to  break- 
fast, and  ate  up  a huge  mound  of  buckwheat  cakes. 
After  breakfast,  Mr.  Ripley  put  a four  pronged-instru- 
ment into  my  hands,  which  he  gave  me  to  understand 
was  called  a pitchfork;  and  he  and  Mr.  Farley  being 
armed  with  similar  weapons,  we  all  three  commenced  a 
gallant  attack  upon  a heap  of  manure.  This  offiea 


1841.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


being  concluded,  and  I having  purified  myself,  I sit 
down  to  finish  this  letter 

Miss  Fuller’s  cow  hooks  the  other  cows,  and  has 
made  herself  ruler  of  the  herd,  and  behaves  in  a very 

tyrannical  manner I shall  make  an  excellent 

husbandman  — I feel  the  original  Adam  reviving 
within  me. 

April  1 6th.  — . . . . Since  I last  wrote,  there  has 
been  an  addition  to  our  community  of  four  gentlemen  in 
sables,  who  promise  to  be  among  our  most  useful  and 
respectable  members.  They  arrived  yesterday,  about 
noon.  Mr.  Ripley  had  proposed  to  them  to  join  us,  no 
longer  ago  than  that  very  morning.  I had  some  con- 
versation with  them  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  glad  to 
hear  them  express  much  satisfaction  with  their  new 
abode  and  all  the  arrangements.  They  do  not  appear 
to  be  very  communicative,  however,  — or  perhaps  it 
may  be  merely  an  external  reserve,  like  my  own,  to 
shield  their  delicacy.  Several  of  their  prominent  charac- 
teristics, as  well  as  their  black  attire,  lead  me  to  believe 
that  they  are  members  of  the  clerical  profession  ; but  I 
have  not  yet  ascertained  from  their  own  lips  what  has 
been  the  nature  of  their  past  lives.  I trust  to  have 
much  pleasure  in  their  society,  and,  sooner  or  later,  that 
we  shall  all  of  us  derive  great  strength  from  our  inter- 
course With  them.  I cannot  too  highly  applaud  the 
readiness  with  which  these  four  gentlemen  in  black  have 
thrown  aside  all  the  fopperies  and  flummeries  which 
have  their  origin  in  a false  state  of  society.  When  I 
last  saw  them,  they  looked  as  heroically  regardless  of 
the  stains  and  soils  incident  to  our  profession  as  I did 
when  I emerged  from  the  gold  mine.  • • . 


4 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


T have  milked  a cow !!!....  The  herd  has 
rebolled  against  the  usurpation  of  Miss  Fuller’s  heifer ; 
and,  whenever  they  are  turned  out  of  the  barn,  she  is 
compelled  to  take  refuge  under  our  protection.  So 
much  did  she  impede  my  labors  by  keeping  close  to  me, 
that  I found  it  necessary  to  give  her  two  or  three  gentle 
pats  with  a shovel ; but  still  she  preferred  to  trust  her* 
self  to  my  tender  mercies,  rather  than  venture  among 
the  horns  of  the  herd.  She  is  not  an  amiable  cow  ; but 
she  has  a very  intelligent  face,  and  seems  to  be  of  a 
reflective  cast  of  character.  I doubt  not  that  she  will 
soon  perceive  the  expediency  of  being  on  good  terms 
with  the  rest  of  the  sisterhood. 

I have  not  yet  been  twenty  yards  from  our  house 
and  barn ; but  I begin  to  perceive  that  this  is  a beau- 
tiful place.  The  scenery  is  of  a mild  and  placid  char- 
acter, with  nothing  bold  in  its  aspect ; but  I think  its 
beauties  will  grow  upon  us,  and  make  us  love  it  the 
more,  the  longer  we  live  here.  There  is  a brook,  so 
near  the  house  that  we  shall  be  able  to  hear  its  ripple 
in  the  summer  evenings,  ....  but,  for  agricultural 
purposes,  it  has  been  made  to  flow  in  a straight  and 
rectangular  fashion,  which  does  it  infinite  damage  as  a 
picturesque  object 

It  was  a moment  or  two  before  I could  think  whom 
you  meant  by  Mr.  Dismal  View.  Why,  he  is  one 
of  the  best  of  the  brotherhood,  so  far  as  cheerfulness 
goes ; for  if  he  do  not  laugh  himself,  he  makes  the 
rest  of  us  laugh  continually.  He  is  the  quaintest  and 
queerest  personage  you  ever  saw,  — full  of  dry  jokes, 
the  humor  of  which  is  so  incorporated  with  the 
strange  twistifications  of  his  physiognomy,  that  his 


1841]  AM  IT  UCAN  tfOTE-BOOKS.  5 

sayings  ought  to  be  written  down,  accompanied  with 
illustrations  by  Cruikshank.  Then  he  keeps  quoting 
innumerable  scraps  of  Latin,  and  makes  classical  allu- 
sions, while  we  are  turning  over  the  gold  mine ; and  the 
contrast  between  the  nature  of  his  employment  and 
the  character  of  his  thoughts  is  irresistibly  ludicrous. 

I have  written  this  epistle  in  the  parlor,  while 
Farmer  Ripley,  and  Farmer  Farley,  and  Farmer  Dis- 
mal View  were  talking  about  their  agricultural  con- 
cerns. So  you  will  not  wonder  if  it  is  not  a classical 
piece  of  composition,  either  in  point  of  thought  or  ex- 
pression. 

Mr.  Ripley  has  bought  four  black  pigs. 

April  22 d.  — . . . . What  an  abominable  hand  do  I 
scribble ! but  I have  been  chopping  wood,  and  turning 
a grindstone  all  the  forenoon ; and  such  occupations  are 
apt  to  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  the  muscles  and  sinews. 
It  is  an  endless  surprise  to  me  how  much  work  there 
is  to  be  done  in  the  world ; but,  thank  God,  I am  able 
to  do  my  share  of  it,  — and  my  ability  increases  daily. 
What  a great,  broad-shouldered,  elephantine  personage 
I shall  become  by  and  by ! 

I milked  two  cows  this  morning,  and  would  send 
you  some  of  the  milk,  only  that  it  is  mingled  with  that 
which  was  drawn  forth  by  Mr.  Dismal  View  and  the 
rest  of  the  brethren. 

April  28 th.  — ....  I was  caught  by  a cold  during  my 
visit  to  Boston.  It  has  not  affected  my  whole  frame. 


6 AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1841. 

but  took  entire  possession  of  my  head,  as  being  the 
weakest  and  most  vulnerable  part.  Never  did  any- 
body sneeze  with  such  vehemence  and  frequency ; and 
my  poor  brain  has  been  in  a thick  fog  ; or,  rather 
it  seemed  as  if  my  head  were  stuffed  with  coarse 

wool Sometimes  I wanted  to  wrench  it  off,  and 

give  it  a great  kick,  like  a football. 

This  annoyance  has  made  me  endure  the  bad  weather 
with  even  less  than  ordinary  patience  ; and  my  faith  was 
so  far  exhausted  that,  when  they  told  me  yesterday 
that  the  sun  was  setting  clear,  I would  not  even  turn 
my  eyes  towards  the  west.  But  this  morning  I am 
made  all  over  anew,  and  have  no  greater  remnant  of 
my  cold  than  will  serve  as  an  excuse  for  doing  no 
work  to-day. 

The  family  has  been  dismal  and  dolorous  throughout 
the  storm.  The  night  before  last,  William  Allen  was 
stung  by  a wasp  on  the  eyelid  ; whereupon  the  whole 
side  of  his  face  swelled  to  an  enormous  magnitude,  so 
that,  at  the  breakfast  table,  one  half  of  him  looked  like 
a blind  giant  ( the  eye  being  closed),  and  the  other  half 
had  such  a sorrowful  and  ludicrous  aspect  that  I was 
constrained  to  laugh  out  of  sheer  pity.  The  same  day, 
a colony  of  wasps  was  discovered  in  my  chamber,  where 
they  had  remained  throughout  the  winter,  and  were 
now  just  bestirring  themselves,  doubtless  with  the  in- 
tention of  stinging  me  from  head  to  foot A simi- 

lar discovery  was  made  in  Mr.  Farley’s  room.  In 
short,  we  seem  to  have  taken  up  our  abode  in  a wasps’ 
nest.  Thus  you  see  a rural  life  is  not  one  of  unbroken 
quiet  and  serenity. 


1841.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


7 


If  the  middle  of  the  day  prove  warm  and  pleasant, 

I promise  myself  to  take  a walk I have  taken 

one  walk  with  Mr.  Farley;  and  I could  not  have  be- 
lieved that  there  was  such  seclusion  at  so  short  a dis- 
tance from  a great  city.  Many  spots  seem  hardly  to 
have  been  visited  for  ages,  — not  since  John  Eliot 
preached  to  the  Indians  here.  If  we  were  to  travel  a 
thousand  miles,  we  could  not  escape  the  world  more 
completely  than  we  can  here. 

I read  no  newspapers,  and  hardly  remember  who  is 
President,  and  feel  as  if  I had  no  more  concern  with 
what  other  people  trouble  themselves  about  than  if  I 
dwelt  in  another  planet. 

May  lsZ.  — ....  Every  day  of  my  life  makes  me 
feel  more  and  more  how  seldom  a fact  is  accurately 
stated ; how,  almost  invariably,  when  a story  has  passed 
through  the  mind  of  a third  person,  it  becomes,  so  far 
as  regards  the  impression  that  it  makes  in  further  repe- 
titions, little  better  than  a falsehood,  and  this,  too,  though 
the  narrator  be  the  most  truth-seeking  person  in  exist- 
ence. How  marvellous  the  tendency  is  ! . . . . Is  truth 
a fantasy  which  we  are  to  pursue  forever  and  never 
grasp  ? 

My  cold  has  almost  entirely  departed.  Were  it  a 
sunny  day,  I should  consider  myself  quite  fit  for  labor 
out  of  doors;  but  as  the  ground  is  so  damp,  and  the 
atmosphere  so  chill,  and  the  sky  so  sullen,  I intend  to 
keep  myself  on  the  sick-list  this  one  day  longer,  more 
especially  as  I wish  to  read  Carlyle  on  Heroes. 


8 AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  1.1841 

There  has  been  but  one  flower  found  in  this  vicinity, 
— and  that  was  an  anemone,  a poor,  pale,  shivering  lit- 
tle flower,  that  had  crept  under  a stone  wall  for  shelter. 
Mr.  Farley  found  it,  while  taking  a walk  with  me. 

....  This  is  May-day  ! Alas,  what  a difference  be- 
tween the  ideal  and  the  real ! 

May  Mh.  — ....  My  cold  no  longer  troubles  me,  and 
all  the  morning  I have  been  at  work  under  the  clear 
blue  sky,  on  a hillside.  Sometimes  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  I were  at  work  in  the  sky  itself,  though  the  mate- 
rial in  which  I wrought  was  the  ore  from  our  gold  mine. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  nothing  so  unseemly  and  dis- 
agreeable in  this  sort  of  toil  as  you  could  think.  It 
defiles  the  hands,  indeed,  but  not  the  soul.  This  gold 
ore  is  a pure  and  wholesome  substance,  else  our  mother 
Nature  would  not  devour  it  so  readily,  and  derive  so 
much  nourishment  from  it,  and  return  such  a rich  abun- 
dance of  good  grain  and  roots  in  requital  of  it. 

The  farm  is  growing  very  beautiful  now,  — not  that 
we  yet  see  anything  of  the  peas  and  potatoes  which  we 
have  planted ; but  the  grass  blushes  green  on  the  slopes 
and  hollows.  I wrote  that  word  “ blush  ” almost  un- 
consciously ; so  we  will  let  it  go  as  an  inspired  utter- 
ance. When  I go  forth  afield,  ....  I look  beneath 
the  stone  walls,  where  the  verdure  is  richest,  in  hopes 
that  a little  company  of  violets,  or  some  solitary 

bud,  prophetic  of  the  summer,  may  be  there 

But  not  a wild-flower  have  I yet  found.  One  of  the 
boys  gathered  some  yellow  cowslips  last  Sunday  ; but  I 
am  well  content  not  to  have  found  them,  for  they  are 
not  precisely  what  I should  like  tc  send  to  you.  though 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS 


9 


1841.] 

they  deserve  honor  and  praise,  because  they  come  to  us 
when  no  others  will.  We  have  our  parlor  here  dressed 
in  evergreen  as  at  Christmas.  That  beautiful  little 
flower-vase  ....  stands  on  Mr.  Ripley’s  study  table,  at 
which  I am  now  writing.  It  contains  some  daffodils 
and  some  willow  blossoms.  I brought  it  here  rather 
than  keep  it  in  my  chamber,  because  I never  sit  there, 
and  it  gives  me  many  pleasant  emotions  to  look  round 
and  be  surprised  — for  it  is  often  a surprise,  though  I 
well  know  that  it  is  there  — by  something  connected 
with  the  idea  [of  a friend.] 

I do  not  believe  that  I should  be  patient  here  if  I were 
not  engaged  in  a righteous  and  heaven -blessed  way  of 
life.  When  I was  in  the  Custom  House  and  then  at 
Salem,  I was  not  half  so  patient 

We  had  some  tableaux  last  evening,  the  principal 
characters  being  sustained  by  Mr.  Farley  and  Miss 
Ellen  Slade.  They  went  off  verv  well 

I fear  it  is  time  for  me  — sod-compelling  as  I am  — to 
take  the  field  again. 

May  1 Ith.  — . . . . This  morning  1 arose  at  milking- 
time in  good  trim  for  work ; and  we  have  been  employed 
partly  in  an  augean  labor  of  clearing  out  a wood-shed, 
and  partly  in  carting  loads  of  oak.  This  afternoon  1 
hope  to  have  something  to  do  in  the  field,  for  these  jobs 
about  the  house  are  not  at  all  to  my  taste. 

June  1st.  — • . . . I have  been  too  busy  to  write  along 
Letter  by  this  opportunity,  for  I think  this  present  life  of 
mine  gives  me  an  antipathy  to  pen  and  ink,  even  more 
1* 


10  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1841, 

than  my  Custom  House  experience  did In  the 

midst  of  toil,  or  after  a hard  day’s  work  in  the  gold 
mine,  my  soul  obstinately  refuses  to  be  poured  out  on 
paper.  That  abominable  gold  mine  ! Thank  God,  we 
anticipate  getting  rid  of  its  treasures  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  days ! Of  all  hateful  places  that  is  the 
worst,  and  I shall  never  comfort  myself  for  having  spent 
so  many  days  of  blessed  sunshine  there.  It  is  my  opin- 
ion that  a man's  soul  may  be  buried  and  perish  under  a 
dung-heap,  or  in  a furrow  of  the  field,  just  as  well  as 
under  a pile  of  money. 

Mr.  George  Bradford  will  probably  be  here  to-day, 
so  that  there  will  be  no  danger  of  my  being  under  the 
necessity  of  laboring  more  than  I like  hereafter.  Mean- 
time my  health  is  perfect,  and  my  spirits  buoyant,  even 
in  the  gold  mine. 

August  Vlth . — ....  I am  very  well,  and  not  at  all 
weary,  for  yesterday’s  rain  gave  us  a holiday;  and, 
moreover,  the  labors  of  the  farm  are  not  so  pressing 
as  they  have  been.  And,  joyful  thought ! in  a little 
more  than  a fortnight  I shall  be  free  from  my  bond- 
age, — ....  free  to  enjoy  Nature,  — free  to  think  and 
feel ! . . . . Even  my  Custom  House  experience  was  not 
such  a thraldom  and  weariness;  my  mind  and  heart 
were  free.  O,  labor  is  the  curse  of  the  world,  and  no- 
body can  meddle  with  it  without  becoming  proportion- 
ably  brutified ! Is  it  a praiseworthy  matter  that  I 
have  spent  five  golden  months  in  providing  food  for 
cows  and  horses  ? It  is  not  so. 


August  18 tlu  — l am  very  well,  only  somewhat  tired 


k$4i  ] AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  1.1 

with  walking  half  a dozen  miles  immediately  aftw 
breakfast,  and  raking  hay  ever  since.  We  shall  quite 
finish  haying  this  week,  and  then  there  will  be  no  more 
very  hard  or  constant  labor  during  the  one  other  week 
that  I shall  remain  a slave. 

August  22 d.  — ....  I had  an  indispensable  en- 
gagement in  the  bean-field,  whither,  indeed,  I was  glad 
to  betake  myself,  in  order  to  escape  a parting  scene 

with . He  was  quite  out  of  his  wits  the  night 

before,  and  I sat  up  with  him  till  long  past  midnight. 
The  farm  is  pleasanter  now  that  he  is  gone ; for  his  un- 
appeasable wretchedness  threw  a gloom  over  every- 
thing. Since  I last  wrote,  we  have  done  haying,  and 
the  remainder  of  my  bondage  will  probably  be  light. 
It  will  be  a long  time,  however,  before  I shall  know 
how  to  make  a good  use  of  leisure,  either  as  regards 
enjoyment  or  literary  occupation 

It  is  extremely  doubtful  whether  Mr.  Ripley  will 
succeed  in  locating  his  community  on  this  farm.  He 

can  bring  Mr.  E to  no  terms,  and  the  more 

they  talk  about  the  matter,  the  further  they  appear  to 
be  from  a settlement.  We  must  form  other  plans  for 
ourselves ; for  I can  see  few  or  no  signs  that  Provi 
dence  purposes  to  give  us  a home  here.  I am  weary, 
weary,  thrice  weary,  of  waiting  so  many  ages.  What- 
ever may  be  my  gifts,  I have  not  hitherto  shown  a 
single  one  that  may  avail  to  gather  gold.  I confess 
that  I have  strong  hopes  of  good  from  this  arrangement 

with  M ; but  when  I look  at  the  scanty  avails  of  my 

past  literary  efforts,  I do  not  feel  authorized  to  expect 
much  from  the  future.  Well,  we  shall  see.  Other 


12  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l&41. 

persons  have  bought  large  estates  and  built  splendid 
mansions  with  such  little  books  as  I mean  to  write  ; so 
that  perhaps  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  hope  that  mine 
may  enable  me  to  build  a little  cottage,  or,  at  least,  to 
buy  or  hire  one.  But  I am  becoming  more  and  more 
convinced  that  we  must  not  lean  upon  this  community. 
Whatever  is  to  be  done  must  be  done  by  my  own  un- 
divided strength.  I shall  not  remain  here  through  the 
winter,  unless  with  an  absolute  certainty  that  there  will 
be  a house  ready  for  us  in  the  spring.  Otherwise,  I 
shall  return  to  Boston  ; — still,  however,  considering 
myself  an  associate  of  the  community,  so  that  we  may 
take  advantage  of  any  more  favorable  aspect  of  affairs. 
How  much  depends  on  these  little  books  ! Methinks  if 
anything  could  draw  out  my  whole  strength,  it  would 
be  the  motives  that  now  press  upon  me.  Yet,  after  all, 
I must  keep  these  considerations  out  of  my  mind,  be- 
cause an  external  pressure  always  disturbs  instead  of 
assisting  me. 

Salem , September  3d.  — ....  But  really  I should 
judge  it  to  be  twenty  years  since  I left  Brook  Farm; 
and  I take  this  to  be  one  proof  that  my  life  there  was 
an  unnatural  and  unsuitable,  and  therefore  an  unreal 
one.  It  already  looks  like  a dream  behind  me.  The 
real  Me  was  never  an  associate  of  the  community  ; there 
has  been  a spectral  Appearance  there,  sounding  the  horn 
at  daybreak,  and  milking  the  cows,  and  hoeing  potatoes, 
and  raking  hay,  toiling  in  the  sun,  and  doing  me  the 
honor  to  assume  my  name.  But  this  spectre  was  not 
myself.  Nevertheless,  it  is  somewhat  remarkable  that 
my  hands  have,  during  the  past  summer,  grown  very 


1841.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


13 


brown  and  rough,  insomuch  that  many  people  persist  in 
believing  that  I,  after  all,  was  the  aforesaid  spectral  horn- 
sounder,  cow-milker,  potato-hoer,  and  hay-raker.  But 
such  people  do  not  know  a reality  from  a shadow. 
Enough  of  nonsense.  I know  not  exactly  how  soon  I 
shall  return  to  the  farm.  Perhaps  not  sooner  than  a 
fortnight  from  to-morrow. 

Salem , September  14 th.  — ....  Master  Cheever  is  a 
very  good  subject  for  a sketch,  especially  if  he  be  por- 
trayed in  the  very  act  of  executing  judgment  on  an  evil- 
doer. The  little  urchin  may  be  laid  across  his  knee, 
and  his  arms  and  legs,  and  whole  person  indeed,  should 
be  flying  all  abroad,  in  an  agony  of  nervous  excitement 
and  corporeal  smart.  The  Master,  on  the  other  hand, 
must  be  calm,  rigid,  without  anger  or  pity,  the  very 
personification  of  that  immitigable  law  whereby  suffer- 
ing follows  sin.  Meantime  the  lion’s  head  should  have 
a sort  of  sly  twist  on  one  side  of  its  mouth,  and  a wink 
of  one  eye,  in  order  to  give  the  impression  that,  after 
all,  the  crime  and  the  punishment  are  neither  of  them 
the  most  serious  things  in  the  world.  I could  draw  the 

sketch  myself,  if  I had  but  the  use  of  ’s  magic 

Gngers. 

Then  the  Acadians  will  do  very  well  for  the  second 
sketch.  They  might  be  represented  as  just  landing  on 
the  wharf ; or  as  presenting  themselves  before  Gover- 
nor Shirley,  seated  in  the  great  chair.  Another  subject 
might  be  old  Cotton  Mather,  venerable  in  a three-cor- 
nered hat  and  other  antique  attire,  walking  the  streets 
of  Boston,  and  lifting  up  his  hands  to  bless  the  people 
while  they  all  revile  him.  An  old  dame  should  be  seen 


14 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841 


flinging  water,  or  emptying  some  vials  of  medicine  on 
his  head  from  the  latticed  window  of  an  old-fashioned 
house ; and  all  around  must  be  tokens  of  pestilence  and 
mourning,  — as  a coffin  borne  along,  — a woman  or  chil- 
dren weeping  on  a doorstep.  Can  the  tolling  of  the 
Old  South  bell  be  painted? 

If  not  this,  then  the  military  council,  holden  at  Bos- 
ton by  the  Earl  of  Loudon  and  other  captains  and  gov- 
ernors, might  be  taken,  — his  lordship  in  the  great 
ehair,  an  old-fashioned,  military  figure,  with  a star  on 
his  breast.  Some  of  Louis  XV.’s  commanders  will  give 
the  costume.  On  the  table,  and  scattered  about  the 
room,  must  be  symbols  of  warfare,  — swords,  pistols, 
plumed  hats,  a drum,  trumpet,  and  rolled-up  banner  in 
one  heap.  It  were  not  amiss  to  introduce  the  armed 
figure  of  an  Indian  chief,  as  taking  part  in  the  coun- 
cil, — or  standing  apart  from  the  English,  erect  and 
stern. 

Now  for  Liberty  Tree.  There  is  an  engraving  of 
that  famous  vegetable  in  Snow’s  History  of  Boston.  If 
represented,  I see  not  what  scene  can  be  beneath  it, 
save  poor  Mr.  Oliver,  taking  the  oath.  He  must  have 
on  a bag-wig,  ruffled  sleeves,  embroidered  coat,  and 
all  such  ornaments,  because  he  is  the  representative  of 
aristocracy  and  an  artificial  system.  The  people  may  be 
as  rough  and  wild  as  the  fancy  can  make  them ; never- 
theless, there  must  be  one  or  two  grave,  puritanical  fig- 
ures in  the  midst.  Such  an  one  might  sit  in  the  great 
chair,  and  be  an  emblem  of  that  stern,  considerate  spirit 
which  brought  about  the  Revolution.  But  this  would 
be  a hard  subject. 

But  what  a dolt  am  I to  obtrude  my  counsel.  . . , . 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


15 


184!.] 

September  1 Gth.  — ....  I do  not  very  well  recollect 
Monsieur  du  Miroir,  but,  as  to  Mrs.  Bullfrog,  I give  her 
up  to  the  severest  reprehension.  The  story  was  writ- 
ten as  a mere  experiment  in  that  style ; it  did  not  come 
from  any  depth  within  me,  — neither  my  heart  nor 
mind  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  I recollect  that  the 
Man  of  Adamant  seemed  a fine  idea  to  me  when  I 
looked  at  it  prophetically  ; but  I failed  in  giving  shape 
and  substance  to  the  vision  which  I saw.  I don’t  think 
it  can  be  very  good 

I cannot  believe  all  these  stories  about , because 

such  a rascal  never  could  be  sustained  and  countenanced 
by  respectable  men.  I take  him  to  be  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  the  average  of  his  tribe.  However,  I 
intend  to  have  all  my  copyrights  taken  out  in  my  own 
name ; and,  if  he  cheat  me  once,  I will  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  him,  but  will  straightway  be  cheated  by 
some  other  publisher,  — that  being,  of  course,  the  only 
alternative. 

Governor  Shirley’s  young  French  wife  might  be  the 
subject  of  one  of  the  cuts.  She  should  sit  in  the  great 
chair,  — perhaps  with  a dressing-glass  before  her,  — and 
arrayed  in  all  manner  of  fantastic  finery,  and  with  an 
outre  French  air,  while  the  old  Governor  is  leaning 
fondly  over  her,  and  a puritanic  counsellor  or  two  are 
manifesting  their  disgust  in  the  background.  A negro 
footman  and  a French  waiting-maid  might  be  m attend- 
ance. 

In  Liberty  Tree  might  be  a vignette,  representing 
the  chair  in  a very  shattered,  battered,  and  forlorn  con- 


16 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


dition,  after  it  had  been  ejected  from  Hutchinson’s 
house.  This  would  serve  to  impress  the  reader  with 
the  woful  vicissitudes  of  sublunary  things 

Did  you  ever  behold  such  a vile  scribble  as  I write 
since  I became  a farmer  ? My  chirography  always  was 
abominable,  but  now  it  is  outrageous. 

Brook  Farm , September  22 d,  1841.  — ....  Here  I 
am  again,  slowly  adapting  myself  to  the  life  of  this 
queer  community,  whence  I seem  to  have  been  absent 
half  a lifetime,  — so  utterly  have  I grown  apart  from 

the  spirit  and  manners  of  the  place I was  most 

kindly  received ; and  the  fields  and  woods  looked  very 
pleasant  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  the  day  before  yes- 
terday. I had  a friendlier  disposition  towards  the  farm, 
now  that  I am  no  longer  obliged  to  toil  in  its  stubborn 
furrows.  Yesterday  and  to-day,  however,  the  weather 
has  been  intolerable,  — cold,  chill,  sullen,  so  that  it  is 
impossible  to  be  on  kindly  terms  with  Mother  Na- 
ture  

I doubt  whether  I shall  succeed  in  writing  another 
volume  of  Grandfather’s  Library  while  I remain  here. 
I have  not  the  sense  of  perfect  seclusion  which  has  al- 
ways been  essential  to  my  power  of  producing  anything. 
It  is  true,  nobody  intrudes  into  my  room ; but  still  I 
cannot  be  quiet.  Nothing  here  is  settled  ; everything 
is  but  beginning  to  arrange  itself,  and  though  I w.uld 
seem  to  have  little  to  do  with  aught  beside  my  own 
thoughts,  still  I cannot  but  partake  of  the  ferment  around 
me.  My  mind  will  not  be  abstracted.  I must  observe, 
and  think,  and  feel,  and  content  myself  with  catching 
glimpses  of  things  which  may  be  wrought  out  hereafter 


JS4J.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


17 


Perhaps  it  will  be  quite  as  well  that  I find  myself  un- 
able to  set  seriously  about  literary  occupation  for  the 
present.  It  will  be  good  to  have  a longer  interval  be- 
tween my  labor  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  mind.  1 
shall  work  to  the  better  purpose  after  the  beginning  of 
November.  Meantime  I shall  see  these  people  and 
their  enterprise  under  a new  point  of  view,  and  perhaps 
be  able  to  determine  whether  we  have  any  call  to  cast 
in  our  lot  among  them. 

I do  wish  the  weather  would  put  off  this  sulky  mood. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  warmth  and  brightness  of 
Monday,  when  I arrived  here,  I should  have  supposed 
that  all  sunshine  had  left  Brook  Farm  forever.  I 
have  no  disposition  to  take  long  walks  in  such  a state 
of  the  sky ; nor  have  I any  buoyancy  of  spirit.  I am 
a very  dull  person  just  at  this  time. 

September  2bth.  — ....  One  thing  is  certain.  I can- 
not and  will  not  spend  the  winter  here.  The  time 
would  be  absolutely  thrown  away  so  far  as  regards 
any  literary  labor  to  be  performed 

The  intrusion  of  an  outward  necessity  into  labors 
of  the  imagination  and  intellect  is,  to  me,  very  pain- 
ful  

I had  rather  a pleasant  walk  to  a distant  meadow 
a day  or  two  ago,  and  we  found  white  and  purple 
grapes  in  great  abundance,  ripe,  and  gushing  with  rich, 
pure  juice  when  the  hand  pressed  the  clusters.  Did 
you  know  what  treasures  of  wild  grapes  there  are  in 
this  land?  If  we  dwell  here,  we  will  make  our  owa 
wine 

2 


18 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


September  27th.  — ....  Now,  as  to  the  aliair  with 

, I fully  confide  in  your  opinion  that  he  intends 

to  make  an  unequal  bargain  with  poor,  simple,  inno- 
cent mo,  — never  having  doubted  this  myself.  But 
how  is  he  to  accomplish  it  ? I am  not,  nor  shall  be, 
the  least  in  his  power,  whereas  he  is,  tc  a certain 
extent,  in  mine.  He  might  announce  his  projected 
Library,  with  me  for  the  editor,  in  all  the  newspapers 
in  the  universe;  but  still  I could  not  be  bound  to 
become  the  editor,  unless  by  my  own  act ; nor  should  I 
have  the  slightest  scruple  in  refusing  to  be  so,  at  the 
last  moment,  if  he  persisted  in  treating  me  with  in- 
justice. Then,  as  for  his  printing  Grandfather’s  Chair, 
I have  the  copyright  in  my  own  hands,  and  could 
and  would  prevent  the  sale,  or  make  him  account  to 
me  for  the  profits,  in  case  of  need.  Meantime  he  is 
making  arrangements  for  publishing  the  Library,  con- 
tracting with  other  booksellers,  and  with  printers  and 
engravers,  and,  with  every  step,  making  it  more  diffi- 
cult for  himself  to  draw  back.  I,  on  the  other  hand, 
do  nothing  which  I should  not  do  if  the  affair  with 

were  at  an  end;  for,  if  I write  a book,  it  will 

be  just  as  available  for  some  other  publisher  as  for 
him.  Instead  of  getting  me  into  his  power  by  this 
delay,  he  has  trusted  to  my  ignorance  and  simplicity, 
and  has  put  himself  in  my  power. 

He  is  not  insensible  of  this.  At  our  last  interview, 
he  himself  introduced  the  subject  of  the  bargain,  and 
appeared  desirous  to  close  it.  But  I was  not  prepared, 
— among  other  reasons,  because  I do  not  yet  see  what 
materials  I shall  have  for  the  re  publications  in  the 
Library  ; the  works  that  he  has  shown  me  being  ill 


*841.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  19 

adapted  for  that  purpose ; and  I wish  first  to  see  some 
French  and  German  books  which  he  has  sent  for  to 
New  York  And,  before  concluding  the  bargain,  I 
have  promised  George  Hillard  to  consult  him,  and  let 
him  do  the  business.  Is  not  this  consummate  discre- 
tion ? and  am  I not  perfectly  safe  ? ....  I look  at 
the  matter  with  perfect  composure,  and  see  all  round 
my  own  position,  and  know  that  it  is  impregnable. 

I was  elected  to  two  high  offices  last  night,  — viz.  to 
be  a trustee  of  the  Brook  Farm  estate,  and  Chairman  of 
the  Committee  of  Finance!  ....  From  the  nature  of 
my  office,  I shall  have  the  chief  direction  of  all  the 
money  affairs  of  the  community,  the  making  of  bar- 
gains, the  supervision  of  receipts  and  expenditures,  &c., 
&c.,  &c 

My  accession  to  these  august  offices  does  not  at  all 
decide  the  question  of  my  remaining  here  perma- 
nently. I told  Mr.  Ripley  that  I could  not  spend  the 
winter  at  the  farm,  and  that  it  was  quite  uncertain 
whether  I returned  in  the  spring 

Take  no  part,  I beseech  you,  in  these  magnetic  mira- 
cles. I am  unwilling  that  a power  should  be  exer- 
cised on  you  of  which  we  know  neither  the  origin  nor 
consequence,  and  the  phenomena  of  which  seem  rather 
calculated  to  bewilder  us  than  to  teach  us  any  truths 
about  the  present  or  future  state  of  being Sup- 

posing that  the  power  arises  from  the  transfusion  of  one 
spirit  into  another,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  sacredness 
oi  an  individual  is  violated  by  it;  there  would  be  an 

intruder  into  the  holy  of  holies I have  no  faith, 

whatever  that  people  are  raised  to  the  seventh  heaven, 


20 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[L841 


or  to  any  heaven  at  all,  or  that  they  gain  any  insight 
into  the  mysteries  of  life  beyond  death  by  means  of  this 
strange  science.  Without  distrusting  that  the  phenom- 
ena have  really  occurred,  I think  that  they  are  to  be 
accounted  for  as  the  result  of  a material  and  physical, 
nol  of  a spiritual,  influence.  Opium  has  produced  many 
a brighter  vision  of  heaven,  I fancy,  and  just  as  suscep- 
tible of  proof  as  these.  They  are  dreams And 

what  delusion  can  be  more  lamentable  and  mischievous, 
than  to  mistake  the  physical  and  material  for  the  spirit- 
ual ? what  so  miserable  as  to  lose  the  soul’s  true,  though 
hidden  knowledge  and  consciousness  of  heaven  in  the 
mist  of  an  earth-born  vision?  If  we  would  know  what 
heaven  is  before  we  come  thither,  let  us  retire  into  the 
depths  of  our  own  spirits,  and  we  shall  find  it  there 
among  holy  thoughts  and  feelings ; but  let  us  not 
degrade  high  heaven  and  its  inhabitants  into  any  such 

symbols  and  forms  as  Miss  L describes  ; do  not 

let  an  earthly  effluence  from  Mrs.  P *s  corporeal  sys- 

tem bewilder  and  perhaps  contaminate  something  spirit- 
ual and  sacred.  I should  as  soon  think  of  seeking 
revelations  of  the  future  state  in  the  rottenness  of  the 
grave,  — where  so  many  do  seek  it 

The  view  which  I take  of  this  matter  is  caused  by 
no  want  of  faith  in  mysteries ; but  from  a deep  rever- 
ence of  the  soul,  and  of  the  mysteries  which  it  knows 
within  itself,  but  never  transmits  to  the  earthly  eye  and 
ear.  Keep  the  imagination  sane,  — that  is  one  of  the 
truest  conditions  of  communion  with  heaven. 

Brook  Farm , September  2$th. — A walk  this  morn- 
ing along  the  Needham  road,  A clear,  breezy  morn- 


184 l.j 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


21 


ing,  after  nearly  a week  of  cloudy  and  showery  weather. 
The  grass  is  much  more  fresh  and  vivid  than  it  was  last 
month,  and  trees  still  retain  much  of  their  verdure, 
though  here  and  there  is  a shrub  or  a bough  arrayed  in 
scarlet  and  gold.  Along  the  road,  in  the  midst  of  a 
beaten  track,  I saw  mushrooms  or  toadstools,  which  had 
sprung  up  probably  during  the  night. 

The  houses  in  this  vicinity  are,  many  of  them,  quite 
antique,  with  long,  sloping  roofs,  commencing  at  a few 
feet  from  the  ground,  and  ending  in  a lofty  peak.  Some 
of  them  have  huge  old  elms  overshadowing  the  yard. 
One  may  see  the  family  sleigh  near  the  door,  it  having 
stood  there  all  through  the  summer  sunshine,  and  per- 
haps with  weeds  sprouting  through  the  crevices  of  its 
bottom,  the  growth  of  the  months  since  snow  departed. 
Old  barns,  patched  and  supported  by  timbers  leaning 
against  the  sides,  and  stained  with  the  excrement  of  past 
ages. 

In  the  forenoon  I walked  along  the  edge  of  the 
meadow  towards  Cow  Island.  Large  trees,  almost  a 
wood,  principally  of  pine  with  the  green  pasture-glades 
intermixed,  and  cattle  feeding.  They  cease  grazing 
when  an  intruder  appears,  and  look  at  him  with  long 
and  wary  observation,  then  bend  their  heads  to  the 
pasture  again.  Where  the  firm  ground  of  the  pasture 
ceases,  the  meadow  begins,  — loose,  spongy,  yielding  to 
the  tread,  sometimes  permitting  the  foot  to  sink  into 
black  mud,  or  perhaps  over  ankles  in  water.  Cattle- 
paths,  somewhat  firmer  than  the  general  surface,  trav- 
erse the  dense  shrubbery  which  has  overgrown  the 
meadow.  This  shrubbery  consists  of  small  birch,  el- 
ders, maples,  and  other  trees,  with  here  and  there  white 


22 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


pines  of  larger  growth.  The  whole  is  tangled  and  wild 
and  thick-set,  so  that  it  is  necessary  to  part  the  nestling 
stems  and  branches,  and  go  crashing  through.  There 
are  creeping  plants  of  various  sorts  which  clamber  up 
the  trees ; and  some  of  them  have  changed  color  in  the 
slight  frosts  which  already  have  befallen  these  low 
grounds,  so  that  one  sees  a spiral  wreath  of  scarlet 
leaves  twining  up  to  the  top  of  a green  tree,  intermin- 
gling its  bright  hues  with  their  verdure,  as  if  all  were  of 
one  piece.  Sometimes,  instead  of  scarlet,  the  spiral 
wreath  is  of  a golden  yellow. 

Within  the  verge  of  the  meadow,  mostly  near  the 
firm  shore  of  pasture  ground,  I found  several  grape- 
vines, hung  with  an  abundance  of  large  purple  grapes. 
The  vines  had  caught  hold  of  maples  and  alders,  and 
climbed  to  the  summit,  curling  round  about  and  inter- 
wreathing  their  twisted  folds  in  so  intimate  a manner 
that  it  was  not  easy  to  tell  the  parasite  from  the  sup- 
porting tree  or  shrub.  Sometimes  the  same  vine  had 
enveloped  several  shrubs,  and  caused  a strange,  tangled 
confusion,  converting  all  these  poor  plants  to  the  pur- 
pose of  its  own  support,  and  hindering  their  growing  to 
their  own  benefit  and  convenience.  The  broad  vine- 
leaves,  some  of  them  yellow  or  yellowish-tinged,  were 
seen  apparently  growing  on  the  same  stems  with  the 
silver-maple  leaves,  and  those  of  the  other  shrubs,  thus 
married  against  their  will  by  the  conjugal  twine ; and 
the  purple  clusters  of  grapes  hung  down  from  above 
and  in  the  midst,  so  that  one  might  “ gather  grapes,' ” if 
not  “ of  thorns,”  yet  of  as  alien  bushes. 

One  vine  had  ascended  almost  to  the  tip  of  a large 
white  pine,  spreading  its  leaves  and  hanging  its  purple 


1841.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  23 

clusters  among  all  its  bouglis,  — still  climbing  and 
clambering,  as  if  it  would  not  be  content  till  it  had 
crowned  the  very  summit  with  a wreath  of  its  own  foli- 
age and  bunches  of  grapes.  I mounted  high  into  the 
tree,  and  ate  the  fruit  there,  while  the  vine  wreathed 
still  higher  into  the  depths  above  my  head.  The  grapes 
were  sour,  being  not  yet  fully  ripe.  Some  of  them,  how- 
ever, were  sweet  and  pleasant. 

September  21th.  — A ride  to  Brighton  yesterday 
morning,  it  being  the  day  of  the  weekly  cattle-fair. 
William  Allen  and  myself  went  in  a wagon,  carrying  a 
calf  to  be  sold  at  the  fair.  The  calf  had  not  had  his 
breakfast,  as  his  mother  had  preceded  him  to  Brighton, 
and  he  kept  expressing  his  hunger  and  discomfort  by 
loud,  sonorous  baas,  especially  when  we  passed  any 
cattle  in  the  fields  or  in  the  road.  The  cows,  grazing 
within  hearing,  expressed  great  interest,  and  some  of 
them  came  galloping  to  the  roadside  to  behold  the  calf 
Little  children,  also,  on  their  way  to  school,  stopped  to 
laugh  and  point  at  poor  little  Bossie.  He  was  a prettily 
behaved  urchin,  and  kept  thrusting  his  hairy  muzzle 
between  William  and  myself,  apparently  wishing  to  be 
stroked  and  patted.  It  was  an  ugly  thought  that  hi? 
confidence  in  human  nature,  and  nature  in  general,  was 
to  be  so  ill  rewarded  as  by  cutting  his  throat,  and  sell- 
ing him  in  quarters.  This,  I suppose,  has  been  his  fato 
before  now ! 

It  was  a beautiful  morning,  clear  as  crystal,  with  an 
invigorating,  but  not  disagreeable  coolness.  The  gen 
eral  aspect  of  the  country  was  as  green  as  summer,  — 
greener  indeed  than  mid  or  latter  summer,  — and  there 


24 


AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS. 


[184] 


were  occasional  interminglings  of  the  brilliant  hues  of 
autumn,  which  made  the  scenery  more  beautiful,  both 
visibly  and  in  sentiment.  We  saw  no  absolutely  mean 
nor  poor-looking  abodes  along  the  road.  There  were 
warm  and  comfortable  farm-houses,  ancient,  with  the 
porch,  the  sloping  roof,  the  antique  peak,  the  clustered 
chimney,  of  old  times ; and  modern  cottages,  smart  and 
tasteful ; and  villas,  with  terraces  before  them,  and  dense 
shade,  and  wooden  urns  on  pillars,  and  other  such  to- 
kens of  gentility.  Pleasant  groves  of  oak  and  walnut 
also,  there  were,  sometimes  stretching  along  valleys, 
sometimes  ascending  a hill  and  clothing  it  all  round,  sc 
as  to  make  it  a great  clump  of  verdure.  Frequently 
we  passed  people  with  cows,  oxen,  sheep,  or  pigs  for 
Brighton  Fair. 

On  arriving  at  Brighton,  we  found  the  village  thronged 
with  people,  horses,  and  vehicles.  Probably  there  i9 
no  place  in  New  England  where  the  character  of  an 
agricultural  population  may  be  so  well  studied.  Al- 
most all  the  farmers  within  a reasonable  distance  make 
it  a point,  I suppose,  to  attend  Brighton  Fair  pretty 
frequently,  if  not  on  business,  yet  as  amateurs.  Then 
there  are  all  the  cattle-people  and  butchers  who  supply 
the  Boston  market,  and  dealers  from  far  and  near ; and 
every  man  who  has  a cow  or  a yoke  of  oxen,  whether 
to  sell  or  buy,  goes  to  Brighton  on  Monday.  There 
were  a thousand  or  two  of  cattle  in  the  extensive  pens 
belonging  to  the  tavern-keeper,  besides  many  that  were 
standing  about.  One  could  hardly  stir  a step  without 
running  upon  the  horns  of  one  dilemma  or  another,  in 
the  shape  of  ox,  cow,  bull,  or  ram.  The  yeomen  ap- 
peared to  be  more  in  their  element  than  I have  eve? 


1641.  | AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  26 

seen  them  anywhere  else,  except,  indeed,  at  labor,  — 
more  so  than  at  musterings  and  such  gatherings  of 
amusement.  And  yet  this  was  a sort  of  festal  day,  as 
well  as  a day  of  business.  Most  of  the  people  were  of 
a bulky  make,  with  much  bone  and  muscle,  and  some 
good  store  of  fat,  as  if  they  had  lived  on  flesh-diet ; with 
mottled  faces,  too,  hard  and  red,  like  those  of  persons 
who  adhered  to  the  old  fashion  of  spirit-drinking.  Great, 
round-paunched  country  squires  were  there  too,  sitting 
under  the  porch  of  the  tavern,  or  waddling  about,  whip 
m hand,  discussing  the  points  of  the  cattle.  There 
were  also  gentlemen-farmers,  neatly,  trimly,  and  fash- 
ionably dressed,  in  handsome  surtouts  and  trousers, 
strapped  under  their  boots.  Yeomen,  too,  in  their 
black  or  blue  Sunday  suits,  cut  by  country  tailors,  and 
awkwardly  worn.  Others  (like'myself)  had  on  the  blue 
stuff  frocks  which  they  wear  in  the  fields,  the  most  com- 
fortable garments  that  ever  were  invented.  Country 
loafers  were  among  the  throng,  — men  who  looked  wist- 
fully at  the  liquors  in  the  bar,  and  waited  for  some 
friend  to  invite  them  to  drink,  — poor,  shabby,  out-at- 
elbowed  devils.  Also,  dandies  from  the  city,  corseted 
and  buckramed,  who  had  come  to  see  the  humors  of 
Brighton  Fair.  All  these,  and  other  varieties  of  man- 
kind, either  thronged  the  spacious  bar-room  of  the  hotel, 
drinking,  smoking,  talking,  bargaining,  or  walked  about 
among  the  cattle-pens,  looking  with  knowing  eyes  at 
the  horned  people.  The  owners  of  the  cattle  stood  near 
at  hand,  waiting  for  offers.  There  was  something  in- 
describable in  their  aspect,  that  showed  them  to  be  the 
owners,  though  they  mixed  among  the  crowd.  The 
cattle,  broight  from  a hundred  separate  farms,  or  rather 
vo u ii.  2 


26 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841 


from  a thousand,  seemed  to  agree  very  well  together, 
not  quarrelling  in  the  least.  They  almost  all  had  a his- 
tory, no  doubt,  if  they  could  but  have  told  it.  The  cows 
had  each  given  her  milk  to  support  families,  — had 
roamed  the  pastures,  and  come  home  to  the  barn-yard, 
had  been  looked  upon  as  a sort  of  member  of  the  do- 
mestic circle,  and  was  known  by  a name,  as  Brindle  or 
Cherry.  The  oxen,  with  their  necks  bent  by  the  heavy 
yoke,  had  toiled  in  the  plough-field  and  in  haying-time 
for  many  years,  and  knew  their  master’s  stall  as  well  as 
the  master  himself  knew  his  own  table.  Even  the  young 
steers  and  the  little  calves  had  something  of  domestic 
sacredness  about  them  ; for  children  had  watched  their 
growth,  and  petted  them,  and  played  with  them.  And 
here  they  all  were,  old  and  young,  gathered  from  their 
thousand  homes  to  Brighton  Fair;  whence  the  great 
chance  was  that  they  would  go  to  the  slaughter-house, 
and  thence  be  transmitted,  in  sirloins,  joints,  and  such 
pieces,  to  the  tables  of  the  Boston  folk. 

William  Allen  had  come  to  buy  four  little  pigs  to 
take  the  places  of  four  who  have  now  grown  large  at 
our  farm,  and  are  to  be  fatted  and  killed  within  a few 
weeks.  There  were  several  hundreds,  in  pens  appro- 
priated to  their  use,  grunting  discordantly,  and  appar- 
ently in  no  very  good  humor  with  their  companions  or 
the  world  at  large.  Most  or  many  of  these  pigs  had 
been  imported  from  the  State  of  New  York.  The 
drovers  set  out  with  a large  number,  and  peddle  them 
along  the  road  till  they  arrive  at  Brighton  with  the 
remainder.  William  selected  four,  and  bought  them  at 
five  cents  per  pound.  These  poor  little  porkers  were 
forthwith  seized  by  the  tails,  their  legs  tied,  and  they 


1841.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS. 


27 


thrown  into  our  wagon,  where  they  kept  up  a continual 
grunt  and  squeal  till  we  got  home.  Two  of  them  were 
yellowish,  or  light  gold-color,  the  other  two  were  black 
and  white,  speckled  ; and  all  four  of  very  piggish  aspect 
and  deportment.  One  of  them  snapped  at  William’s 
finger  most  spitefully,  and  bit  it  to  the  bone. 

All  the  scene  of  the  Fair  was  very  characteristic  and 
peculiar,  — cheerful  and  lively,  too,  in  the  bright,  warm 
sun.  I must  see  it  again ; fox*  it  ought  to  be  studied. 

September  28th.  — A picnic  party  in  the  woods,  yester- 
day, in  honor  of  little  Frank  Dana’s  birthday,  he  being 
six  years  old.  I strolled  out,  after  dinner,  with  Mr, 
Bradford,  and  in  a lonesome  glade  we  met  the  appari 
tion  of  an  Indian  chief,  dressed  in  appropriate  costume 
of  blanket,  feathers,  and  paint,  and  armed  with  a mus- 
ket. Almost  at  the  same  time,  a young  gypsy  fortune- 
teller came  from  among  the  trees,  and  proposed  to  tell 
my  fortune.  While  she  was  doing  this,  the  goddess 
Diana  let  fly  an  arrow,  and  hit  me  smartly  in  the  hand. 
The  fortune-teller  and  goddess  were  in  fine  contrast, 
Diana  being  a blonde,  fair,  quiet,  with  a moderate  com- 
posure ; and  the  gypsy  (0.  G.)  a bright,  vivacious, 
dark-haired,  rich-complexioned  damsel,  — both  of  them 
very  pretty,  at  least  pretty  enough  to  make  fifteen  years 
enchanting.  Accompanied  by  these  denizens  of  the 
wild  wood,  we  went  onward,  and  came  to  a company  of 
fantastic  figures,  arranged  in  a ring  for  a dance  or  a 
game.  There  was  a Swiss  girl,  an  Indian  squaw,  a 
negro  of  the  Jim  Crow  order,  one  or  two  foresters,  and 
several  people  in  Christian  attire,  besides  children  of 
all  ages.  Then  followed  childish  games,  in  which  the 


28 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


grown  people  took  part  with  mirth  enough,  — while  I, 
whose  nature  it  is  to  be  a mere  spectator  both  of  sport 
and  serious  business,  lay  under  the  trees  and  looked  on. 
Meanwhile,  Mr.  Emerson  and  Miss  Fuller,  who  arrived 
an  hour  or  two  before,  came  forth  into  the  little  glade 
where  we  were  assembled.  Here  followed  much  talk. 
The  ceremonies  of  the  day  concluded  with  a cold  colla- 
tion of  cakes  and  fruit.  All  was  pleasant  enough, — 
an  excellent  piece  of  work,  — “ would  ’t  were  done ! ” 
It  has  left  a fantastic  impression  on  my  memory,  this 
intermingling  of  wild  and  fabulous  characters  with  real 
and  homely  ones,  in  the  secluded  nook  of  the  woods. 
I remember  them,  with  the  sunlight  breaking  through 
overshadowing  branches,  and  they  appearing  and  disap- 
pearing confusedly,  — perhaps  starting  out  of  the  earth  ; 
as  if  the  every-day  laws  of  Nature  were  suspended  for 
this  particular  occasion.  There  were  the  children,  too, 
laughing  and  sporting  about,  as  if  they  were  at  home 
among  such  strange  shapes,  — and  anon  bursting  into 
loud  uproar  of  lamentation,  when  the  rude  gambols  of 
the  merry  archers  chanced  to  overturn  them.  And 
apart,  with  a shrewd,  Yankee  observation  of  the  scene, 
stands  our  friend  Orange,  a thick-set,  sturdy  figure, 
enjoying  the  fun  well  enough,  yet  rather  laughing  with 
a perception  of  its  nonsensicalness  than  at  all  entering 
into  the  spirit  of  the  thing. 

This  morning  I have  been  helping  to  gather  apples. 
The  principal  farm  labors  at  this  time  are  ploughing  for 
winter  rye,  and  breaking  up  the  greensward  for  next 
year’s  crop  of  potatoes,  gathering  squashes,  and  not 
much  else,  except  such  year-round  employments  as 
milking.  The  crop  of  rye,  to  be  sure,  is  in  process  of 
being  thrashed,  at  odd  intervals. 


i841.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


29 


I ought  to  have  mentioned  among  the  diverse  and 
incongruous  growths  of  the  picnic  party  our  two  Span- 
ish boys  from  Manilla  ; — Lucas,  with  his  heavy  fea- 
tures and  almost  mulatto  complexion  ; and  Josd,  slighter, 
with  rather  a feminine  face,  — not  a gay,  girlish  one, 
but  grave,  reserved,  eying  you  sometimes  with  an  ear- 
nest but  secret  expression,  and  causing  you  to  question 
what  sort  of  person  he  is. 

Friday , October  1st. — I have  been  looking  at  out 
four  swine,  — not  of  the  last  lot,  but  those  in  process  of 
fattening.  They  lie  among  the  clean  rye  straw  in  the 
sty,  nestling  close  together  ; for  they  seem  to  be  beasts 
sensitive  to  the  cold,  and  this  is  a clear,  bright,  crys- 
tal morning,  with  a cool,  northwest  wind.  So  there  lie 
these  four  black  swine,  as  deep  among  the  straw  as  they 
can  burrow,  the  very  symbols  of  slothful  ease  and  sen- 
suous comfort.  They  seem  to  be  actually  oppressed 
and  overburdened  with  comfort.  They  are  quick  to 
notice  any  one’s  approach,  and  utter  a low  grunt  there- 
upon, — not  drawing  a breath  for  that  particular  pur- 
pose, but  grunting  with  their  ordinary  breath,  — at  the 
same  time  turning  an  observant,  though  dull  and  slug- 
gish, eye  upon  the  visitor.  They  seem  to  be  involved 
and  buried  in  their  own  corporeal  substance,  and  to  look 
dimly  forth  at  the  outer  world.  They  breathe  not  easily, 
and  yet  not  with  difficulty  nor  discomfort ; for  the  very 
unreadiness  and  oppression  with  which  their  breath 
comes  appears  to  make  them  sensible  of  the  deep  sen- 
sual satisfaction  which  they  feel.  Swill,  the  remnant 
of  their  last  meal,  remains  in  the  trough,  denoting  that 
their  food  is  more  abundant  than  even  a hog  can 


30  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1841 

demand.  Anon  they  fall  asleep,  drawing  short  and 
heavy  breaths,  which  heave  their  huge  sides  up  and 
down ; but  at  the  slightest  noise  they  sluggishly  unclose 
their  eyes,  and  give  another  gentle  grunt.  They  also 
grunt  among  themselves,  without  any  external  cause  , 
but  merely  to  express  their  swinish  sympathy.  I sup- 
pose it  is  the  knowledge  that  these  four  grunters  are 
doomed  to  die  within  two  or  three  weeks  that  gives  them 
a sort  of  awfulness  in  my  conception.  It  makes  me 
contrast  their  present  gross  substance  of  fleshly  life  with 
the  nothingness  speedily  to  come.  Meantime  the  four 
newly  bought  pigs  are  running  about  the  cow-yard, 
lean,  active,  shrewd,  investigating  everything,  as  their 
nature  is.  When  I throw  an  apple  among  them,  they 
scramble  with  one  another  for  the  prize,  and  the  suc- 
cessful one  scampers  away  to  eat  it  at  leisure.  They 
thrust  their  snouts  into  the  mud,  and  pick  a grain  of 
corn  out  of  the  rubbish.  Nothing  within  their  sphere 
do  they  leave  unexamined,  grunting  all  the  time  with 
infinite  variety  of  expression.  Their  language  is  the 
most  copious  of  that  of  any  quadruped,  and,  indeed, 
there  is  something  deeply  and  indefinably  interesting  in 
the  swinish  race.  They  appear  the  more  a mystery  the 
longer  one  gazes  at  them.  It  seems  as  if  there  were  an 
important  meaning  to  them,  if  one  could  but  find  it  out. 
One  interesting  trait  in  them  is  their  perfect  indepen- 
dence of  character.  They  care  not  for  man,  and  will 
not  adapt  themselves  to  his  notions,  as  other  beasts  do ; 
but  are  true  to  themselves,  and  act  out  their  hoggish 
nature. 


October  7th . — Since  Saturday  last  (it  being  now 


1841.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


31 


Thursday),  I have  been  in  Boston  and  Salem,  and  there 
has  been  a violent  storm  and  rain  during  the  whole 
time.  This  morning  shone  as  bright  as  if  it  meant  to 
make  up  for  all  the  dismalness  of  the  past  days.  Our 
brook,  which  in  the  summer  was  no  longer  a running 
stream,  but  stood  in  pools  along  its  pebbly  course,  is 
now  full  from  one  grassy  verge  to  the  other,  and  hur- 
ries along  with  a murmuring  rush.  It  will  continue  to 
swell,  I suppose,  and  in  the  winter  and  spring  it  will 
flood  all  the  broad  meadows  through  which  it  flows. 

I have  taken  a long  walk  this  forenoon  along  the 
Needham  road,  and  across  the  bridge,  thence  pursuing 
a cross-road  through  the  woods,  parallel  with  the  river, 
which  I crossed  again  at  Dedham.  Most  of  the  road 
lay  through  a growth  of  young  oaks  principally.  They 
still  retain  their  verdure,  though,  looking  closely  in 
among  them,  one  perceives  the  broken  sunshine  falling 
on  a few  sere  or  bright-hued  tufts  of  shrubbery.  In 
low,  marshy  spots,  on  the  verge  of  the  meadows  or 
along  the  river-side,  there  is  a much  more  marked  au- 
tumnal change.  Whole  ranges  of  bushes  are  there 
painted  with  many  variegated  hues,  not  of  the  brightest 
tint,  but  of  a sober  cheerfulness.  I suppose  this  is  owing 
more  to  the  late  rains  than  to  the  frost ; for  a heavy 
rain  changes  the  foliage  somewhat  at  this  season.  The 
first  marked  frost  was  seen  last  Saturday  morning. 
Soon  after  sunrise  it  lay,  white  as  snow,  over  all  the 
grass,  and  on  the  tops  of  the  fences,  and  in  the  yard,  on 
the  heap  of  firewood.  On  Sunday,  I think,  there  was  a 
fall  of  snow,  which,  however,  did  not  lie  on  the  ground 
a moment. 

There  is  no  season  when  such  pleasant  and  sunny 


32  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l84L 

spots  may  be  lighted  on,  and  produce  so  pieasant  an 
effect  on  the  feelings,  as  now  in  October.  The  sunshine 
is  peculiarly  genial ; and  in  sheltered  places,  as  on  the 
side  of  a bank,  or  of  a barn  or  house,  one  becomes  ac- 
quainted and  friendly  with  the  sunshine.  It  seems  to 
be  of  a kindly  and  homely  nature.  And  the  green 
grass,  strewn  with  a few  withered  leaves,  looks  the 
more  green  and  beautiful  for  them.  In  summer  or 
spring,  Nature  is  farther  from  one’s  sympathies. 

October  Sth.  — Another  gloomy  day,  lowering  with 
portents  of  rain  close  at  hand.  I have  walked  up  into 
the  pastures  this  morning,  and  looked  about  me  a little.' 
The  woods  present  a very  diversified  appearance  just 
now,  with  perhaps  more  varieties  of  tint  than  they  are 
destined  to  wear  at  a somewhat  later  period.  There 
are  some  strong  yellow  hues,  and  some  deep  red ; there 
are  innumerable  shades  of  green,  some  few  having  the 
depth  of  summer ; others,  partially  changed  towards 
yellow,  look  freshly  verdant  with  the  delicate  tinge  of 
early  summer  or  of  May.  Then  there  is  the  solemn 
and  dark  green  of  the  pines.  The  effect  is,  that  every 
tree  in  the  wood  and  every  bush  among  the  shrubbery 
has  a separate  existence,  since,  confusedly  intermingled, 
each  wears  its  peculiar  color,  instead  of  being  lost  in  the 
universal  emerald  of  summer.  And  yet  there  is  a one- 
ness of  effect  likewise,  when  we  choose  to  look  at  a whole* 
sweep  of  woodland  instead  of  analyzing  its  component 
trees.  Scattered  over  the  pasture,  which  the  late  rains 
have  kept  tolerably  green,  there  are  spots  or  islands  of 
dusky  red,  — a deep,  substantial  hue,  very  well  fit  to  be 
rdose  to  the  ground,  — while  the  yellow  and  light,  fiin 


1841.  J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


S3 


tastic  shades  of  green  soar  upward  to  the  sky.  These 
red  spots  are  the  blueberry  and  whortleberry  bushes. 
The  sweet-fern  is  changed  mostly  to  russet,  but  still  re- 
tains its  wild  and  delightful  fragrance  when  pressed  in 
the  hand.  Wild  China-asters  are  scattered  about,  but 
beginning  to  wither.  A little  while  ago,  mushrooms  or 
toadstools  were  very  numerous  along  the  wood-paths 
and  by  the  road-sides,  especially  after  rain.  Some  were 
of  spotless  white,  some  yellow,  and  some  scarlet.  They 
are  always  mysteries  and  objects  of  interest  to  me, 
springing  as  they  do  so  suddenly  from  no  root  or  seed, 
and  growing  one  wonders  why.  I think,  too,  that  some 
varieties  are  pretty  objects,  little  fairy  tables,  centre- 
tables,  standing  on  one  leg.  But  their  growth  appears 
to  be  checked  now,  and  they  are  of  a brown  tint  and 
decayed. 

The  farm  business  to-day  is  to  dig  potatoes.  I worked 
a little  at  it.  The  process  is  to  grasp  all  the  stems  of  a 
hill  and  pull  them  up.  A great  many  of  the  potatoes 
are  thus  pulled,  clinging  to  the  stems  and  to  one  anoth- 
er in  curious  shapes,  — long  red  things,  and  little  round 
ones,  embedded  in  the  earth  which  clings  to  the  roots. 
These  being  plucked  off,  the  rest  of  the  potatoes  are 
dug  out  of  the  hill  with  a hoe,  the  tops  being  flung  into 
a heap  for  the  cow-yard.  On  my  way  home  I paused 
to  inspect  the  squash-field.  Some  of  the  squashes  lay 
in  heaps  as  they  were  gathered,  presenting  much  variety 
of  shape  and  hue,  — as  golden  yellowr,  like  great  lumps 
of  gold,  dark  green,  striped  and  variegated  ; and  some 
were  round,  and  some  lay  curling  their  long  necks, 
nestling,  as  it  were,  and  seeming  as  if  they  had  life. 

In  my  walk  yesterday  forenoon  I passed  an  old  house 
2*  c 


84 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841* 


which  seemed  to  be  quite  deserted.  It  was  a two-story, 
wooden  house,  dark  and  weather-beaten.  The  front 
windows,  some  of  them,  were  shattered  and  open,  and 
others  were  boarded  up.  Trees  and  shrubbery  were 
growing  neglected,  so  as  quite  to  block  up  the  lower 
part.  There  was  an  aged  barn  near  at  hand,  so  ruin* 
ous  that  it  had  been  necessary  to  prop  it  up.  There 
were  two  old  carts,  both  of  which  had  lost  a wheel. 
Everything  was  in  keeping.  At  first  I supposed  that 
there  would  be  no  inhabitants  in  such  a dilapidated 
place  ; but,  passing  on,  I looked  back,  and  saw  a de- 
crepit and  infirm  old  man  at  the  angle  of  the  house,  its 
fit  occupant.  The  grass,  however,  was  very  green  and 
beautiful  around  this  dwelling,  and,  the  sunshine  falling 
brightly  on  it,  the  whole  effect  was  cheerful  and  pleas- 
ant. It  seemed  as  if  the  world  was  so  glad  that  this 
desolate  old  place,  where  there  was  never  to  be  any 
more  hope  and  happiness,  could  not  at  all  lessen  the 
general  effect  of  joy. 

I found  a small  turtle  by  the  roadside,  where  he  had 
crept  to  warm  himself  in  the  genial  sunshine.  He  had 
a sable  back,  and  underneath  his  shell  was  yellow,  and 
at  the  edges  bright  scarlet.  His  head,  tail,  and  claws 
were  striped  yellow,  black,  and  red.  He  withdrew 
himself  as  far  as  he  possibly  could  into  his  shell,  and 
absolutely  refused  to  peep  out,  even  when  I put  him 
into  the  water.  Finally,  I threw  him  into  a deep  pool 
and  left  him.  These  mailed  gentlemen,  from  the  size 
of  a foot  or  more  down  to  an  inch,  were  very  numerous 
in  the  spring ; and  now  the  smaller  kind  appear  again 

Saturday , October  9 th.  — Still  dismal  weather*  Oui 


[041.]  AMERICAN  NOTE  BOOKS.  35 

household,  being  composed  in  great  measure  of  children 
and  young  people,  is  generally  a cheerful  one  enough, 
even  in  gloomy  weather.  For  a week  past  we  have 
been  especially  gladdened  with  a little  seamstress  from 
Boston,  about  seventeen  years  old  ; but  of  such  a petite 
figure,  that,  at  first  view,  one  would  take  her  to  be 
hardly  in  her  teens.  She  is  very  vivacious  and  smart, 
laughing  and  singing  and  talking  all  the  time,  — talking 
sensibly ; but  still,  taking  the  view  of  matters  that  a city 
girl  naturally  would.  If  she  were  larger  than  she  is, 
and  of  less  pleasing  aspect,  I think  she  might  be  intol- 
erable ; but  being  so  small,  and  with  a fair  skin,  and  as 
healthy  as  a wild-flower,  she  is  really  very  agreeable ; 
and  to  look  at  her  face  is  like  being  shone  upon  by  a 
ray  of  the  sun.  She  never  walks,  but  bounds  and 
dances  along,  and  this  motion,  in  her  diminutive  person, 
does  not  give  the  idea  of  violence.  It  is  like  a bird, 
hopping  from  twig  to  twig,  and  chirping  merrily  all  the 
time.  Sometimes  she  is  rather  vulgar,  but  even  that 
works  well  enough  into  her  character,  and  accords  with 
it.  On  continued  observation,  one  discovers  that  she  is 
not  a little  girl,  but  really  a little  woman,  with  all  the 
prerogatives  and  liabilities  of  a woman.  This  gives  a 
new  aspect  to  her,  while  the  girlish  impression  still 
remains,  and  is  strangely  combined  with  the  sense  that 
this  frolicsome  maiden  has  the  material  for  the  sober 
bearing  of  a wife.  She  romps  with  the  boys,  runs  races 
with  them  in  the  yard,  and  up  and  down  the  stairs,  and 
is  heard  scolding  laughingly  at  their  rough  play.  She 
tsks  William  Allen  to  place  her  “ on  top  of  that  horse,” 
whereupon  he  puts  his  large  brown  hands  about  he? 
waist  and,  swinging  her  to  and  fro,  lifts  her  on  horse 


3fi  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  | 1841. 

back.  William  threatens  to  rivet  two  horse-shoes  round 
her  neck,  for  having  clambered,  with  the  other  girls  and 
boys,  upon  a load  of  hay,  whereby  the  said  load  lost  its 
balance  and  slid  off  the  cart.  She  strings  the  seed-ber 
ries  of  roses  together,  making  a scarlet  necklace  of  them, 
which  she  fastens  about  her  throat.  She  gathers  flow- 
ers of  everlasting  to  wear  in  her  bonnet,  arranging  them 
with  the  skill  of  a dress-maker.  In  the  evening,  she 
sits  singing  by  the  hour,  with  the  musical  part  of  the 
establishment,  often  breaking  into  laughter,  whereto  she 
is  incited  by  the  tricks  of  the  boys.  The  last  thing  one 
heats  of  her,  she  is  tripping  up  stairs  to  bed,  talking 
lightsomely  or  warbling ; and  one  meets  her  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  very  image  of  bright  morn  itself,  smiling 
briskly  at  you,  so  that  one  takes  her  for  a promise  of 
cheerfulness  through  the  day.  Be  it  said,  with  all  the 
rest,  that  there  is  a perfect  maiden  modesty  in  her 
deportment.  She  has  just  gone  away,  and  the  last  I 
saw  of  her  was  her  vivacious  face  peeping  through  the 
curtain  of  the  cariole,  and  nodding  a gay  farewell  to  the 
family,  who  were  shouting  their  adieu3  at  the  door. 
With  her  otlnr  merits,  she  is  an  excellent  daughter, 
and  supports  her  mother  by  the  labor  of  her  hands.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  conceive  beforehand  how  much  can 
be  added  to  the  enjoyment  of  a household  by  mere  sun- 
niness of  temper  and  liveliness  of  disposition  ; for  her 
intellect  is  very  ordinary,  and  she  never  says  anything 
worth  hearing,  or  even  laughing  at,  in  itself.  But  she 
herself  is  an  expression  well  worth  studying. 

Brook  Farm , October  9th,  — A walk  this  after- 
noon to  Cow  Island.  The  clouds  had  broken  away 


1341.  | AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS  37 

towards  noon,  and  let  forth  a few  sunbeams,  and  more 
and  more  blue  sky  ventured  to  appear,  till  at  last  it  was 
really  warm  and  sunny,  — indeed,  rather  too  warm  in 
the  sheltered  hollows,  though  it  is  delightful  to  be  too 
warm  now,  after  so  much  stormy  chillness.  O the  beauty 
of  grassy  slopes,  and  the  hollow  ways  of  paths  winding 
between  hills,  and  the  intervals  between  the  road  and 
wood-lots,  where  Summer  lingers  and  sits  down,  strewing 
dandelions  of  gold,  and  blue  asters,  as  her  parting  gifts 
and  memorials  ! I went  to  a grape-vine,  which  I have 
already  visited  several  times,  and  found  some  clusters 
of  grapes  still  remaining,  and  now  perfectly  ripe.  Com- 
ing within  view  of  the  river,  I saw  several  wild  ducks 
under  the  shadow  of  the  opposite  shore,  which  was  high, 
and  covered  with  a grove  of  pines.  I should  not  have 
discovered  the  ducks  had  they  not  risen  and  skimmed 
the  surface  of  the  glassy  stream,  breaking  its  dark  water 
with  a bright  streak,  and,  sweeping  round,  gradually 
rose  high  enough  to  fly  away.  I likewise  started  a 
partridge  just  within  the  verge  of  the  woods,  and  in 
another  place  a large  squirrel  ran  across  the  wood-path 
from  one  shelter  of  trees  to  the  other.  Small  birds,  in 
flocks,  were  flitting  about  the  fields,  seeking  and  finding 
I know  not  what  sort  of  food.  There  were  little  fish, 
also,  darting  in  shoals  through  the  pools  and  depths  of 
the  brooks,  which  are  now  replenished  to  their  brims, 
and  rush  towards  the  river  with  a swift,  amber-colored 
current. 

Cow  Island  is  not  an  island,  — at  least,  at  this  season, 
■—  though,  I believe,  in  the  time  of  freshets,  the  marshy 
Charles  floods  the  meadows  all  round  about  it,  and  ex- 
tends across  its  communication  with  the  main-land.  The 


38 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


path  to  it  is  a very  secluded  one,  threading  a wood  of 
pines,  and  just  wide  enough  to  admit  the  loads  of  meadow 
hay  which  are  drawn  from  the  splashy  shore  of  the 
river.  The  Island  has  a growth  of  stately  pines,  with 
tall  and  ponderous  stems,  standing  at  distance  enough  to 
admit  the  eye  to  travel  far  among  them ; and,  as  there 
is  no  underbrush,  the  effect  is  somewhat  like  looking 
among  the  pillars  of  a church. 

I returned  home  by  the  high-road.  On  my  right, 
separated  from  the  road  by  a level  field,  perhaps  fifty 
yards  across,  was  a range  of  young  forest-trees,  dressed 
in  their  garb  of  autumnal  glory.  The  sun  shone  direct- 
ly upon  them  ; and  sunlight  is  like  the  breath  of  life  to 
the  pomp  of  autumn.  In  its  absence,  one  doubts  wheth- 
er there  be  any  truth  in  what  poets  have  told  about 
the  splendor  of  an  American  autumn ; but  when  this 
charm  is  added,  one  feels  that  the  effect  is  beyond  de- 
scription. As  I beheld  it  to-day,  there  was  nothing 
dazzling ; it  was  gentle  and  mild,  though  brilliant  and 
diversified,  and  had  a most  quiet  and  pensive  influence. 
And  yet  there  were  some  trees  that  seemed  really  made 
of  sunshine,  and  others  were  of  a sunny  red,  and  the 
whole  picture  was  painted  with  but  little  relief  of  dark- 
some hues,  — only  a few  evergreens.  But  there  was 
nothing  inharmonious  ; and,  on  closer  examination,  it 
appeared  that  all  the  tints  had  a relationship  among 
themselves.  And  this,  I suppose,  is  the  reason  that, 
while  Nature  seems  to  scatter  them  so  carelessly,  they 
still  never  shock  the  beholder  by  their  contrasts,  nor 
disturb,  but  only  soothe.  The  brilliant  scarlet  and  the 
brilliant  yellow  are  different  hues  of  the  maple-leaves 
and  the  first  changes  into  the  last.  I saw  one  maple 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


39 


1841.] 

tree,  its  centre  yellow  as  gold,  set  in  a framework  of  red. 
The  native  poplars  have  different  shades  of  green,  verg- 
ing towards  yellow,  and  are  very  cheerful  in  the  sun- 
shine. Most  of  the  oak-leaves  have  still  the  deep  ver- 
dure of  summer ; but  where  a change  has  taken  place, 
it  is  into  a russet-red,  warm,  but  sober.  These  colors, 
infinitely  varied  by  the  progress  which  different  trees 
have  made  in  their  decay,  constitute  almost  the  whole 
glory  of  autumnal  woods  ; but  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
how  much  is  done  with  such  scanty  materials.  In  my 
whole  walk  I saw  only  one  man,  and  he  was  at  a dis- 
tance, in  the  obscurity  of  the  trees.  He  had  a horse 
md  a wagon,  and  was  getting  a load  of  dry  brushwood. 

Sunday , October  10th. — I visited  my  grape-vine  this 
afternoon,  and  ate  the  last  of  its  clusters.  This  vine 
climbs  around  a young  maple-tree,  which  has  now  as- 
sumed the  yellow  leaf.  The  leaves  of  the  vine  are 
more  decayed  than  those  of  the  maple.  Thence  to  Cow 
Island,  a solemn  and  thoughtful  walk.  Returned  by 
another  path  of  the  width  of  a wagon,  passing  through  a 
grove  of  hard  wood,  the  lightsome  hues  of  which  make 
the  walk  more  cheerful  than  among  the  pines.  The 
roots  of  oaks  emerged  from  the  soil,  and  contorted  them- 
selves across  the  path.  The  sunlight,  also,  broke  across 
in  spots,  and  othervvheres  the  shadow  was  deep ; but 
atill  there  was  intermingling  enough  of  bright  hues  to 
keep  off  the  gloom  from  the  whole  path. 

Brooks  and  pools  have  a peculiar  aspect  at  thi3  sea- 
son. One  knows  that  the  water  must  be  cold,  and  one 
shivers  a little  at  the  sight  of  it ; and  yet  the  grass  about 
the  pool  may  be  of  the  deepest  green,  and  the  sun  may 


40 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [lS4l. 

be  shining  into  it.  The  withered  leaves  which  over* 
hanging  trees  shed  upon  its  surface  contribute  much  tc 
the  effect. 

Insects  have  mostly  vanished  in  the  fields  and  woods. 
I hear  locusts  yet,  singing  in  the  sunny  hours,  and 
crickets  have  not  yet  finished  their  song.  Once  in  a 
while  I see  a caterpillar,  — this  afternoon,  for  instance, 
a red,  hairy  one,  with  black  head  and  tail.  They  do 
not  appear  to  be  active,  and  it  makes  one  rather  melan- 
choly to  look  at  them. 

Tuesday , October  12 th.  — The  cawing  of  the  crow  re- 
sounds among  the  woods.  A sentinel  is  aware  of  your 
approach  a great  way  off,  and  gives  the  alarm  to  his 
comrades  loudly  and  eagerly,  — Caw,  caw,  caw ! Imme- 
diately the  whole  conclave  replies,  and  you  behold  them 
rising  above  the  trees,  flapping  darkly,  and  winging 
their  way  to  deeper  solitudes.  Sometimes,  however, 
they  remain  till  you  come  near  enough  to  discern  their 
sable  gravity  of  aspect,  each  occupying  a separate  bough, 
or  perhaps  the  blasted  tip-top  of  a pine.  As  you  ap- 
proach, one  after  another,  with  loud  cawing,  flaps  his 
wings  and  throws  himself  upon  the  air. 

There  is  hardly  a more  striking  feature  in  the  land- 
scape now-a-days  than  the  red  patches  of  blueberry  and 
whortleberry  bushes,  as  seen  on  a sloping  hillside,  like 
islands  among  the  grass,  with  trees  growing  in  them  ; 
or  crowning  the  summit  of  a bare,  brown  hill  with  their 
somewhat  russet  liveliness ; or  circling  round  the  base 
of  an  earth-embedded  rock.  At  a distance,  this  hue, 
clothing  spots  and  patches  of  the  earth,  looks  more  like 
a picture  than  anything  etoe,  — - yet  such  a picture  as  I 
never  saw  painted. 


1841.] 


American  note-books. 


41 


The  oaks  are  now  beginning  to  look  sere,  and  their 
leaves  have  withered  borders.  It  is  pleasant  to  notice 
the  wide  circle  of  greener  grass  beneath  the  circumfer- 
ence of  an  overshadowing  oak.  Passing  an  orchard, 
one  hears  an  uneasy  rustling  in  the  trees,  and  not  as  if 
they  were  struggling  with  the  wind.  Scattered  about 
are  barrels  to  contain  the  gathered  apples  ; and  perhaps 
a great  heap  of  golden  or  scarlet  apples  is  collected  in 
one  place. 

Wednesday , October  13 th.  — A good  view,  from  an 
upland  swell  of  our  pasture,  across  the  valley  of  the 
river  Charles.  There  is  the  meadow,  as  level  as  a floor, 
and  carpeted  with  green,  perhaps  two  miles  from  the 
rising  ground  on  this  side  of  the  river  to  that  on  the  op- 
posite side.  The  stream  winds  through  the  midst  of  the 
flat  space,  without  any  banks  at  all ; for  it  fills  its  bed 
almost  to  the  brim,  and  bathes  the  meadow  grass  on  either 
side.  A tuft  of  shrubbery,  at  broken  intervals,  is  scat- 
tered along  its  border ; and  thus  it  meanders  sluggishly 
along,  without  other  life  than  what  it  gains  from  gleam- 
ing in  the  sun.  Now,  into  the  broad,  smooth  meadow, 
as  into  a lake,  capes  and  headlands  put  themselves  forth, 
and  shores  of  firm  woodland  border  it,  covered  with  va- 
riegated foliage,  making  the  contrast  so  much  the  stronger 
of  their  height  and  rough  outline  with  the  even  spread 
of  the  plain.  And  beyond,  and  far  away,  rises  a long, 
gradual  swell  of  country,  covered  with  an  apparently 
dense  growth  of  foliage  for  miles,  till  the  horizon  termi- 
nates it;  and  here  and  there  is  a house,  or  perhaps  two, 
among  the  contiguity  of  trees.  Everywhere  the  trees 
Wear  their  autumnal  dress,  so  that  the  whole  landscape 


42 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[184. 


is  red,  russet,  orange,  and  yellow,  blending  in  the  dis- 
tance into  a rich  tint  of  brown-orange,  or  nearly  that,  — 
except  the  green  expanse  so  definitely  hemmed  in  by 
the  highei  ground. 

I took  a long  walk  this  morning,  going  first  nearly  to 
Newton,  thence  nearly  to  Brighton,  thence  to  Jamaica 
Plain,  and  thence  home.  It  was  a fine  morning,  with  a 
northwest  wind ; cool  when  fachag  the  wind,  but  warm 
and  most  genially  pleasant  in  sheltered  spots ; and 
warm  enough  everywhere  while  I was  in  motion.  I 
traversed  most  of  the  by-ways  which  offered  themselves 
to  me ; and,  passing  through  one  in  which  there  was  a 
double  line  of  grass  between  the  wheel-tracks  and  that 
of  the  horses’  feet,  I came  to  where  had  once  stood  a 
farm-house,  which  appeared  to  have  been  recently  torn 
down.  Most  of  the  old  timber  and  boards  had  been 
carted  away  ; a pile  of  it,  however,  remained.  The 
cellar  of  the  house  was  uncovered,  and  beside  it  stood 
the  base  and  middle  height  of  the  chimney.  The  oven, 
in  which  household  bread  had  been  baked  for  daily 
food,  and  puddings  and  cake  and  jolly  pumpkin-pies  for 
festivals,  opened  its  mouth,  being  deprived  of  its  iron 
door.  The  fireplace  was  close  at  hand.  All  round 
the  site  of  the  house  was  a pleasant,  sunny,  green  space, 
with  old  fruit-trees  in  pretty  fair  condition,  though  aged. 
There  was  a barn,  also  aged,  but  in  decent  repair ; and 
a ruinous  shed,  on  the  corner  of  which  was  nailed  a 
boy’s  windmill,  where  it  had  probably  been  turning  and 
clattering  for  years  together,  till  now  it  was  black  with 
time  and  weather-stain.  It  was  broken,  but  still  it  went 
round  whenever  the  wind  stirred.  The  spot  was  entire- 
ly secluded,  there  being  no  other  house  within  a mil* 


or  two. 


1841.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOORS. 


43 


No  language  can  give  an  idea  of  the  beauty  and  glory 
of  the  trees,  just  at  this  moment.  It  would  be  easy,  by 
a process  of  word-daubing,  to  set  down  a confused  group 
of  gorgeous  colors,  like  a bunch  of  tangled  skeins  of 
bright  silk  ; but  there  is  nothing  of  the  reality  in  the 
glare  which  would  thus  be  produced.  And  yet  the 
splendor  both  of  individual  clusters  and  of  whole  scenes 
is  unsurpassable.  The  oaks  are  now  far  advanced  in 
their  change  of  hue  ; and,  in  certain  positions  relatively 
to  the  sun,  they  light  up  and  gleam  with  a most  mag- 
nificent deep  gold,  varying  according  as  portions  of  the 
foliage  are  in  shadow  or  sunlight.  On  the  sides  which 
receive  the  direct  rays,  the  effect  is  altogether  rich  ; and 
m other  points  of  view  it  is  equally  beautiful,  if  less 
brilliant.  This  color  of  the  oak  is  more  superb  than 
the  lighter  yellow  of  the  maples  and  walnuts.  The 
whole  landscape  is  now  covered  with  this  indescribable 
pomp ; it  is  discerned  on  the  uplands  afar  off;  and  Blue 
Hill  in  Milton,  at  the  distance  of  several  miles,  actually 
glistens  with  rich,  dark  light,  — no,  not  glistens,  nor 
gleams,  — but  perhaps  to  say  glows  subduedly  will  be 
a truer  expression  for  it. 

Met  few  people  this  morning  ; a grown  girl,  in  com- 
pany with  a little  boy,  gathering  barberries  in  a secluded 
lane ; a portly,  autumnal  gentleman,  wrapped  in  a 
great- coat,  who  asked  the  way  to  Mr.  Joseph  God- 
dard’s ; and  a fish- cart  from  the  city,  the  driver  of  which 
60unded  his  horn  along  the  lonesome  way. 

Monday , October  18^.  — There  has  been  a succession 
of  days  which  were  cold  and  bright  in  the  forenoon,  and 
gray,  sullen,  and  chill  towards  night.  The  woods  have 


44 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[184, 


now  taken  a soberer  tint  than  they  wore  at  my  last 
date.  Many  of  the  shrubs  which  looked  brightest  a 
little  while  ago  are  now  wholly  bare  of  leaves.  The 
oaks  have  generally  a russet-brown  shade,  although 
some  of  them  are  still  green,  as  are  likewise  other  scat- 
tered trees  in  the  forests.  The  bright  yellow  and  the 
rich  scarlet  are  no  more  to  be  seen.  Scarcely  any  of 
them  will  now  bear  a close  examination ; for  this  shows 
them  to  be  rugged,  wilted,  and  of  faded,  frost-bitten 
hue ; but  at  a distance,  and  in  the  mass,  and  enlivened 
by  the  sun,  they  have  still  somewhat  of  the  varied 
splendor  which  distinguished  them  a week  ago.  It  is 
wonderful  what  a difference  the  sunshine  makes  ; it  is 
like  varnish,  bringing  out  the  hidden  veins  in  a piece  of 
rich  wood.  In  the  cold,  gray  atmosphere,  such  as  that 
of  most  of  our  afternoons  now,  the  landscape  lies  dark, 
: — brown,  and  in  a much  deeper  shadow  than  if  it  were 
clothed  in  green.  But,  perchance,  a gleam  of  sun  falls 
on  a certain  spot  of  distant  shrubbery  or  woodland,  and 
we  see  it  brighten  with  many  hues,  standing  forth  prom- 
inently from  the  dimness  around  it.  The  sunlight 
gradually  spreads,  and  the  whole  sombre  scene  is 
changed  to  a motley  picture,  — the  sun  bringing  out 
many  shades  of  color,  and  converting  its  gloom  to  an 
almost  laughing  cheerfulness.  At  such  times  I almost 
doubt  whether  the  foliage  has  lost  any  of  its  brilliancy. 
But  the  clouds  intercept  the  sun  again,  and  lo  ! old 
Autumn  appears,  clad  in  his  cloak  of  russet-brown. 

Beautiful  now,  while  the  general  landscape  lies  in 
shadow,  looks  the  summit  of  a distant  hill  (say  a mile 
off),  with  the  sunshine  brightening  the  trees  that  covet 
it.  It  is  noticeable  that  the  outlines  of  hills,  and  the 


1841.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


45 


whole  bulk  of  them  at  the  distance  of  several  miles,  be- 
come stronger,  denser,  and  more  substantial  in  this 
autumn  atmosphere  and  in  these  autumnal  tints  than  in 
summer.  Then  they  looked  blue,  misty,  and  dim. 
Now  they  show  their  great  humpbacks  more  plainly,  as 
if  they  had  drawn  nearer  to  us. 

A waste  of  shrubbery  and  small  trees,  such  as  over- 
runs the  borders  of  the  meadows  for  miles  together, 
looks  much  more  rugged,  wild,  and  savage  in  its  pres- 
ent brown  color  than  when  clad  in  green. 

I passed  through  a very  pleasant  wood-path  yester- 
day, quite  shut  in  and  sheltered  by  trees  that  had  not 
thrown  off  their  yellow  robes.  The  sun  shone  strongly 
in  among  them,  and  quite  kindled  them ; so  that  the 
path  was  brighter  for  their  shade  than  if  it  had  been 
quite  exposed  to  the  sun. 

In  the  village  graveyard,  which  lies  contiguous  to 
the  street,  I saw  a man  digging  a grave,  and  one  inhab- 
itant after  another  turned  aside  from  his  way  to  look 
into  the  grave  and  talk  with  the  digger.  I heard  him 
laugh,  with  the  traditionary  mirthfulness  of  men  of  that 
occupation. 

In  the  hollow  of  the  woods,  yesterday  afternoon,  I 
lay  a long  while  watching  a squirrel,  who  was  capering 
about  among  the  trees  over  my  head  (oaks  and  white- 
pines,  so  close  together  that  their  branches  intermingled). 
The  squirrel  seemed  not  to  approve  of  my  presence, 
for  he  frequently  uttered  a sharp,  quick,  angry  noise, 
like  that  of  a scissors-grinder’s  wheel.  Sometimes  I 
could  see  him  sitting  on  an  impending  bough,  with  his 
tail  over  his  back,  looking  down  pryingly  upon  me.  It 
seems  to  *»  posture  with  him,  to  sit  on  his 


46 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841. 


hind  legs,  holding  up  his  fore  paws.  Anon,  with  a pe- 
culiarly quick  start,  he  would  scramble  along  the  branch, 
and  be  lost  to  sight  in  another  part  of  the  tree,  whence 
his  shrill  chatter  would  again  be  heard.  Then  I would 
see  him  rapidly  descending  the  trunk,  and  running  along 
the  ground  ; and  a moment  afterwards,  casting  my  eye 
upward,  I beheld  him  flitting  like  a bird  among  the 
high  limbs  at  the  summit,  directly  above  me.  After- 
wards, he  apparently  became  accustomed  to  my  society, 
and  set  about  some  business  of  his  own.  He  came 
down  to  the  ground,  took  up  a piece  of  a decayed 
bough  (a  heavy  burden  for  such  a small  personage^, 
and,  with  this  in  his  mouth,  again  climbed  up  and 
passed  from  the  branches  of  one  tree  to  those  of  an- 
other, and  thus  onward  and  onward  till  he  went  out 
of  sight.  Shortly  afterwards  he  returned  for  another 
burden,  and  this  he  repeated  several  times.  I suppose 
he  was  building  a nest,  — at  least,  I know  not  what  else 
could  have  been  his  object.  Never  was  there  such  an 
active,  cheerful,  choleric,  continually-in-motion  fellow  as 
this  little  red  squirrel,  talking  to  himself,  chattering  at 
me,  and  as  sociable  in  his  own  person  as  if  he  had 
half  a dozen  companions,  instead  of  being  alone  in  the 
lonesome  wood.  Indeed,  he  flitted  about  so  quickly, 
and  showed  himself  in  different  places  so  suddenly,  that 
I was  in  some  doubt  whether  there  were  not  two  or 
three  of  them. 

I must  mention  again  the  very  beautiful  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  masses  of  berry-bushes,  lying  like  scarlet 
islands  in  the  midst  of  withered  pasture-ground,  or 
crowning  the  tops  of  barren  hills.  Their  hue,  at  a 
distance,  is  lustrous  scarlet,  although  it  does  not  look 


1841.]  American  note-books.  47 

nearly  as  bright  and  gorgeous  when  examined  close 
at  hand.  Bu*  at  a proper  distance  it  is  a beautiful 
fringe  on  Autumn’s  petticoat. 

Friday , October  22 d.  — A continued  succession  of 
unpleasant,  Novembery  days,  and  autumn  has  made 
rapid  progress  in  the  work  of  decay.  It  is  now  some- 
what of  a rare  good  fortune  to  find  a verdant,  grassy 
spot,  on  some  slope,  or  in  a dell ; and  even  such  sel- 
dom-seen oases  are  bestrewn  with  dried  brown  leaves, 
— which,  however,  methinks,  make  the  short,  fresh 
grass  look  greener  around  them.  Dry  leaves  are  now* 
plentiful  everywhere,  save  where  there  are  none  but 
pine-trees.  They  rustle  beneath  the  tread,  and  there 
is  nothing  more  autumnal  than  that  sound.  Never- 
theless, in  a walk  this  afternoon  I have  seen  two  oaks 
which  retained  almost  the  greenness  of  summer.  They 
grew  close  to  the  huge  Pulpit  Rock,  so  that  portions 
of  their  trunks  appeared  to  grasp  the  rough  surface ; 
and  they  were  rooted  beneath  it,  and,  ascending  high 
into  the  air,  overshadowed  the  gray  crag  with  verd- 
ure. Other  oaks,  here  and  there,  have  a few  green 
leaves  or  boughs  among  their  rustling  and  rugged 
shade. 

Yet,  dreary  as  the  woods  are  in  a bleak,  sullen  day, 
there  is  a very  peculiar  sense  of  warmth  and  a sort  of 
richness  of  effect  in  the  slope  of  a bank  and  in  shel- 
tered spots,  where  bright  sunshine  falls,  and  the  brown 
oaken  foliage  is  gladdened  by  it.  There  is  then  a 
feeling  of  comfort,  and  consequently  of  heart-warmth, 
which  cannot  be  experienced  in  summer. 

I walked  this  afternoon  along  a pleasant  wood-path, 


48 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1841 


gently  winding,  so  that  but  little  of  it  could  be  seen  at 
a time,  and  going  up  and  down  small  mounds,  now 
plunging  into  a denser  shadow  and  now  emerging  from 
it.  Part  of  the  way  it  was  strewm  with  the  dusky,  yel- 
low leaves  of  white-pines,  — the  cast-off  garments  of 
last  year,  part  of  the  way  with  green  grass,  close- 
cropped,  and  very  fresh  for  the  season.  Sometimes  the 
trees  met  across  it ; sometimes  it  was  bordered  on  one 
side  by  an  old  rail-fence  of  moss-grown  cedar,  with 
bushes  sprouting  beneath  it,  and  thrusting  their  branches 
through  it ; sometimes  by  a stone  wall  of  unknown  an- 
tiquity, older  than  the  wood  it  closed  in.  A stone  wall, 
when  shrubbery  has  grown  around  it,  and  thrust  its 
roots  beneath  it,  becomes  a very  pleasant  and  medita- 
tive object.  It  does  not  belong  too  evidently  to  man, 
having  been  built  so  long  ago.  It  seems  a part  of  na- 
ture. 

Yesterday  I found  two  mushrooms  in  the  woods, 
probably  of  the  preceding  night’s  growth.  Also  I saw 
a mosquito,  frost-pinched,  and  so  wretched  that  I felt 
avenged  for  all  the  injuries  which  his  tribe  inflicted 
upon  me  last  summer,  and  so  did  not  molest  this  lone 
survivor. 

Walnuts  in  their  green  rinds  are  falling  from  the 
trees,  and  so  are  chestnut-burrs. 

I found  a maple-leaf  to-day,  yellow  all  over,  except 
its  extremest  point,  which  was  bright  scarlet.  It  looked 
as  if  a drop  of  blood  were  hanging  from  it.  The  first 
change  of  the  maple-leaf  is  to  scarlet;  the  next,  to 
yellcw.  Then  it  withers,  wilts,  and  drops  off,  as  most 
of  them  have  already  done. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS* 


49 


18435.] 

October  21th.  — Fringed  gentians,  — I found  the  last 
probably,  that  will  be  seen  this  year,  growing  on  the 
margin  of  the  brook. 

1842.  — Some  man  of  powerful  character  to  com- 
mand a person,  morally  subjected  to  him,  to  perform 
some  act.  The  commanding  person  suddenly  to  die ; 
and,  for  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  the  subjected  one  con* 
tinues  to  perform  that  act. 

“ Solomon  dies  during  the  building  of  the  temple, 
but  his  body  remains  leaning  on  a staff,  and  overlooking 
the  workmen,  as  if  it  were  alive.” 

A tri-weekly  paper,  to  be  called  the  Tertian  Ague. 

Subject  for  a picture,  — Satan’s  reappearance  in 
Pandemonium,  shining  out  from  a mist,  with  “shape 
star-bright.” 

Five  points  of  Theology,  — Five  Points  at  New 
York. 

It  seems  a greater  pity  that  an  accomplished  worker 
with  the  hand  should  perish  prematurely,  than  a per- 
son of  great  intellect;  because  intellectual  arts  may 
6e  cultivated  in  the  next  world,  but  not  physical  ones. 

To  trace  out  the  influence  of  a frightful  and  dis 
graceful  crime  in  debasing  and  destroying  a character 
naturally  high  and  noble,  the  guilty  person  being  alone 
conscious  of  the  crime. 


VOL.  II. 


3 


D 


50 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


A man,  virtuous  in  his  general  conduct,  but  com- 
mitting habitually  some  monstrous  crime,  — as  murder, 
- and  doing  this  without  the  sense  of  guilt,  but  with  a 
peaceful  conscience,  — habit,  probably,  reconciling  him 
to  it;  but  something  (for  instance,  discovery)  occurs 
to  make  him  sensible  of  his  enormity.  His  horror  then. 

The  strangeness,  if  they  could  be  foreseen  and  fore 
thought,  of  events  which  do  not  seem  so  strange  after 
they  have  happened.  As,  for  instance,  to  muse  over 
a child’s  cradle,  and  foresee  all  the  persons  in  different 
parts  of  the  world  with  whom  he  would  have  rela- 
tions 

A man  to  swallow  a small  snake,  — and  it  to  be  a 
symbol  of  a cherished  sin. 

Questions  as  to  unsettled  points  of  history,  and  mys 
teries  of  nature,  to  be  asked  of  a mesmerized  person. 

Gordier,  a young  man  of  the  Island  of  Jersey,  was 
paying  his  addresses  to  a young  lady  of  Guernsey. 
He  visited  the  latter  island,  intending  to  be  married. 
He  disappeared  on  his  way  from  the  beach  to  his 
mistress’s  residence,  and  was  afterwards  found  dead 
in  a cavity  of  the  rocks.  After  a time,  Galliard,  a 
merchant  of  Guernsey,  paid  his  addresses  to  the  young 
lady ; but  she  always  felt  a strong,  unaccountable  an- 
tipathy to  him.  He  presented  her  with  a beautiful 
trinket.  The  mother  of  Gordier,  chancing  to  see  this 
trinket,  recognized  it  as  having  been  bought  by  her 
dead  son  as  a present  for  his  mistress.  She  expired 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


51 


on  learning  this;  and  Galliard,  being  suspected  of  tie 
murder,  committed  suicide. 

The  cure  of  Montreux  in  Switzerland,  ninety-six 
years  old,  still  vigorous  in  mind  and  body,  and  able  to 
preach.  He  had  a twin-brother,  also  a preacher,  and 
the  exact  likeness  of  himself.  Sometimes  strangers 
have  beheld  a white-haired,  venerable  clerical  per- 
sonage, nearly  a century  old ; and,  upon  riding  a few 
miles  farther,  have  been  astonished  to  meet  again  this 
white-haired,  venerable,  century-old  personage. 

When  the  body  of  Lord  Mohun  (killed  in  a duel)  was 
carried  home,  bleeding,  to  his  house,  Lady  Mohun  was 
very  angry  because  it  was  “ flung  upon  the  best  bed.” 

A prophecy,  somewhat  in  the  style  of  Swift’s  about 
Partridge,  but  embracing  various  events  and  person- 
ages. 

An  incident  that  befell  Dr.  Harris,  while  a Junior  at 
college.  Being  in  great  want  of  money  to  buy  shirts  or 
other  necessaries,  and  not  knowing  how  to  obtain  it,  he 
set  out  on  a walk  from  Cambridge  to  Boston.  On  the 
way,  he  cut  a stick,  and,  after  walking  a short  distance, 
perceived  that  something  had  become  attached  to  the 
end  of  it.  It  proved  to  be  a gold  ring,  with  the  motto, 
“ God  speed  thee,  friend.” 

Brobdingnag  lay  on  the  northwest  coast  of  the  Ameri 
can  continent. 

A gush  of  violets  along  a wood-path 


52 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1845, 

People  with  false  hair  and  other  artifices  may  be  sup- 
posed to  deceive  Death  himself,  so  that  he  does  not 
know  when  their  hour  is  come. 

Bees  are  sometimes  drowned  (or  suffocated)  in  the 
honey  which  they  collect.  So  some  writers  are  lost  in 
their  collected  learning. 

Advice  of  Lady  PepperelPs  father  on  her  marriage, 
— never  to  worfc  one  moment  after  Saturday  sunset,  — 
never  to  lay  down  her  knitting  except  in  the  middle  of 
the  needle,  — always  to  rise  with  the  sun,  — to  pass  an 
hour  daily  with  the  housekeeper,  — to  visit  every  room 
daily  from  garret  to  cellar,  — to  attend  herself  to  the 
brewing  of  beer  and  the  baking  of  bread,  — and  to  in- 
struct every  member  of  the  family  in  their  religious 
duties.  * 

Service  of  plate,  presented  by  the  city  of  London  to 
Sir  William  Pepperell,  together  with  a table  of  solid  sil- 
ver. The  table  very  narrow,  but  long ; the  articles  of 
plate  numerous,  but  of  small  dimensions,  — the  tureen 
not  holding  more  than  three  pints.  At  the  close  of  the 
Revolution,  when  the  Pepperell  and  Sparhawk  property 
was  confiscated,  this  plate  was  sent  to  the  grandson  of 
Sir  William,  in  London.  It  was  so  valuable,  that 
Sheriff  Moulton  of  old  York,  with  six  well-armed  men, 
accompanied  it  to  Boston.  PepperelPs  only  daughter 
married  Colonel  Sparhawk,  a fine  gentleman  of  the  day. 
Andrew  Pepperell,  the  son,  was  rejected  by  a young 
lady  (afterwards  the  mother  of  Mrs.  General  Knox),  to 
whom  he  was  on  the  point  of  marriage,  as  being 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


53 


1842.  J 

addicted  to  low  company  and  low  pleasures.  The  lover, 
two  days  afterwards,  in  the  streets  of  Portsmouth,  was 
sun-struck,  and  fell  down  dead.  Sir  William  had  built 
an  elegant  house  for  his  son  and  his  intended  wife ; but 
after  the  death  of  the  former  he  never  entered  it.  He 
lost  his  cheerfulness  and  social  qualities,  and  gave  up 
intercourse  with  people,  except  on  business.  Very  anx- 
ious to  secure  his  property  to  his  descendants  by  the 
provisions  of  his  will,  which  was  drawn  up  by  Judge 
Sewall,  then  a young  lawyer.  Yet  the  Judge  lived  to 
see  two  of  Sir  William’s  grandchildren  so  reduced  that 
they  were  to  have  been  numbered  among  the  town’s 
poor,  and  were  only  rescued  from  this  fate  by  private 
charity. 

The  arms  and  crest  of  the  Pepperell  family  were  dis- 
played over  the  door  of  every  room  in  Sir  William’s 
house.  In  Colonel  Sparhawk’s  house  there  were  forty 
portraits,  most  of  them  in  full  length.  The  house  built 
for  Sir  William’s  son  was  occupied  as  barracks  during 
the  Revolution,  and  much  injured.  A few  years  after 
the  peace,  it  was  blown  down  by  a violent  tempest,  and 
finally  no  vestige  of  it  was  left,  but  there  remained  only 
a summer-house  and  the  family  tomb. 

At  Sir  William’s  death,  his  mansion  was  hung  with 
black,  while  the  body  lay  in  state  for  a week.  All  the 
Sparhawk  portraits  were  covered  with  black  crape,  and 
the  family  pew  was  draped  with  black.  Two  oxen 
were  roasted,  and  liquid  hospitality  dispensed  in  pro- 
portion. 

Old  lady’s  dress  seventy  or  eighty  years  ago.  Brown 
brocade  gown,  with  a nice  lawn  handkerchief  and  apron, 


Si 


American  note-books. 


[1842. 

— short  sleeves,  with  a little  ruffle,  just  below  the  el- 
bow, — black  mittens,  — a lawn  cap,  with  rich  lace  bor- 
der, — a black  velvet  hood  on  the  back  of  the  head,  tied 
with  black  ribbon  under  the  chin.  She  sat  in  an  old- 
fashioned  easy-chair,  in  a small,  low  parlor,  — the  wain- 
scot painted  entirely  black,  and  the  walls  hung  with  a 
d&rk  velvet  paper. 

A table,  stationary  ever  since  the  house  was  built, 
extending  the  whole  length  of  a room.  One  end  was 
raised  two  steps  higher  than  the  rest.  The  Lady 
Ursula,  an  early  Colonial  heroine,  was  wont  to  dine  at 
the  upper  end,  while  her  servants  sat  below.  This  was 
in  the  kitchen.  An  old  garden  and  summer-house,  and 
roses,  currant-bushes,  and  tulips,  which  Lady  Ursula 
had  brought  from  Grondale  Abbey  in  Old  England. 
Although  a hundred  and  fifty  years  before,  and  though 
their  roots  were  propagated  all  over  the  country,  they 
were  still  flourishing  in  the  original  garden.  This  Lady 
Ursula  was  the  daughter  of  Lord  Thomas  Cutts  of 
Grondale  Abbey  in  England.  She  had  been  in  love 
with  an  officer  named  Fowler,  who  was  supposed  to 
have  been  slain  in  battle.  After  the  death  of  her  father 
and  mother,  Lady  Ursula  came  to  Kittery,  bringing 
twenty  men-servants  and  several  women.  After  a time, 
a letter  arrived  from  her  lover,  who  was  not  killed,  but 
merely  a prisoner  to  the  French.  He  announced  his 
purpose  to  come  to  America,  where  he  would  arrive  in 
October  A few  days  after  the  letter  came,  she  went 
out  in  a low  carriage  to  visit  her  work-people,  and  was 
blessing  the  food  for  their  luncheon,  when  she  fell  dead, 
struck  by  an  Indian  tomahawk,  as  did  all  the  rest  save 
one.  They  were  buried  where  the  massacre  took  place, 


1842.  J 


AMERICAN  NOT  E-BOOKS. 


55 


and  a stone  was  erected,  which  (possibly)  still  remains. 
The  lady’s  family  had  a grant  from  Sir  Ferdinando 
Gorges  of  the  territory  thereabout,  and  her  brother  had 
likewise  come  over  and  settled  in  the  vicinity.  I 
believe  very  little  of  this  story.  Long  afterwards,  at 
about  the  commencement  of  the  Revolution,  a descend- 
ant of  Fowler  came  from  England,  and  applied  to  the 
Judge  of  Probate  to  search  the  records  for  a will,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  made  by  Lady  Ursula  in  favor  of 
her  lover  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his  existence.  In  the 
mean  time  the  estate  had  been  sold  to  Colonel  Whipple. 
No  will  could  be  found.  (Lady  Ursula  was  old  Mrs. 
Cutts,  widow  of  President  Cutts.) 

The  mode  of  living  of  Lady  Ursula’s  brother  in  Kit- 
tery.  A drawbridge  to  the  house,  which  was  raised 
every  evening,  and  lowered  in  the  morning,  for  the 
laborers  and  the  family  to  pass  out.  They  kept  thirty 
cows,  a hundred  sheep,  and  several  horses.  The  house 
spacious,  — one  room  large  enough  to  contain  forty  or 
fifty  guests.  Two  silver  branches  for  candles,  — the 
walls  ornamented  with  paintings  and  needle-work.  The 
floors  were  daily  rubbed  with  wax,  and  shone  like  a ma- 
hogany table.  A domestic  chaplain,  who  said  prayers 
every  morning  and  evening  in  a small  apartment  called 
the  chapel.  Also  a steward  and  butler.  The  family 
attended  the  Episcopal  Church  at  Christmas,  Easter, 
and  Good  Friday,  and  gave  a grand  entertainment  once 
a year. 

Madam  Cutts,  at  the  last  of  these  entertainments, 
wore  a black  damask  gown,  and  cuffs  with  double  lac  e 
ruffles,  velvet  shoes,  blue  silk  stockings,  white  and  sil- 
ver stomacher.  The  daughter  and  granddaughters  iq 


30 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


TIM* 


rich  brocades  and  yellow  satin.  Old  Major  Cutts  in 
brown  velvet,  laced  with  gold,  and  a large  wig.  The 
parson  in  his  silk  cassock,  and  his  helpmate  in  brown 
damask.  Old  General  Atkinson  in  scarlet  velvet,  and 
his  wife  and  daughters  in  white  damask.  The  Gover- 
nor in  black  velvet,  and  his  lady  in  crimson  tabby 
trimmed  with  silver.  The  ladies  wore  bell-hoops,  high- 
heeled  shoes,  paste  buckles,  silk  stockings,  and  enor- 
mously high  head-dresses,  with  lappets  of  Brussels  lace 
hanging  thence  to  the  waist. 

Among  the  eatables,  a silver  tub  of  the  capacity  of 
four  gallons,  holding  a pyramid  of  pancakes  powdered 
with  white  sugar. 

The  date  assigned  to  all  this  about  1690. 

What  is  the  price  of  a day’s  labor  in  Lapland,  where 
the  sun  never  sets  for  six  months  ? 

Miss  Asphyxia  Davis ! 

A life,  generally  of  a grave  hue,  may  be  said  to  be 
embroidered  with  occasional  sports  and  fantasies. 

A father  confessor,  — his  reflections  on  character,  and 
the  contrast  of  the  inward  man  with  the  outward,  as  he 
looks  around  on  his  congregation,  all  whose  secret  sins 
are  known  to  him. 

A person  with  an  ice-cold  hand,  — his  right  hand, 
which  people  ever  afterwards  remember  when  once  they 
have  grasped  it. 


A stove  possessed  by  a Devil. 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


57 


June  ls£,  1842.  — One  of  my  chief  amusements  is  to 
see  the  boys  sail  their  miniature  vessels  on  the  Frog 
Pond.  There  is  a great  variety  of  shipping  owned 
among  the  young  people,  and  they  appear  to  have  a 
considerable  knowledge  of  the  art  of  managing  vessels. 
There  is  a full-rigged  man-of-war,  with,  I believe,  every 
spar,  rope,  and  sail,  that  sometimes  makes  its  appear- 
ance ; and,  when  on  a voyage  across  the  pond,  it  so 
identically  resembles  a great  ship,  except  in  size,  that 
it  has  the  effect  of  a picture.  All  its  motions,  — its  toss- 
ing up  and  down  on  the  small  waves,  and  its  sinking  and 
rising  in  a calm  swell,  its  heeling  to  the  breeze,  — the 
whole  effect,  in  short,  is  that  of  a real  ship  at  sea; 
while,  moreover,  there  is  something  that  kindles  the 
imagination  more  than  the  reality  would  do.  If  we  see 
a real,  great  ship,  the  mind  grasps  and  possesses,  with- 
in its  real  clutch,  all  that  there  is  of  it ; while  here  the 
mimic  ship  is  the  representation  of  an  ideal  one,  and  so 
gives  us  a more  imaginative  pleasure.  There  are  many 
schooners  that  ply  to  and  fro  on  the  pond,  and  pilot- 
boats,  all  perfectly  rigged.  I saw  a race,  the  other  day, 
between  the  ship  above  mentioned  and  a pilot-boat,  in 
which  the  latter  came  off  conqueror.  The  boys  appear 
to  be  well  acquainted  with  all  the  ropes  and  sails, 
and  can  call  them  by  their  nautical  names.  One 
of  the  owners  of  the  vessels  remains  on  one  side  of 
the  pond,  and  the  other  on  the  opposite  side,  and  so 
they  send  the  little  bark  to  and  fro,  like  merchants  of 
different  countries,  consigning  their  vessels  to  one  an- 
other. 

Generally,  when  any  vessel  is  on  the  pond,  there  are 
full-grown  spectators,  who  look  on  with  as  much 

3* 


58  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  I 1842. 

est  as  the  boys  themselves.  Towards  sunset,  this  is 
especially  the  case  : for  then  are  seen  young  girls  and 
their  lovers ; mothers,  with  their  little  boys  in  hand ; 
school-girls,  beating  hoops  round  about,  and  occasionally 
running  to  the  side  of  the  pond ; rough  tars,  or  perhaps 
masters  or  young  mates  of  vessels,  who  make  remarks 
about  the  miniature  shipping,  and  occasionally  give 
professional  advice  to  the  navigators ; visitors  from  the 
country  ; gloved  and  caned  young  gentlemen  ; — in 
short,  everybody  stops  to  take  a look.  In  the  mean 
time,  dogs  are  continually  plunging  into  the  pond,  and 
swimming  about,  with  noses  pointed  upward,  and 
snatching  at  floating  chips ; then,  emerging,  they 
shake  themselves,  scattering  a horizontal  shower  on 
the  clean  gowns  of  ladies  and  trousers  of  gentlemen  ; 
then  scamper  to  and  fro  on  the  grass,  with  joyous 
barks. 

Some  boys  cast  off  lines  of  twine  with  pin-hooks, 
and  perhaps  pull  out  a horned-pout,  — that  being,  I 
think,  the  only  kind  of  fish  that  inhabits  the  Frog 
Pond. 

The  ship-of-war  above  mentioned  is  about  three  feet 
from  stem  to  stern,  or  possibly  a few  inches  more.  This, 
if  I mistake  not,  was  the  size  of  a ship-of-the-line  in  the 
navy  of  Liliput. 

Fancy  pictures  of  familiar  places  which  one  has  never 
been  in,  as  the  green-room  of  a theatre,  &c. 

The  famous  characters  of  history,  — to  imagine  their 
spirits  now  extant  on  earth,  in  the  guise  of  various 
public  or  private  personages, 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


59 


181-2.] 

The  case  quoted  in  Combe’s  Physiology  3f  a young 
man  of  great  talents  and  profound  knowledge  of  chem- 
istry, who  had  in  view  some  new  discovery  of  impor- 
tance. In  order  to  put  his  mind  into  the  highest  pos- 
sible activity,  he  shut  himself  up  for  several  succes- 
sive days*  and  used  various  methods  of  excitement. 
He  had  a singing-girl,  he  drank  spirits,  smelled 
penetrating  odors,  sprinkled  Cologne-water  round  the 
room,  &c.,  &c.  Eight  days  thus  passed,  when  he 
was  seized  with  a fit  of  frenzy  which  terminated  in 
mania. 

Flesh  and  Blood,  — a firm  of  butchers. 

Miss  Polly  Syllable,  a schoolmistress. 

Mankind  are  earthen  jugs  with  spirits  in  them. 

A spendthrift,  — in  one  sense  he  has  his  money’s 
worth  by  the  purchase  of  large  lots  of  repentance  and 
other  dolorous  commodities. 

To  symbolize  moral  or  spiritual  disease  by  disease  of 
the  body ; as  thus,  — when  a person  committed  any  sin, 
it  might  appear  in  some  form  on  the  body,  — this  to  be 
wrought  out. 

“ Shrieking  fish,”  a strange  idea  of  Leigh  Hunt. 

In  my  museum,  all  the  ducal  rings  that  have  been 
thrown  into  the  Adriatic. 


60 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


An  association  of  li  erarj  men  in  the  other  world, 
— or  dialogues  of  the  dead,  or  something  of  that 
kind. 

Imaginary  diseases  to  be  cured  by  impossible  reme 
dies,  — as  a dose  of  the  Grand  Elixir,  in  the  yolk  of  a 
Phoenix’s  egg.  The  disease  may  be  either  moral  or 
physical. 

A physician  for  the  cure  of  moral  diseases. 

To  point  out  the  moral  slavery  of  one  who  deems 
himself  a free  man. 

A stray  leaf  from  the  book  of  fate,  picked  up  in  the 
street. 

Concord , August  bih.  — A rainy  day,  — a rainy 
day.  I am  commanded  to  take  pen  in  hand,  and  I am 
therefore  banished  to  the  little  ten-foot-square  apartment 
misnamed  my  study ; but  perhaps  the  dismalness  of  the 
day  and  the  dulness  of  my  solitude  will  be  the  promi- 
n3nt  characteristics  of  what  I write.  And  what  is 
there  to  write  about?  Happiness  has  no  succession  of 
events,  because  it  is  a part  of  eternity ; and  we  have 
been  living  in  eternity  ever  since  we  came  to  this  old 
manse.  Like  Enoch,  we  seem  to  have  been  translated 
to  the  other  state  of  being,  without  having  passed  through 
death.  Our  spirits  must  have  flitted  away  unconscious- 
ly, and  we  can  only  perceive  that  we  have  cast  off  our 
mortal  part  by  the  more  real  and  earnest  life  of  our 
souls.  Externally,  our  Paradise  has  very  much  the 


16452.")  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  61 

aspect  of  a pleasant  old  domicile  on  earth.  This  antique 
house,  — for  it  looks  antique,  though  it  was  created  by 
Providence  expressly  for  our  use,  and  at  ihe  precise 
time  when  we  wanted  it, — stands  behind  a noble  avenue 
of  balm-of- Gilead  trees  ; and  when  we  chance  to  observe 
a passing  traveller  through  the  sunshine  and  the  shadow 
of  this  long  avenue,  his  figure  appears  too  dim  and 
remote  to  disturb  the  sense  of  blissful  seclusion.  Few, 
indeed,  are  the  mortals  who  venture  within  our  sacred 
precincts.  George  Prescott,  who  has  not  yet  grown 
earthly  enough,  I suppose,  to  be  debarred  from  occa- 
sional visits  to  Paradise,  comes  daily  to  bring  three 
pints  of  milk  from  some  ambrosial  cow ; occasionally, 
also,  he  makes  an  offering  of  mortal  flowers.  Mr.  Em- 
erson comes  sometimes,  and  has  been  feasted  on  our 
nectar  and  ambrosia.  Mr.  Thoreau  has  twice  listened 
to  the  music  of  the  spheres,  which,  for  our  private  con- 
venience, we  have  packed  into  a musical  box.  E— 

H , who  is  much*  more  at  home  among  spirits  than 

among  fleshly  bodies,  came  hither  a few  times  merely 
to  welcome  us  to  the  ethereal  work  ; but  latterly  she 
has  vanished  into  some  other  region  of  infinite  space. 
One  rash  mortal,  on  the  second  Sunday  afta-r  our  arrival, 
obtruded  himself  upon  us  in  a gig.  There  have  since 
been  three  or  four  callers,  who  preposterously  think 
that  the  courtesies  of  the  lower  world  are  to  be  responded 
to  by  people  whose  home  is  in  Paradise.  I mrst  not 
forget  to  mention  that  the  butcher  comes  twice  or  t!  rice 
a week  ; and  we  have  so  far  improved  upon  the  custom 
of  Adam  and  Eve,  that  we  generally  furnish  forth  our 
feasts  with  portions  of  some  delicate  calf  or  lamb,  whose 
unspotted  innocence  entitles  them  to  the  happiness  cl 


62 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


becoming  our  sustenance.  Would  that  I were  permitted 
to  record  the  celestial  dainties  that  kind  Heaven  pro- 
vided for  us  on  the  first  day  of  our  arrival ! Never, 
surely,  was  such  food  heard  of  on  earth,  — at  least,  not 
by  me.  Well,  the  above-mentioned  persons  are  nearly  all 
that  have  entered  into  the  hallowed  shade  of  our  avenue ; 
except,  indeed,  a certain  sinner  who  came  to  bargain 
for  the  grass  in  our  orchard,  and  another  who  came  with 
a new  cistern.  For  it  is  one  of  the  drawbacks  upon  our 
Eden  that  it  contains  no  water  fit  either  to  drink  or  to 
bathe  in ; so  that  the  showers  have  become,  in  good 
truth,  a godsend.  I wonder  why  Providence  does  not 
cause  a clear,  cold  fountain  to  bubble  up  at  our  doorstep  ; 
methinks  it  would  not  be  unreasonable  to  pray  for  such 
a favor.  At  present  we  are  under  the  ridiculous  neces- 
sity of  sending  to  the  outer  world  for  water.  Only  im- 
agine Adam  trudging  out  of  Paradise  with  a bucket  in 
each  hand,  to  get  water  to  drink,  or  for  Eve  to  bathe 
in ! Intolerable  ! (though  our  stout  handmaiden  really 
fetches  our  water).  In  other  respects  Providence  has 
treated  us  pretty  tolerably  well ; but  here  I shall  ex- 
pect something  further  to  be  done.  Also,  in  the  way 
of  future  favors,  a kitten  would  be  very  acceptable. 
Animals  (except,  perhaps,  a pig)  seem  never  out  of 
place,  even  in  the  most  paradisiacal  spheres.  And,  by 
the  way,  a young  colt  comes  up  our  avenue,  now  and 
then,  to  crop  the  seldom-trodden  herbage ; and  so  does 
a company  of  cows,  whose  sweet  breath  well  repays  us 
for  the  food  which  they  obtain.  There  are  likewise  a 
few  hens,  whose  quiet  cluck  is  heard  pleasantly  about 
the  house.  A black  dog  sometimes  stands  at  the  farther 
extremity  of  the  avenue,  and  looks  wistfully  hitherward 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


68 


1842. *] 

but  when  I whistle  to  him,  he  puts  his  tail  between  his 
legs,  and  trots  away.  Foolish  dog!  if  he  had  more 
faith,  he  should  have  bones  enough. 

Saturday , August  fttli.  — Still  a dull  day,  threatening 
rain,  yet  without  energy  of  character  enough  to  rain  out- 
right. However,  yesterday  there  were  showers  enough 
to  supply  us  well  with  their  beneficent  outpouring.  As 
to  the  new  cistern,  it  seems  to  be  bewitched ; for,  while 
tne  spout  pours  into  it  like  a cataract,  it  still  remains 
almost  empty.  I wonder  where  Mr.  Hosmer  got  it ; 
perhaps  from  Tantalus,  under  the  eaves  of  whose  palace 
it  must  formerly  have  stood ; for,  like  his  drinking-cup 
in  Hades,  it  has  the  property  of  filling  itself  forever, 
and  never  being  full. 

After  breakfast  I took  my  fishing-rod,  and  went  down 
through  our  orchard  to  the  river-side ; but  as  three  or 
four  boys  were  already  in  possession  of  the  best  spots 
along  the  shore,  I did  not  fish.  This  river  of  ours  is 
the  most  sluggish  stream  that  I ever  was  acquainted 
with.  I had  spent  three  weeks  by  its  side,  and  swam 
across  it  every  day,  before  I could  determine  which  way 
its  current  ran ; and  then  I was  compelled  to  decide  the 
question  by  the  testimony  of  others,  and  not  by  my  own 
observation.  Owing  to  this  torpor  of  the  stream,  it  has 
nowhere  a bright,  pebbly  shore,  nor  is  there  so  much  as 
a narrow  strip  of  glistening  sand  in  any  part  of  its  course; 
but  it  slumbers  along  between  broad  meadows,  or  kisses 
the  tangled  grass  of  mowing-fields  and  pastures,  or 
bathes  the  overhanging  boughs  of  elder-bushes  and  other 
water-loving  plants.  Flags  and  rushes  grow  along 
ita  shallow  margin.  The  yellow  water-lily  spreads  its 


64  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [JS42. 

broad,  flat  leaves  upon  its  surface ; and  the  fragrant 
white  pond-lily  occurs  in  many  favored  spots,  — gen- 
erally selecting  a situation  just  so  far  from  the  river’s 
brink  that  it  cannot  be  grasped  except  at  the  hazard  of 
plunging  in.  But  thanks  be  to  the  beautiful  flower  for 
growing  at  any  rate.  It  is  a marvel  whence  it  derives 
its  loveliness  and  perfume,  sprouting  as  it  does  from  the 
black  mud  over  which  the  river  sleeps,  and  from  which 
the  yellow  lily  likewise  draws  its  unclean  life  and  noi- 
some odor.  So  it  is  with  many  people  in  this  world: 
the  same  soil  and  circumstances  may  produce  the  good 
and  beautiful,  and  the  wicked  and  ugly.  Some  have 
the  faculty  of  assimilating  to  themselves  only  what  is 
evil,  and  so  they  become  as  noisome  as  the  yellow 
water-lily.  Some  assimilate  none  but  good  influences, 
and  their  emblem  is  the  fragrant  and  spotless  pond-lily, 
whose  very  breath  is  a blessing  to  all  the  region  round 

about Among  the  productions  of  the  river’s 

margin,  I must  not  forget  the  pickerel-weed,  which 
grows  just  on  the  edge  of  the  water,  and  shoots  up  a 
long  stalk  crowned  with  a blue  spire,  from  among  large 
green  leaves.  Both  the  flower  and  the  leaves  look 
well  in  a vase  with  pond-lilies,  and  relieve  the  unvaried 
whiteness  of  the  latter;  and,  being  all  alike  children  of 
the  waters,  they  are  perfectly  in  keeping  with  one 
another 

I bathe  once,  and  often  twice,  a day  in  our  river 
but  one  dip  into  the  salt  sea  would  be  worth  more  than 
a whole  week’s  soaking  in  such  a lifeless  tide.  I have 
read  of  a river  somewhere  (whether  it  be  in  classic 
regions  or  among  our  Western  Indians  I know  not) 
which  seemed  to  dissolve  and  steal  away  the  vigor  of 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


65 


those  who  bathed  in  it.  Perhaps  our  stream  will  be 
found  to  have  this  property.  Its  water,  however,  is 
pleasant  in  its  immediate  effect,  being  as  soft  as  milk, 
and  always  warmer  than  the  air.  Its  hue  has  a slight 
tinge  of  gold,  and  my  limbs,  when  I behold  them 
through  its  medium,  look  tawny.  I am  not  aware  that 
the  inhabitants  of  Concord  resemble  their  native  river 
in  any  of  their  moral  characteristics.  Their  forefathers, 
certainly,  seem  to  have  had  the  energy  and  impetus  of 
a mountain  torrent,  rather  than  the  torpor  of  this  listless 
stream,  — as  it  was  proved  by  the  blood  with  which 
they  stained  their  river  of  Peace.  It  is  said  there  are 
plenty  of  fish  in  it;  but  my  most  important  captures 
hitherto  have  been  a mud-turtle  and  an  enormous  eel. 
The  former  made  his  escape  to  his  native  element,  — 
the  latter  we  ate  ; and  truly  he  had  the  taste  of  the 
whole  river  in  his  flesh,  with  a very  prominent  flavor  of 
mud.  On  the  whole,  Concord  Piver  is  no  great  favorite 
of  mine ; but  I am  glad  to  have  any  river  at  all  so  near 
at  hand,  it  being  just  at  the  bottom  of  our  orchard. 
Neither  is  it  without  a degree  and  kind  of  picturesque- 
ness, both  in  its  nearness  and  in  the  distance,  when  a 
3lue  gleam  from  its  surface,  among  the  green  meadows 
and  woods,  seems  like  an  open  eye  in  Earth’s  counte- 
nance. Pleasant  it  is,  too,  to  behold  a little  flat-bottomed 
skiff  gliding  over  its  bosom,  which  yields  lazily  to  the 
stroke  of  the  paddle,  and  allows  the  boat  to  go  against 
its  current  almost  as  freely  as  with  it.  Pleasant,  too, 
to  watch  an  angler,  as  he  strays  along  the  brink,  some- 
times sheltering  himself  behind  a tuft  of  bushes,  and 
trailing  his  line  along  the  water,  in  hopes  to  catch  a 
pickerel.  But,  taking  the  river  for  all  in  all,  I can  And 


66 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842 


nothing  more  fit  to  compare  it  with  than  one  of  the 
half-torpid  earthworms  which  I dig  up  for  bait.  The 
worm  is  sluggish,  and  so  is  the  river,  — the  river  is 
muddy,  and  so  is  the  worm.  You  hardly  know  whether 
either  of  them  be  alive  or  dead ; but  still,  in  the  course 
of  time,  they  both  manage  to  creep  away.  The  best 
aspect  of  the  Concord  is  when  there  is  a northwestern 
breeze  curling  its  surface,  in  a bright,  sunshiny  day. 
It  then  assumes  a vivacity  not  its  own.  Moonlight, 
also,  gives  it  beauty,  as  it  does  to  all  scenery  of  earth 
or  water. 

Sunday , August  1th . — At  sunset  last  evening  I 
ascended  the  hill-top  opposite  our  house ; and,  looking 
downward  at  the  long  extent  of  the  river,  it  struck  me 
that  I had  done  it  some  injustice  in  my  remarks. 
Perhaps,  like  other  gentle  and  quiet  characters,  it  will 
be  better  appreciated  the  longer  I am  acquainted  with 
it.  Certainly,  as  I beheld  it  then,  it  was  one  of  the 
loveliest  features  in  a scene  of  great  rural  beauty.  It 
was  visible  through  a course  of  two  or  three  miles, 
sweeping  in  a semicircle  round  the  hill  on  which  I stood 
and  being  the  central  line  of  a broad  vale  on  either 
side.  At  a distance,  it  looked  like  a strip  of  sky  set 
into  the  earth,  which  it  so  etherealized  and  idealized 
that  it  seemed  akin  to  the  upper  regions.  Nearer  the 
base  of  the  hill,  I could  discern  the  shadows  of  every 
tree  and  rock,  imaged  with  a distinctness  that  made 
them  even  more  charming  than  the  reality;  because, 
knowing  them  to  be  unsubstantial,  they  assumed  the 
ideality  which  the  soul  always  craves  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  earthly  beauty.  All  the  sky,  too,  and  the  rich 


1843.]  AMERICAN  ftOTE-liOOKS.  67 

clouds  of  sunset,  were  reflected  in  the  peaceful  bosom 
of  the  river  ; and  surely,  if  its  bosom  can  give  back  such 
an  adequate  reflection  of  heaven,  it  cannot  be  so  gross 
and  impure  as  I described  it  yesterday.  Or,  if  so,  it 
shall  be  a symbol  to  me  that  even  a human  breast, 
which  may  appear  least  spiritual  in  some  aspects,  may 
still  have  the  capability  of  reflecting  an  infinite  heaven 
in  its  depths,  and  therefore  of  enjoying  it.  It  is  a 
comfortable  thought,  that  the  smallest  and  most  turbid 
mud-puddle  can  contain  its  own  picture  of  heaven. 
Let  us  remember  this,  when  we  feel  inclined  to  deny  all 
spiritual  life  to  some  people,  in  whom,  nevertheless,  our 
Father  may  perhaps  see  the  image  of  His  face.  This 
dull  river  has  a deep  religion  of  its  own : so,  let  us 
trust,  has  the  dullest  human  soul,  though,  perhaps,  un- 
consciously. 

The  scenery  of  Concord,  as  I beheld  it  from  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  has  no  very  marked  characteristics, 
but  has  a great  deal  of  quiet  beauty,  in  keeping  with 
the  river.  There  are  broad  and  peaceful  meadows, 
which,  I think,  are  among  the  most  satisfying  objects  in 
natural  scenery.  The  heart  reposes  on  them  with  a 
feeling  that  few  things  else  can  give,  because  almost  all 
other  objects  are  abrupt  and  clearly  defined;  but  a 
meadow  stretches  out  like  a small  infinity,  yet  with  a 
secure  homeliness  which  we  do  not  find  either  in  an  ex- 
panse of  water  or  of  air.  The  hills  which  border  these 
meadows  are  wide  swells  of  land,  or  long  and  gradual 
ridges,  some  of  them  densely  covered  with  wood.  The 
white  village,  at  a distance  on  the  left,  appears  to  be 
embosomed  among  wooded  hills.  The  verdure  of  the 
country  is  much  more  perfect  than  is  usual  at  this 


68 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842 


season  of  the  year,  when  the  autumnal  hue  has  generally 
made  considerable  progress  over  trees  and  grass.  Last 
evening,  after  the  copious  showers  of  the  preceding  two 
days,  it  was  worthy  of  early  June,  or,  indeed,  of  a world 
just  created.  Had  I not  then  been  alone,  I should  have 
had  a far  deeper  sense  of  beauty,  for  I should  have 
looked  through  the  medium  of  another  spirit.  Along 
the  horizon  there  were  masses  of  those  deep  clouds  in 
which  the  fancy  may  see  images  of  all  things  that  ever 
existed  or  were  dreamed  of.  Over  our  old  manse,  of 
which  I could  catch  but  a glimpse  among  its  embower- 
ing trees,  appeared  the  immensely  gigantic  figure  of  a 
hound,  crouching  down  with  head  erect,  as  if  keeping 
watchful  guard  while  the  master  of  the  mansion  was 

away How  sweet  it  was  to  draw  near  my  own 

home,  after  having  lived  homeless  in  the  world  so  long ! 
....  With  thoughts  like  these,  I descended  the  hill,  and 
clambered  over  the  stone  wall,  and  crossed  the  road,  and 
passed  up  our  avenue,  while  the  quaint  old  house  pu / 
on  an  aspect  of  welcome. 

Monday , August  8 th.  — I wish  I could  give  a descrip 
tion  of  our  house,  for  it  really  has  a character  of  it^ 
own,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  most  edifices  in 
these  days.  It  is  two  stories  high,  with  a third  story  of 
attic  chambers  in  the  gable-roof.  When  I first  visited 
it,  early  in  June,  it  looked  pretty  much  as  it  did  during 
the  old  clergyman’s  lifetime,  showing  all  the  dust  and 
disarray  that  might  be  supposed  to  have  gathered  about 
him  in  the  course  of  sixty  years  of  occupancy.  The 
rooms  seemed  never  to  have  been  painted  ; at  all  events, 
the  walls  and  panels,  as  well  as  the  huge  cross-beamgs 


i642.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  G9 

had  a venerable  and  most  dismal  tinge  of  brown.  The 
furniture  consisted  of  high-backed,  short-legged,  rheu- 
matic chairs,  small,  old  tables,  bedsteads  with  lofty 
posts,  stately  chests  of  drawers,  looking-glasses  in  an- 
tique black  frames,  all  of  which  were  probably  fashion- 
able in  the  days  of  Dr.  Ripley’s  predecessor.  It  re- 
quired some  energy  of  imagination  to  conceive  the  idea 
of  transforming  this  ancient  edifice  into  a comfortable 
modern  residence.  However,  it  has  been  successfully 
accomplished.  The  old  Doctor’s  sleeping  apartment, 
which  was  the  front  room  on  the  ground-floor,  we  have 
converted  into  a parlor;  and  by  the  aid  of  cheerful 
paint  and  paper,  a gladsome  carpet,  pictures  and  en- 
gravings, new  furniture,  bijouterie , and  a daily  supply 
of  flowers,  it  has  become  one  of  the  prettiest  and  pleas- 
antest rooms  in  the  whole  world.  The  shade  of  our 
departed  host  will  never  haunt  it;  for  its  aspect  has 
been  changed  as  completely  as  the  scenery  of  a theatre. 
Probably  the  ghost  gave  one  peep  into  it,  uttered  a 
groan,  and  vanished  forever.  The  opposite  room  has 
been  metamorphosed  into  a store-room.  Through  the 
house,  both  in  the  first  and  second  story,  runs  a spacious 
hall  or  entry,  occupying  more  space  than  is  usually  de- 
voted to  such  a purpose  in  modern  times.  This  feature 
contributes  to  give  the  whole  house  an  airy,  roomy,  and 
convenient  appearance  ; w7e  can  breathe  the  freer  by 
the  aid  of  the  broad  passage-way.  The  front  door  of 
the  hall  looks  up  the  stately  avenue,  which  I have  al- 
ready mentioned ; and  the  opposite  door  opens  into  the 
orchard,  through  which  a path  descends  to  the  river. 
In  the  second  story  we  have  at  present  fitted  up  three 
rooms,  — one  being  our  own  chamber,  and  the  oppoait** 


70  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1842. 

one  a guest-chamber,  which  contains  the  most  present 
able  of  the  old  Doctor’s  ante-Revolutionary  furniture 
After  all,  the  moderns  have  invented  nothing  better,  as 
chamber  furniture,  than  these  chests  of  drawers,  which 
stand  on  four  slender  legs,  and  rear  an  absolute  tower 
of  mahogany  to  the  ceiling,  the  whole  terminating  in  a 
fantastically  carved  summit.  Such  a venerable  struct- 
ure adorns  our  guest-chamber.  In  the  rear  of  the 
house  is  the  little  room  which  I call  my  study,  and 
which,  in  its  day,  has  witnessed  the  intellectual  labors 
of  better  students  than  myself.  It  contains,  with  some 
additions  and  alterations,  the  furniture  of  my  bachelor- 
room  in  Boston  ; but  there  is  a happier  disposal  of  things 
now.  There  is  a little  vase  of  flowers  on  one  of  the 
bookcases,  and  a larger  bronze  vase  of  graceful  ferns 
that  surmounts  the  bureau.  In  size  the  room  is  just 
what  it  ought  to  be  ; for  I never  could  compress  my 
thoughts  sufficiently  to  write  in  a very  spacious  room. 
It  has  three  windows,  two  of  which  are  shaded  by  a 
large  and  beautiful  willow-tree,  which  sweeps  against 
the  overhanging  eaves.  On  this  side  we  have  a view 
into  the  orchard,  and,  beyond,  a glimpse  of  the  river. 
The  other  window  is  the  one  from  which  Mr.  Emerson, 
the  predecessor  of  Dr.  Ripley,  beheld  the  first  fight  of 
the  Revolution,  — which  he  might  well  do,  as  the  British 
troops  were  drawn  up  within  a hundred  yards  of  the 
house;  and  on  looking  forth  just  now,  I could  still  per- 
ceive the  western  abutments  of  the  old  bridge,  the  pas- 
sage of  which  was  contested.  The  new  monument  is 
visible  from  base  to  summit 

Notwithstanding  all  we  have  done  to  modernize  the 
old  place,  we  seem  scarcely  to  have  disturbed  its  air  of 


,.S4A]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  71 

antiquity*  It  is  evident  that  other  wedded  pairs  have 
spent  their  honeymoons  here,  that  children  have  been 
born  here,  and  people  have  grown  old  and  died  in  these 
rooms,  although  for  our  behoof  the  same  apartments 
have  consented  to  look  cheerful  once  again.  Then 
there  are  dark  closets,  and  strange  nooks  and  corners, 
where  the  ghosts  of  former  occupants  might  hide  them- 
selves in  the  daytime,  and  stalk  forth  when  night  con- 
ceals all  our  sacrilegious  improvements.  We  have  seen 
no  apparitions  as  yet;  but  we  hear  strange  noises,  es- 
pecially in  the  kitchen,  and  last  night,  while  sitting  in 
the  parlor,  we  hillrd  a thumping  and  pounding  as  of 
somebody  at  work  in  my  study.  Nay,  if  I mistake  not 
(for  I was  half  asleep),  there  was  a sound  as  of  some 
person  crumpling  paper  in  his  hand  in  our  very  bed- 
chamber. This  must  have  been  old  Dr.  Ripley  with 
one  of  his  sermons.  There  is  a whole  chest  of  them  iv 
the  garret ; but  he  need  have  no  apprehensions  of  oui 
disturbing  them.  I never  saw  the  old  patriarch  myself 
which  I regret,  as  I should  have  been  glad  to  associate 
his  venerable  figure  at  ninety  years  of  age  with  the 
house  in  which  he  dwelt. 

Externally  the  house  presents  the  same  appearance 
as  in  the  Doctor’s  day.  It  had  once  a coat  of  white 
paint ; but  the  storms  and  sunshine  of  many  years  have 
almost  obliterated  it,  and  produced  a sober,  grayish  hue, 
which  entirely  suits  the  antique  form  of  the  structure. 
To  repaint  its  reverend  face  would  be  a real  sacrilege. 
It  would  look  like  old  Dr.  Ripley  in  a brown  wig.  I 
hardly  know  why  it  is  that  our  cheerful  and  lightsome 
repairs  and  improvements  in  the  interior  of  the  house 
seem  to  be  in  perfectly  good  taste,  though  the  heavy  old 


72  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOORS.  [ 184S. 

beams  and  high  wainscoting  of  the  walls  speak  of  ages 
gone  by.  But  so  it  is.  The  cheerful  paper-hangings 
have  the  air  of  belonging  to  the  old  walls ; and  such 
modernisms  as  astral  lamps,  card-tables,  gilded  Cologne- 
bottles,  silver  taper-stands,  and  bronze  and  alabaster 
flower-vases,  do  not  seem  at  all  impertinent.  It  is  thus 
that  an  aged  man  may  keep  his  heart  warm  for  new 
things  and  new  friends,  and  often  furnish  himself  anew 
with  ideas ; though  it  would  not  be  graceful  for  him  to 
attempt  to  suit  his  exterior  to  the  passing  fashions  of 
the  day. 

0 

August  9th.  — Our  orchard  in  its  day  has  been  a very 
productive  and  profitable  one;  and  we  were  told  that 
in  one  year  it  returned  Dr.  Ripley  a hundred  dollars, 
besides  defraying  the  expense  of  repairing  the  house. 
It  is  now  long  past  its  prime : many  of  the  trees  are 
moss-grown,  and  have  dead  and  rotten  branches  in- 
termixed among  the  green  and  fruitful  ones.  And  it 
may  well  be  so ; for  I suppose  some  of  the  trees  may 
have  been  set  out  by  Mr.  Emerson,  who  died  in  the 
first  year  of  the  Revolutionary  war.  Neither  will  the 
fruit,  probably,  bear  comparison  with  the  delicate  pro- 
iuctions  of  modern  pomology.  Most  of  the  trees  seem 
to  have  abundant  burdens  upon  them ; but  they  are 
homely  russet  apples,  fit  only  for  baking  and  cooking. 
(But  we  are  yet  to  have  practical  experience  of  our 
fruit.)  Jastice  Shallow’s  orchard,  with  its  choice  pip- 
pins and  leather-coats,  was  doubtless  much  superior. 
Nevertheless,  it  pleases  me  to  think  of  the  good  minis- 
ter, walking  in  the  shadows  of  these  old,  fantastically 
shaped  apple-trees,  here  plucking  some  of  the  fruit  tc 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


73 


1848. 1 

taste,  there  pruning  away  a too  luxuriant  branch,  and 
all  the  while  computing  how  many  barrels  may  be  filled, 
and  how  large  a sum  will  be  added  to  his  stipend  by 
their  sale.  And  the  same  trees  offer  their  fruit  to  me 
as  freely  as  they  did  to  him,  — their  old  branches,  like 
withered  hands  and  arms,  holding  out  apples  of  the 
same  flavor  as  they  held  out  to  Dr.  Ripley  in  his  life- 
time. Thus  the  trees,  as  living  existences,  form  a 
peculiar  link  between  the  dead  and  us.  My  fancy  has 
always  found  something  very  interesting  in  an  orchard. 
Apple-trees,  and  all  fruit-trees,  have  a domestic  charac- 
ter which  brings  them  into  relationship  with  man. 
They  have  lost,  in  a great  measure,  the  wild  nature  of 
the  forest-tree,  and  have  grown  humanized  by  receiving 
the  care  of  man,  and  by  contributing  to  his  wants. 
They  have  become  a part  of  the  family  ; and  their  indi- 
vidual characters  are  as  well  understood  and  appreciated 
*s  those  of  the  human  members.  One  tree  is  harsh  and 
crabbed,  another  mild ; one  is  churlish  and  illiberal, 
another  exhausts  itself  with  its  free-hearted  bounties. 
Even  the  shapes  of  apple-trees  have  great  individuality, 
into  such  strange  postures  do  they  put  themselves,  and 
vhrust  their  contorted  branches  so  grotesquely  in  all 
directions.  And  when  they  have  stood  around  a house 
;or  many  years,  and  held  converse  with  successive 
dynasties  of  occupants,  and  gladdened  their  hearts  so 
fften  in  the  fruitful  autumn,  then  it  would  seem  almost 
(acrilege  to  cut  them  down. 

Besides  the  apple-trees,  there  are  various  other  kinds 
iff  friv’t  in  close  vicinity  to  the  house.  When  we  first- 
arrived,  there  were  several  trees  of  ripe  cherries,  but  so 
60ur  that  we  allowed  them  to  wither  upon  the  branches. 

VOL.  II.  4 


74 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


|_1S4'4. 

Two  long  rows  of  currant-bushes  supplied  us  abundant- 
ly for  nearly  four  weeks.  There  are  a good  many 
pearh-trees,  but  all  of  an  old  date,  — their  branches 
rotten,  gummy,  and  mossy,  — and  their  fruit,  I fear,  will 
be  of  very  inferior  quality.  They  produce  most  abun- 
dantly, however,  — the  peaches  being  almost  as  numer 
ous  as  the  leaves;  and  even  the  sprouts  and  suckers 
from  the  roots  of  the  old  trees  have  fruit  upon  them. 
Then  there  are  pear-trees  of  various  kinds,  and  one  or 
two  quince-trees*  On  the  whole,  these  fruit-trees,  and 
the  other  items  and  adjuncts  of  the  place,  convey  a very 
agreeable  idea  of  the  outward  comfort  in  which  the  good 
old  Doctor  must  have  spent  his  life.  Everything  seems 
to  have  fallen  to  his  lot  that  could  possibly  be  supposed 
to  render  the  life  of  a country  clergyman  easy  and  pros- 
perous. There  is  a barn,  which  probably  used  to  be 
filled  annually  with  his  hay  and  other  agricultural  prod- 
ucts. There  are  sheds,  and  a hen-house,  and  a pigeon- 
house,  and  an  old  stone  pig-sty,  the  open  portion  of 
which  is  overgrown  with  tall  weeds,  indicating  that  no 

grunter  has  recently  occupied  it I have  serious 

thoughts  of  inducting  a new  incumbent  in  this  part  of 
the  pavsonage.  It  is  our  duty  to  support  a pig,  even  if 
we  have  no  design  of  feasting  upon  him  ; and,  for  my 
own  part,  I have  a great  sympathy  and  interest  for  the 
whole  race  of  porkers,  and  should  have  much  amuse- 
ment in  studying  the  character  of  a pig.  Perhaps  I 
might  try  to  bring  out  his  moral  and  intellectual  r.ature, 
and  cultivate  his  affections.  A cat,  too,  and  perhaps  a 
dog,  would  be  desirable  additions  to  our  household. 

August  10 th. — The  natural  taste  of  man  for  th« 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOORS 


75 


original  Adam’s  occupation  is  fast  developing  itself  in 
me.  I find  that  I am  a good  deal  interested  in  our 
garden,  although,  ns  it  was  planted  before  we  came 
here,  I do  not  feel  the  same  affection  for  the  plants  that 
I should  if  the  seed  had  been  sown  by  my  own  hands. 
It  is  something  like  nursing  and  educating  another  per- 
son’s children.  Still,  it  was  a very  pleasant  moment 
when  I gathered  the  first  string-beans,  which  were  the 
earliest  esculent  that  the  garden  contributed  to  our 
table.  And  I love  to  watch  the  successive  development 
of  each  new  vegetable,  and  mark  its  daily  growth,  which 
always  affects  me  with  surprise.  It  is  as  if  something 
were  being  created  under  my  own  inspection,  and  partly 
by  my  own  aid.  One  day,  perchance,  I look  at  my 
bean- vines,  and  see  only  the  green  leaves  clambering  up 
the  poles ; again,  to-morrow,  I give  a second  glance, 
and  there  are  the  delicate  blossoms ; and  a third  day, 
on  a somewhat  closer  observation,  I discover  the  tender 
young  beans,  hiding  among  the  foliage.  Then,  each 
morning,  I watch  the  swelling  of  the  pods,  and  calculate 
how  soon  they  will  be  ready  to  yield  their  treasures. 
All  this  gives  a pleasure  and  an  ideality,  hitherto  un- 
thought of,  to  the  business  of  providing  sustenance  for 
my  family.  I suppose  Adam  felt  it  in  Paradise  ; and,  of 
merely  and  exclusively  earthly  enjoyments,  there  are  few 
purer  and  more  harmless  to  be  experienced.  Speaking 
of  beans,  by  the  way,  they  are  a classical  food,  and  their 
culture  must  have  been  the  occupation  of  many  ancient 
sages  and  heroes.  Summer-squashes  are  a very  pleasant 
vegetable  to  be  acquainted  with.  They  grow  in  the  forms 
of  urns  and  vases,  — some  shallow,  others  deeper,  and 
all  with  a beautifully  scalloped  edge  Almost  anv 


76 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


squash  in  our  garden  might  be  copied  by  a sculptor,  and 
would  look  lovely  in  marble,  or  in  china ; and,  if  I could 
afford  it,  I would  have  exact  imitations  of  the  real  veg- 
etable as  portions  of  my  dining-service.  They  would 
be  very  appropriate  dishes  for  holding  garden-vegeta- 
bles. Besides  the  summer-squashes,  we  have  the 
crook-necked  winter-squash,  which  I always  delight  to 
look  at,  when  it  turns  up  its  big  rotundity  to  ripen  in 
the  autumn  sun.  Except  a pumpkin,  there  is  no  vege- 
table production  that  imparts  such  an  idea  of  warmth 
and  comfort  to  the  beholder.  Our  own  crop,  however, 
does  not  promise  to  be  very  abundant ; for  the  leaves 
formed  such  a superfluous  shade  over  the  young  blos- 
soms, that  most  of  them  dropped  off  without  producing 
the  germ  of  fruit.  Yesterday  and  to-day  I have  cut  off 
an  immense  number  of  leaves,  and  have  thus  given  the 
remaining  blossoms  a chance  to  profit  by  the  air  and 
sunshine  ; but  the  season  is  too  far  advanced,  I am 
afraid,  for  the  squashes  to  attain  any  great  bulk,  and 
grow  yellow  in  the  sun.  We  have  muskmelons  and 
watermelons,  which  promise  to  supply  us  with  as  many 
as  we  can  eat.  After  all,  the  greatest  interest  of  these 
vegetables  does  not  seem  to  consist  in  their  being 
articles  of  food.  It  is  rather  that  we  love  to  see 
something  born  into  the  world ; and  when  a great 
squash  or  melon  is  produced,  it  is  a large  and  tangible 
existence,  which  the  imagination  can  seize  hold  of  and 
rejoice  in.  I love,  also,  to  see  my  own  works  contribut- 
ing to  the  life  and  well-being  of  animate  nature.  It  is 
pleasant  to  have  the  bees  come  and  suck  honey  out  of 
my  squash-blossoms,  though,  when  they  have  laden 
themselves,  they  fly  away  to  some  unknown  hive,  which 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


77 


!84‘2.J 

will  give  me  back  nothing  in  return  for  what  my  garden 
has  given  them.  But  there  is  much  more  honey  in  the 
world,  and  so  I am  content.  Indian  corn,  in  the  prime 
and  glory  of  its  verdure,  is  a very  beautiful  vegetable, 
both  considered  in  the  separate  plant,  and  in  a mass  in 
a broad  field,  rustling  and  waving,  and  surging  up  and 
down  in  the  breeze  and  sunshine  of  a summer  afternoon. 
We  have  as  many  as  fifty  hills,  I should  think,  which 
will  give  us  an  abundant  supply.  Pray  Heaven  that 
we  may  be  able  to  eat  it  all ! for  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
think  that  anything  which  Nature  has  been  at  the  pains 
to  produce  should  be  thrown  away.  But  the  hens  will 
be  glad  of  our  superfluity,  and  so  will  the  pigs,  though 
we  have  neither  hens  nor  pigs  of  our  own.  But  hens 
we  must  certainly  keep.  There  is  something  very  socia- 
ble and  quiet,  and  soothing,  too,  in  their  soliloquies  and 
converse  among  themselves ; and,  in  an  idle  and  half- 
meditative  mood,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  watch  a party  of 
hens  picking  up  their  daily  subsistence,  with  a gallant 
chanticleer  in  the  midst  of  them.  Milton  had  evidently 
contemplated  such  a picture  with  delight. 

I find  that  I have  not  given  a very  complete  idea  of 
our  garden,  although  it  certainly  deserves  an  ample 
record  in  this  chronicle,  since  my  labors  in  it  are  the 
only  present  labors  of  my  life.  Besides  what  I have 
mentioned,  we  have  cucumber-vines,  which  to-day 
yielded  us  the  first  cucumber  of  the  season,  a bed  of 
beets,  and  another  of  carrots,  and  another  of  parsnips 
and  turnips,  none  of  which  promise  us  a very  abundant 
harvest.  In  truth,  the  soil  is  worn  out,  and,  moreover, 
received  very  little  manure  this  season.  Also,  we  have 
cabbages  in  superfluous  abundance,  inasmuch  as  we 


78 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


neither  of  us  have  vhe  least  affection  for  them ; and  it 
would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  Sarah,  the  cook,  to  eat 
fifty  head  of  cabbages.  Tomatoes,  too,  we  shall  have 
by  and  by.  At  our  first  arrival,  we  found  green  peas 
ready  for  gathering,  and  these,  instead  of  the  string- 
beans,  were  the  first  offering  of  the  garden  to  3ur 
board. 

Saturday , August  13 th.  — My  life,  at  this  time,  is 
more  like  that  of  a boy,  externally,  than  it  has  been 
since  I was  really  a boy.  It  is  usually  supposed  that 
the  cares  of  life  come  with  matrimony  ; but  I seerr 
to  have  cast  off  all  care,  and  live  on  with  as  much 
easy  trust  in  Providence  as  Adam  could  possibly  have 
felt  before  he  had  learned  that  there  was  a world 
beyond  Paradise.  My  chief  anxiety  consists  in  watch- 
ing the  prosperity  of  my  vegetables,  in  observing  how 
they  are  affected  by  the  rain  or  sunshine,  in  lamenting 
the  blight  of  one  squash  and  rejoicing  at  the  luxurious 
growth  of  another.  It  is  as  if  the  original  relation 
between  man  and  Nature  were  restored  in  my  case, 
and  as  if  I were  to  look  exclusively  to  her  for  the 
support  of  my  Eve  and  myself,  — to  trust  to  her' for 
food  and  clothing,  and  all  things  needful,  with  the  full 
assurance  that  she  would  not  fail  me.  The  fight  with 
the  world,  — the  struggle  of  a man  among  men,  — the 
agony  of  the  universal  effort  to  wrench  the  means  of 
living  from  a host  of  greedy  competitors,  — all  this 
seems  like  a dream  to  me.  My  business  is  merely  to 
live  and  to  enjoy ; and  whatever  is  essential  to  life  and 
enjoyment  will  come  as  naturally  as  the  dew  from 
heaven.  This  is,  practically  at  least,  my  faith.  And 


<842.  J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  7 '3 

so  I awake  in  the  morning  with  a boyish  thoughtless- 
ness as  to  how  the ' outgoings  of  the  day  are  to  be 
provided  for,  and  its  incomings  rendered  certain.  After 
breakfast,  I go  forth  into  my  garden,  and  gather  what- 
ever the  bountiful  Mother  has  made  fit  for  our  present 
sustenance ; and  of  late  days  she  generally  gives  me 
two  squashes  and  a cucumber,  and  promises  me  green 
corn  and  shell-beans  very  soon.  Then  I pass  down 
through  our  orchard  to  the  river-side,  and  ramble  along 
its  margin  in  search  of  flowers.  Usually  1 discern  a 
fragrant  white  lily,  here  and  there  along  the  shore, 
growing,  with  sweet  prudishness,  beyond  the  grasp  of 
mortal  arm.  But  it  does  not  escape  me  so.  I know 
what  is  its  fitting  destiny  better  than  the  silly  flower 
knows  for  itself ; so  I wade  in,  heedless  of  wet  trousers, 
and  seize  the  shy  lily  by  its  slender  stem.  Thus  I 
make  prize  of  five  or  six,  which  are  as  many  as  usually 
blossom  within  my  reach  in  a single  morning  ; — some 
of  them  partially  worm-eaten  or  blighted,  like  virgins 
with  an  eating  sorrow  at  the  heart ; others  as  fair  and 
perfect  as  Nature’s  own  idea  was,  when  she  first 
imagined  this  lovely  flower.  A perfect  pond-lily  is 
the  most  satisfactory  of  flowers.  Besides  these,  I gather 
whatever  else  of  beautiful  chances  to  be  growing  in  the 
moist  soil  by  the  river-side,  — an  amphibious  tribe,  yet 
with  more  richness  and  grace  than  the  wild-flowers  of 
the  deep  and  dry  woodlands  and  hedge-rows,  — some- 
times the  white  arrow-head,  always  the  blue  spires  and 
broad  green  leaves  of  the  pickerel-flower,  which  con- 
trast and  harmonize  so  wrell  with  the  white  lilies.  For 
the  last  two  or  three  days,  I have  found  scattered  stalks 
of  the  cardinal-flower,  the  gorgeous  scarlet  of  which  it 


80  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  {1842. 

is  a joy  even  to  remember.  The  world  is  made 
brighter  and  sunnier  by  flowers  of  such  a hue.  Even 
perfume,  which  otherwise  is  the  soul  and  spirit  of  a 
flower,  may  be  spared  when  it  arrays  itself  in  this  scar- 
let glory.  It  is  a flower  of  thought  and  feeling,  too ; 
it  seems  to  have  its  roots  deep  down  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  gaze  at  it.  Other  bright  flowers  sometimes 
impress  me  as  wanting  sentiment;  but  it  is  not  so 
with  this. 

Well,  having  made  up  my  bunch  of  flowers,  I return 

home  with  them Then  I ascend  to  my  study,  and 

generally  read,  or  perchance  scribble  in  this  journal, 
and  otherwise  suffer  Time  to  loiter  onward  at  his  own 
pleasure,  till  the  dinner-hour.  In  pleasant  days,  the 
^hief  event  of  the  afternoon,  and  the  happiest  one  of 

the  day,  is  our  walk So  comes  the  night ; and  I 

look  back  upon  a day  spent  in  what  the  world  would 
call  idleness,  and  for  which  I myself  can  suggest  no 
more  appropriate  epithet,  but  which,  nevertheless,  I 
cannot  feel  to  have  been  spent  amiss.  True,  it  might 
be  a sin  and  shame,  in  such  a world  as  ours,  to  spend 
a lifetime  in  this  manner  ; but  for  a few  summer  weeks 
it  is  good  to  live  as  if  this  world  were  heaven.  And 
so  it  is,  and  so  it  shall  be,  although,  in  a little  while, 
a flitting  shadow  of  earthly  care  and  toil  will  mingle 
itself  with  our  realities. 

Monday,  August  1 5th.  — George  Hillard  and  his 
wife  arrived  from  Boston  in  the  dusk  of  Saturday  even- 
ing, to  spend  Sunday  with  us.  It  was  a pleasant  sen 
sation,  when  the  coach  rumbled  up  our  avenue,  and 
wheeled  round  at  the  door;  for  I felt  that  I was 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOORS. 


8: 


regarded  as  a man  with  a household,  — a man  having 
a tangible  existence  and  locality  in  the  world,  — when 
friends  came  to  avail  themselves  of  our  hospitality.  It 
was  a sort  of  acknowledgment  and  reception  of  us  into 
the  corps  of  married  people,  — a sanction  by  no  means 
essential  to  our  peace  and  well-being,  but  yet  agreea- 
ble enough  to  receive.  So  we  welcomed  them  cor- 
dially at  the  door,  and  ushered  them  into  our  parlor, 
and  soon  into  the  supper-room.  ....  The  night  flitted 
over  us  all,  and  passed  away,  and  up  roee  a gray  and 
sullen  morning,  ....  and  we  had  a splendid  breakfast 
of  flapjacks,  or  slapjacks,  and  whortleberries,  which  I 
gathered  on  a neighboring  hill,  and  perch,  bream,  and 
pout,  which  I hooked  out  of  the  river  the  evening 
before.  About  nine  o’clock,  Hillard  and  I set  out  for 
a walk  to  Walden  Pond,  calling  by  the  way  at  Mr. 
Emerson’s,  to  obtain  his  guidance  or  directions,  and  he 
accompanied  us  in  his  own  illustrious  person.  We 

turned  aside  a little  from  our  way,  to  visit  Mr. , a 

yeoman,  of  whose  homely  and  self-acquired  wisdom 
Mr.  Emerson  has  a very  high  opinion.  We  found  him 
walking  in  his  fields,  a short  and  stalwart  and  sturdy 
personage  of  middle  age,  with  a face  of  shrewd  and 
kind  expression,  and  manners  of  natural  courtesy.  He 
had  a very  free  flow  of  talk ; for,  with  a little  induction 
from  Mr.  Emerson,  he  began  to  discourse  about  the 
6tate  of  the  nation,  agriculture,  and  business  in  general, 
uttering  thoughts  that  had  come  to  him  at  the  plough, 
and  which  had  a sort  of  flavor  of  the  fresh  earth  about 
them.  His  views  were  sensible  and  characteristic,  and 
had  grown  in  the  soil  where  we  found  them ; . . . . and 
be  is  certainly  a man  of  intellectual  and  moral  sub- 

4 * 


F 


82 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1845. 


stance,  a sturdy  fact,  a reality,  something  to  be  felt 
and  touched,  whose  ideas  seem  to  be  dug  out  of  his 
mind  as  he  digs  potatoes,  beets,  carrots,  and  turnips  out 
of  the  ground. 

After  leaving  Mr. , we  proceeded  through  wood 

paths  to  Walden  Pond,  picking  blackberries  of  enor- 
mous size  along  the  way.  The  pond  itself  was  beautiful 
and  refreshing  to  my  soul,  after  such  long  and  exclu- 
sive familiarity  with  our  tawny  and  sluggish  river.  It 
lies  embosomed  among  wooded  hills,  — it  is  not  very 
extensive,  but  large  enough  for  waves  to  dance  upon 
its  surface,  and  to  look  like  a piece  of  blue  firmament, 
earth-encircled.  The  shore  has  a narrow,  pebbly  strand, 
which  it  was  worth  a day’s  journey  to  look  at,  for  the 
sake  of  the  contrast  between  it  and  the  weedy,  oozy 
margin  of  the  river.  Farther  within  its  depths,  you 
perceive  a bottom  of  pure  white  sand,  sparkling  through 
the  transparent  water,  which,  methought,  was  the  very 
purest  liquid  in  the  world.  After  Mr.  Emerson  left  us, 
Hillard  and  I bathed  in  the  pond,  and  it  does  really 
seem  as  if  my  spirit,  as  well  as  corporeal  person,  were 
refreshed  by  that  bath.  A good  deal  of  mud  and  river 
slime  had  accumulated  on  my  soul ; but  these  bright 
waters  washed  them  all  away. 

We  returned  home  in  due  season  for  dinner.  . . . . 
To  my  misfortune,  however,  a box  of  Mediterranean 
wine  proved  to  have  undergone  the  acetous  fermenta- 
tion ; so  that  the  splendor  of  the  festival  suffered  some 
liminution.  Nevertheless,  we  ate  our  dinner  with  a 
good  appetite,  and  afterwards  went  universally  to  take 
our  several  siestas.  Meantime  there  came  a shower 
which  so  besprinkled  the  grass  and  shrubbery  as  to 


i842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


83 


make  it  rather  wet  for  our  after-tea  ramble.  The  chief 
result  of  the  walk  was  the  bringing  home  cf  an  immense 
burden  of  the  trailing  clematis-vine,  now  just  in  blos- 
som, and  with  which  all  our  flower-stands  and  vases  are 
this  morning  decorated.  On  our  return  we  found  Mr. 

and  Mrs.  S , and  E.  H — — , who  shortly  took  their 

leave,  and  we  sat  up  late,  telling  ghost-stories.  This 
morning,  at  seven,  our  friends  left  us.  We  were  both 
pleased  with  the  visit,  and  so,  I think,  were  our  guests. 


Monday , August  22c?.  — I took  a walk  through  the 
woods  yesterday  afternoon,  to  Mr.  Emerson’s,  with  a 
book  which  Margaret  Fuller  had  left,  after  a call  on 
Saturday  eve.  I missed  the  nearest  way,  and  wan 
dered  into  a very  secluded  portion  of  the  forest ; for  for- 
est it  might  justly  be  called,  so  dense  and  sombre  was 
the  shade  of  oaks  and  pines.  Once  I wandered  into  a 
tract  so  overgrown  with  bushes  and  underbrush  that  I 
could  scarcely  force  a passage  through.  Nothing  is 
more  annoying  than  a walk  of  this  kind,  where  one  is 
tormented  by  an  innumerable  host  of  petty  impediments. 
It  incenses  and  depresses  me  at  the  same  time.  Always 
when  I flounder  into  the  midst  of  bushes,  which  cross 
and  intertwine  themselves  about  my  legs,  and  brush  my 
face,  and  seize  hold  of  my  clothes,  with  their  multitudi- 
nous grip,  — always,  in  such  a difficulty,  I feel  as  if  it 
were  almost  as  well  to  lie  down  and  die  in  rage  and  de- 
spair as  to  go  one  step  farther.  It  is  laughable,  after  I 
have  got  out  of  the  moil,  to  think  how  miserably  it 
affected  me  for  the  moment ; but  I had  better  learn 
patience  betimes,  for  there  are  many  such  bushy  tracts 


84  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1842. 

in  this  vicinity,  on  the  margins  of  meadows,  and  my 
walks  will  often  lead  me  into  them.  Escaping  from  the 
bushes,  I soon  came  to  an  open  space  among  the  woods, 
— a very  lovely  spot,  with  the  tall  old  trees  standing 
around  as  quietly  as  if  no  one  had  intruded  there 
throughout  the  whole  summer.  A company  of  crows 
were  holding  their  Sabbath  on  their  summits.  Appar- 
ently they  felt  themselves  injured  or  insulted  by  my 
presence ; for,  with  one  consent,  they  began  to  Caw ! 
caw  ! caw  ! and,  launching  themselves  sullenly  on  the 
air,  took  flight  to  some  securer  solitude.  Mine,  proba- 
bly, was  the  first  human  shape  that  they  had  seen  all 
day  long,  — at  least,  if  they  had  been  stationary  in  that 
spot;  but  perhaps  they  had  winged  their  way  over 
miles  and  miles  of  country,  had  breakfasted  on  the 
summit  of  Grey  lock,  and  dined  at  the  base  of  Wacliu* 
sett,  and  were  merely  come  to  sup  and  sleep  among  the 
quiet  woods  of  Concord.  But  it  was  my  impression  at 
the  time,  that  they  had  sat  still  and  silent  on  the  tops 
of  the  trees  all  through  the  Sabbath  day,  and  I felt 
like  one  who  should  unawares  disturb  an  assembly  of 
worshippers.  A crow,  however,  has  no  real  pretensions 
to  religion,  in  spite  of  his  gravity  of  mien  and  black 
attire.  Crows  are  certainly  thieves,  and  probably 
infidels.  Nevertheless,  their  voices  yesterday  were  in 
admirable  accordance  with  the  influences  of  the  quiet, 
sunny,  warm,  yet  autumnal  afternoon.  They  were  so 
far  above  my  head  that  their  loud  clamor  added  to  the 
quiet  of  the  scene,  instead  of  disturbing  it.  There  was 
no  other  sound,  except  the  song  of  the  cricket,  which  is 
but  an  audible  stillness ; for,  though  it  be  very  loud  and 
heard  afar,  yet  the  mind  does  not  take  note  of  it  as  a 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


85 


184U.] 


sound,  so  entirely  does  it  mingle  and  lose  its  individual- 
ity among  the  other  characteristics  of  coming  autumn. 
Alas  for  the  summer ! The  grass  is  still  verdant  on  the 
hills  and  in  the  valleys ; the  foliage  of  the  trees  is  aa 
dense  as  ever,  and  as  green ; the  flowers  are  abundant 
along  the  margin  of  the  river,  and  in  the  hedge-rows, 
and  deep  among  the  woods ; the  days,  too,  are  as  fervid 
as  they  were  a month  ago ; and  yet  in  every  breath  of 
wind  and  in  every  beam  of  sunshine  there  is  an  au- 
tumnal influence.  I know  not  how  to  describe  it.  Me- 
thinks  there  is  a sort  of  coolness  amid  all  the  heat,  and 
a mildness  in  the  brightest  of  the  sunshine.  A breeze 
cannot  stir,  without  thrilling  me  with  the  breath  of  au- 
tumn, and  I behold  its  pensive  glory  in  the  far,  golden 
gleams  among  the  long  shadows  of  the  trees.  The  flow- 
ers, even  the  brightest  of  them,  — the  golden-rod  and 
the  gorgeous  cardinals,  — the  most  glorious  flowers  of 
the  year,  — have  this  gentle  sadness  amid  their  pomp. 
Pensive  autumn  is  expressed  in  the  glow  of  every  one 
of  them.  I have  felt  this  influence  earlier  in  some  years 
than  in  others.  Sometimes  autumn  may  be  perceived 
even  in  the  early  days  of  July.  There  is  no  other  feel- 
ing like  that  caused  by  this  faint,  doubtful,  yet  real  per- 
ception, or  rather  prophecy,  of  the  year’s  decay,  so  de- 
liciously sweet  and  sad  at  the  same  time. 

After  leaving  the  book  at  Mr.  Emerson’s  I returned 
through  the  woods,  and,  entering  Sleepy  Hollow,  I per- 
ceived a lady  reclining  near  the  path  which  bends  along 
its  verge.  It  was  Margaret  herself.  She  had  been 
there  the  whole  afternoon,  meditating  or  reading;  for 
Bhe  had  a book  in  her  hand,  with  some  strange  title, 
which  I did  not  understand,  and  have  forgotten.  She 


86 


AMERICAN  NOtE-BOOKS. 


[1842* 


said  that  nobody  had  broken  her  solitude,  and  was  just 
giving  utterance  to  a theory  that  no  inhabitant  of  Con- 
cord ever  visited  Sleepy  Hollow,  when  we  saw  a group 
of  people  entering  the  sacred  precincts.  Most  of  them 
followed  a path  which  led  them  away  from  us ; but  an  old 
man  passed  near  us,  and  smiled  to  see  Margaret  re- 
clining on  the  ground,  and  me  sitting  by  her  side.  He 
made  some  remark  about  the  beauty  of  the  afternoon, 
and  withdrew  himself  into  the  shadow  of  the  wood. 
Then  we  talked  about  autumn,  and  about  the  pleasures 
of  being  lost  in  the  woods,  and  about  the  crows,  whose 
voices  Margaret  had  heard ; and  about  the  experiences 
of  early  childhood,  whose  influence  remains  upon  the 
character  after  the  recollection  of  them  has  passed  away  ; 
find  about  the  sight  of  mountains  from  a distance,  and 
the  view  from  their  summits;  and  about  other  matters 
of  high  and  low  philosophy.  In  the  midst  of  our  talk, 
we  heard  footsteps  above  us,  on  the  high  bank ; and 
while  the  person  was  still  hidden  among  the  trees,  he 
called  to  Margaret,  of  whom  he  had  gotten  a glimpse. 
Then  he  emerged  from  the  green  shade,  and,  behold ! it 
was  Mr.  Emerson.  He  appeared  to  have  had  a pleasant 
time ; for  he  said  that  there  were  Muses  in  the  woods 
to-day,  and  whispers  to  be  heard  in  the  breezes.  It 
being  now  nearly  six  o’clock,  we  separated,  — Margaret 
and  Mr.  Emerson  towards  his  home,  and  I towards 
mine 

Last  evening  there  was  the  most  beautiful  moonlight 
that  ever  hallowed  this  earthly  world ; and  when  I went 
to  bathe  in  the  river,  which  was  as  calm  as  death,  it 
seemed  like  plunging  down  into  the  sky.  But  I had 
rather  be  on  earth  than  even  in  the  seventh  heaven,  just 


now. 


i«42.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  87 

Wednesday , August  2Ath.  — I left  home  at  five  o’clock 
this  morning  to  catch  some  fish  for  breakfast.  I shook 
our  summer  apple-tree,  and  ate  the  golden  apple  which 
fell  from  it.  Methinks  these  early  apples,  which  come 
as  a golden  promise  before  the  treasures  of  autumnal 
fruit,  are  almost  more  delicious  than  anything  that  comes 
afterwards.  We  have  but  one  such  tree  in  our  orchard  ; 
but  it  supplies  us  with  a daily  abundance,  and  probably 
will  do  so  for  at  least  a week  to  come.  Meantime  oth- 
er trees  begin  to  cast  their  ripening  windfalls  upon  the 
grass ; and  when  I taste  them,  and  perceive  their 
mellowed  flavor  and  blackening  seeds,  I feel  somewhat 
overwhelmed  with  the  impending  bounties  of  Provi- 
dence. I suppose  Adam,  in  Paradise,  did  not  like  to 
see  his  fruits  decaying  on  the  ground,  after  he  had 
watched  them  through  the  sunny  days  of  the  world’s 
first  summer.  However,  insects,  at  the  worst,  will  hold 
a festival  upon  them,  so  that  they  will  not  be  thrown 
away,  in  the  great  scheme  of  Nature.  Moreover,  I 
have  one  advantage  over  the  primeval  Adam,  inasmuch 
as  there  is  a chance  of  disposing  of  my  superfluous 
fruits  among  people  who  inhabit  no  Paradise  of  their 
own, 

Passing  a little  way  down  along  the  river-side,  I 
threw  in  my  line,  and  soon  drew  out  one  of  the  smallest 
possible  of  fishes.  It  seemed  to  be  a pretty  good  morn- 
ing for  the  angler,  — an  autumnal  coolness  in  the  air,  a 
clear  sky,  but  with  a fog  across  the  lowlands  and  on  the 
surface  of  the  river,  which  a gentle  breeze  sometimes 
condensed  into  wreaths.  At  first  I could  barely  discern 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  river ; but,  as  the  sun  arose, 
the  vapors  gradually  dispersed,  till  only  a warm,  smoky 


88  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1842. 

tint  was  left  along  the  water’s  surface.  The  farm-houses 
across  the  river  made  their  appearance  out  of  the  dusky 
cloud  ; the  voices  of  boys  were  heard,  shouting  to  the 
cattle  as  they  drove  them  to  the  pastures ; a man  whet- 
ted his  scythe,  and  set  to  work  in  a neighboring  mead- 
ow. Meantime,  I continued  to  stand  on  the  oozy  mar- 
gin of  the  stream,  beguiling  the  little  fish ; and  though 
the  scaly  inhabitants  of  our  river  partake  somewhat  of 
the  character  of  their  native  element,  and  are  but 
sluggish  biters,  still  I contrived  to  pull  out  not  far  from 
two  dozen.  They  were  all  bream,  a broad,  fiat,  almost 
circular  fish,  shaped  a good  deal  like  a flounder,  but 
swimming  on  their  edges,  instead  of  on  their  sides.  As 
far  as  mere  pleasure  is  concerned,  it  is  hardly  worth 
while  to  fish  in  our  river,  it  is  so  much  like  angling  in  a 
mud-puddle ; and  one  does  not  attach  the  idea  of  fresh- 
ness and  purity  to  the  fishes,  as  we  do  to  those  which 
inhabit  swift,  transparent  streams,  or  haunt  the  shores 
of  the  great  briny  deep.  Standing  on  the  weedy  mar- 
gin, and  throwing  the  line  over  the  elder-bushes  that 
dip  into  the  water,  it  seems  as  if  we  could  catch  nothing 
but  frogs  and  mud-turtles,  or  reptiles  akin  to  them. 
And  even  when  a fish  of  reputable  aspect  is  drawn  out, 
one  feels  a shyness  about  touching  him.  As  to  our 
river,  its  character  was  admirably  expressed  last  night 
by  some  one  who  said  “ it  was  too  lazy  to  keep  itself 
clean.”  I might  write  pages  and  pages,  and  only  ob- 
scure the  impression  which  this  brief  sentence  conveys. 
Nevertheless,  we  made  bold  to  eat  some  of  my  fish  for 
breakfast,  and  found  them  very  savory  ; and  the  rest 
shall  meet  with  due  entertainment  at  dinner,  together 
with  some  shell-beans,  green  corn,  and  cucumbers  from 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


83 


our  garden ; so  this  day’s  food  comes  directly  and  en* 
tirely  from  beneficent  Nature,  without  the  intervention 
of  any  third  person  between  her  and  us. 

Saturday , August  21th,  — A peach-tree,  which  grows 
beside  oui  house  and  brushes  against  the  window,  is  so 
burdened  with  fruit  that  I have  had  to  prop  it  up.  I 
never  saw  more  splendid  peaches  in  appearance, — 
great,  round,  crimson-cheeked  beauties,  clustering  all 
over  the  tree.  A pear-tree,  likewise,  is  maturing  a gen- 
erous burden  of  small,  sweet  fruit,  which  will  require  to 
be  eaten  at  about  the  same  time  as  the  peaches.  There 
is  something  pleasantly  annoying  in  this  superfluous 
abundance ; it  is  like  standing  under  a tree  of  ripe 
apples,  and  giving  it  a shake,  with  the  intention  of 
bringing  down  a single  one,  when,  behold,  a dozen  come 
thumping  about  our  ears.  But  the  idea  of  the  infinite 
generosity  and  exhaustless  bounty  of  our  Mother  Na- 
ture is  well  worth  attaining;  and  I never  had  it  so 
vividly  as  now,  when  I find  myself,  with  the  few  mouths 
which  I am  to  feed,  the  sole  inheritor  of  the  old  clergy- 
man’s wealth  of  fruits.  His  children,  his  friends  in  the 
village,  and  the  clerical  guests  who  came  to  preach  in 
his  pulpit,  were  all  wont  to  eat  and  be  filled  from  these 
trees.  Now,  all  these  hearty  old  people  have  passed 
away,  and  in  their  stead  is  a solitary  pair,  whose  appe- 
tites are  more  than  satisfied  with  the  windfalls  which 
the  trees  throw  down  at  their  feet.  Howbeit,  we  shall 
have  now  and  then  a guest  to  keep  our  peaches  and 
pears  from  decaying. 

G.  B , my  old  fellow-laborer  at  the  commu- 

nity at  Brook  Farm,  called  on  n:e  last  evening,  and 


90  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1812. 

dined  here  to-day.  He  has  been  cultivating  vegetables 
at  Plymouth  this  summer,  and  selling  them  in  the  mar- 
ket. What  a singular  mode  of  life  for  a man  of  educa- 
tion and  refinement,  — to  spend  his  days  in  hard  and 
earnest  bodily  toil,  and  then  to  convey  the  products  of 
his  labor,  in  a wheelbarrow,  to  the  public  market,  and 
there  retail  them  out,  — a peck  of  peas  or  beans,  a bunch 
of  turnips,  a squash,  a dozen  ears  of  green  corn  ! Few 
men,  without  some  eccentricity  of  character,  would  have 
the  moral  strength  to  do  this ; and  it  is  very  striking  to 
find  such  strength  combined  with  the  utmost  gentleness, 
and  an  uncommon  regularity  of  nature.  Occasionally 
he  returns  for  a day  or  two  to  resume  his  place  among 
scholars  and  idle  people,  as,  for  instance,  the  present 
week,  when  he  has  thrown  aside  his  spade  and  hoe  to 
attend  the  Commencement  at  Cambridge.  He  is  a rare 
man,  — a perfect  original,  yet  without  any  one  salient 
point ; a character  to  be  felt  and  understood,  but  almost 
impossible  to  describe  : for,  should  you  seize  upon  any 
characteristic,  it  would  inevitably  be  altered  and  dis- 
torted in  the  process  of  writing  it  down. 

Our  few  remaining  days  of  summer  have  been  latterly 
grievously  darkened  with  clouds.  To-day  there  has 
been  an  hour  or  two  of  hot  sunshine  ; but  the  sun  rose 
amid  cloud  and  mist,  and  before  he  could  dry  up  the 
moisture  of  last  night’s  shower  upon  the  trees  and  grass, 
the  clouds  have  gathered  between  him  and  us  again. , 
This  afternoon  the  thunder  rumbles  in  the  distance,  and 
I believe  a few  drops  of  rain  have  fallen  ; but  the 
weight  of  the  shower  has  burst  elsewhere,  leaving  us 
nothing  but  its  sullen  gloom.  There  is  a muggy  warmth 
in  the  atmosphere,  which  takes  all  the  spring  and  vi« 
vacity  out  of  the  mind  and  body. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


91 


1842.J 

Sunday , August  28th.  — Still  another  rainy  day,  — - 
the  heaviest  rain,  I believe,  that  has  fallen  since  we 
came  to  Concord  (not  two  months  ago).  There  never 
was  a more  sombre  aspect  of  all  external  nature.  I 
gaze  from  the  open  window  of  my  study  somewhat  dis- 
consolately, and  observe  the  great  willow-tree  which 
shades  the  house,  and  which  has  caught  and  retained  a 
whole  cataract  of  rain  among  its  leaves  and  boughs ; 
and  all  the  fruit-trees,  too,  are  dripping  continually, 
even  in  the  brief  intervals  when  the  clouds  give  us  a 
respite.  If  shaken  to  bring  down  the  fruit,  they  will 
discharge  a shower  upon  the  head  of  him  who  stands 
beneath.  The  rain  is  warm,  coming  from  some  southern 
region ; but  the  willow  attests  that  it  is  an  autumnal 
spell  of  weather,  by  scattering  down  no  infrequent  mul- 
titude of  yellow  leaves,  which  rest  upon  the  sloping  roof 
of  the  house,  and  strew  the  gravel-path  and  the  grass. 
The  other  trees  do  not  yet  shed  their  leaves,  though  in 
some  of  them  a lighter  tint  of  verdure,  tending  towards 
yellow,  is  perceptible.  All  day  long  we  hear  the  water 
drip,  drip,  dripping,  splash,  splash,  splashing,  from  the 
eaves,  and  babbling  and  foaming  into  the  tubs  which 
have  been  set  out  to  receive  it.  The  old  unpainted 
shingles  and  boards  of  the  mansion  and  out-houses 
are  black  with  the  moisture  which  they  have  imbibed. 
Looking  at  the  river,  we  perceive  that  its  usually  smooth 
and  mirrored  surface  is  blurred  by  the  infinity  of  rain- 
drops ; the  whole  landscape  — grass,  trees,  and  houses 
— has  a completely  water-soaked  aspect,  as  if  the  earth 
were  wet  through.  The  wooded  hill,  about  a mile  dis- 
tant, whither  we  went  to  gather  whortleberries,  has  a 
mist  upon  its  summit,  as  if  the  demon  of  the  rain  were 


P2  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1842. 

enthroned  there  ; and  if  we  look  to  the  sky,  it  seems  as 
if  all  the  water  that  had  been  poured  down  upon  us 
were  as  nothing  to  what  ia  to  come.  Once  in  a while, 
indeed,  there  is  a gleam  of  sky  along  the  horizon,  or  a 
half- cheerful,  half-sullen  lighting  up  of  the  atmosphere  ; 
the  rain-drops  cease  to  patter  down,  except  when  the 
trees  shake  off  a gentle  shower ; but  soon  we  hear  the 
broad,  quiet,  slow,  and  sure  recommencement  of  the 
rain.  The  river,  if  I mistake  not,  has  risen  considera- 
bly during  the  day,  and  its  current  will  acquire  some 
degree  of  energy. 

In  this  sombre  weather,  when  some  mortals  almost 
forget  that  there  ever  was  any  golden  sunshine,  or  ever 
will  be  any  hereafter,  otheis  seem  absolutely  to  radiate 
it  from  their  own  hearts  and  minds.  The  gloom  cannot 
pervade  them  ; they  conquer  it,  and  drive  it  quite  out 
of  their  sphere,  and  create  a moral  rainbow  of  hope  upon 
the  blackest  cloud.  As  for  myself,  I am  little  other 
than  a cloud  at  such  seasons,  but  such  persons  contrive 
to  make  me  a sunny  one,  shining  all  through  me.  And 
thus,  even  without  the  support  of  a stated  occupation,  I 
Eurvive  these  sullen  days  and  am  happy. 

This  morning  we  read  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  the  rain  abated  for  a 
season,  and  I went  out  and  gathered  some  corn  and 
summer-squashes,  and  picked  up  the  windfalls  of  apples 
and  pears  and  peaches.  Wet,  wet,  wet,  — everything 
was  wet ; the  blades  of  the  corn-stalks  moistened  me ; 
the  wet  grass  soaked  my  boots  quite  through  ; the  trees 
threw  their  reserved  showers  upon  my  head  ; and  soon 
the  remorseless  rain  began  anew,  and  drove  me  into  tli* 
house.  When  shall  we  be  able  to  walk  again  to  the  far 


1843. 1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


93 


hills,  and  plunge  into  the  deep  woods,  and  gather  more 
cardinals  along  the  river’s  margin  ? The  track  along 
which  we  trod  is  probably  under  water  now.  How  in- 
hospitable Nature  is  during  a rain  ! In  the  iervid  heat 
of  sunny  days,  she  still  retains  some  degree  of  mercy 
for  us  ; she  has  shady  spots,  whither  the  sun  cannot 
come ; but  she  provides  no  shelter  against  her  storms. 
It  makes  one  shiver  to  think  how  dripping  with  wet  are 
those  deep,  umbrageous  nooks,  those  overshadowed 
banks,  where  we  find  such  enjoyment  during  sultry  af- 
ternoons. And  what  becomes  of  the  birds  in  such  a 
soaking  rain  as  this  ? Is  hope  and  an  instinctive  faith 
so  mixed  up  with  their  nature  that  they  can  be  cheered 
by  the  thought  that  the  sunshine  will  return  ? or  do  they 
think,  as  I almost  do,  that  there  is  to  be  no  sunshine 
any  more  ? Very  disconsolate  must  they  be  among  the 
dripping  leaves  ; and  when  a single  summer  makes  so 
important  a portion  of  their  lives,  it  seems  hard  that  so 
much  of  it  should  be  dissolved  in  rain.  I,  likewise,  am 
greedy  of  the  summer  days  for  my  own  sake ; the  life 
of  man  does  not  contain  so  many  of  them  that  one  can 
be  spared  without  regret. 

Tuesday , August  30 th.  — I was  promised,  in  the 
midst  of  Sunday’s  rain,  that  Monday  should  be  fair, 
and,  behold ! the  sun  came  back  to  us,  and  brought  one 
of  the  most  perfect  days  ever  made  since  Adam  was 
driven  out  of  Paradise.  By  the  by,  was  there  ever  any 
rain  in  Paradise  ? If  so,  how  comfortless  must  Eve’s 
bower  have  been ! and  what  a wretched  and  rheumatic 
time  must  they  have  had  on  their  bed  of  wet  roses  ! It 
makes  me  shiver  to  think  of  it.  Well*  it  seemed  as  if 


94  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l842 

the  world  was  newly  created  yesterday  morning,  and  I 
beheld  its  birth ; for  I had  risen  before  the  sun  was 
over  the  hill,  and  had  gone  forth  to  fish.  How  instan- 
taneously did  all  dreariness  and  heaviness  of  the  earth’s 
spirit  flit  away  before  one  smile  of  the  beneficent  sun  ! 
This  proves  that  all  gloom  is  but  a dream  and  a shadow, 
and  that  cheerfulness  is  the  real  truth.  It  requires 
many  clouds,  long  brooding  over  us,  to  make  us  sad, 
but  one  gleam  of  sunshine  always  suffices  to  cheer  up 
the  landscape.  The  banks  of  the  river  actually  laughed 
when  the  sunshine  fell  upon  them  ; and  the  river  itself 
was  alive  and  cheerful,  and,  by  way  of  fun  and  amuse- 
ment, it  had  swept  away  many  wreaths. of  meadow-hay, 
and  old,  rotten  branches  of  trees,  and  all  such  trumpery. 
These  matters  came  floating  downwards,  whirling  round 
and  round  in  the  eddies,  or  hastening  onward  in  the 
main  current ; and  many  of  them,  before  this  time,  have 
probably  been  carried  into  the  Merrimack,  and  will  be 
oorne  onward  to  the  sea.  The  spots  where  I stood  to 
fish,  on  my  preceding  excursion,  were  now  under  water ; 
and  the  tops  of  many  of  the  bushes,  along  the  river’s 
margin,  barely  emerged  from  the  stream.  Large  spaces 
of  meadow  are  overflowed. 

There  was  a northwest  wind  throughout  the  day; 
and  as  many  clouds,  the  remnants  of  departed  gloom, 
were  scattered  about  the  sky,  the  breeze  was  continu- 
ally blowing  them  across  the  sun.  For  the  most  part, 
they  were  gone  again  in  a moment ; but  sometimes  the 
shadow  remained  long  enough  to  make  me  dread  a re- 
turn of  sulky  weather.  Then  would  come  the  burst  of 
sunshine,  making  me  feel  as  if  a rainy  day  were  her  so- 
ft dh  an  impossibility 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


95 


In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Emerson  called,  bringing  Mr. 

. He  is  a good  sort  of  humdrum  parson  enough, 

and  well  fitted  to  increase  the  stock  of  manuscript  ser- 
mons, of  which  there  must  be  a fearful  quantity  already 

in  the  world.  Mr. , however,  is  probably  one  of 

the  best  and  most  useful  of  his  class,  because  no  suspicion 
of  the  necessity  of  his  profession,  constituted  as  it  now 

is,  to  mankind,  and  of  his  own  usefulness  and  success  in 

it,  has  hitherto  disturbed  him ; and  therefore  he  labors 
with  faith  and  confidence,  as  ministers  did  a hundred 
years  ago. 

After  the  visitors  were  gone,  I sat  at  the  gallery  win- 
dow, looking  down  the  avenue ; and  sooi^there  appeared 
an  elderly  woman,  — a homely,  decent  old  matron, 
dressed  in  a dark  gown,  and  with  what  seemed  a manu- 
script book  under  her  arm.  The  wind  sported  with  her 
gown,  and  blew  her  veil  across  her  face,  and  seemed  to 
make  game  of  her,  though  on  a nearer  view  she  looked 
like  a sad  old  creature,  with  a pale,  thin  countenance, 
and  somewhat  of  a wild  and  wandering  expression.  She 
had  a singular  gait,  reeling,  as  it  were,  and  yet  not  quite 
reeling,  from  one  side  of  the  path  to  the  other ; going 
onward  as  if  it  were  not  much  matter  whether  she  went 
straight  or  crooked.  Such  were  my  observations  as  she 
approached  through  the  scattered  sunshine  and  shade  of 
our  long  avenue,  until,  reaching  the  door,  she  gave  a 
knock,  and  inquired  for  the  lady  of  the  house.  Her 
manuscript  contained  a certificate,  stating  that  the  old 
woman  was  a widow  from  a foreign  land,  who  had  re- 
cently lost  her  son,  and  was  now  utterly  destitute  of 
friends  and  kindred,  and  without  means  of  support 
Appended  to  the  certificate  there  was  a list  of  names  of 


96 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


people  who  had  bestowed  charity  on  her,  with  the 
amounts  of  their  several  donations,  — none,  as  I recol 
lect,  higher  than  twenty-five  cents.  Here  is  a strange 
life,  and  a character  fit  for  romance  and  poetry.  All 
the  early  part  of  her  life,  I suppose,  and  much  of  her 
widowhood,  were  spent  in  the  quiet  of  a home,  with 
kinsfolk  around  her,  and  children,  and  the  life-long  gos- 
siping acquaintances  that  some  women  always  create 
about  them.  But  in  her  decline  she  has  wandered  away 
from  all  these,  and  from  her  native  country  itself,  and 
is  a vagrant,  yet  with  something  of  the  homeliness  and 
decency  of  aspect  belonging  to  one  who  has  been  a wife 
and  mother,  aiqjl  has  had  a roof  of  her  own  above  her 
head,  — and,  with  all  this,  a wildness  proper  to  her  pres- 
ent life.  I have  a liking  for  vagrants  of  all  sorts,  and 
never,  that  I know  of,  refused  my  mite  to  a wandering 
beggar,  when  I had  anything  in  my  own  pocket.  There 
is  so  much  wretchedness  in  the  world,  that  we  may  safe- 
ly take  the  word  of  any  mortal  professing  to  need  our 
assistance;  and,  even  should  we  be  deceived,  still  the 
good  to  ourselves  resulting  from  a kind  act  is  worth  more 
than  the  trifle  by  which  we  purchase  it.  It  is  desirable, 
I think,  that  such  persons  should  be  permitted  to  roam 
through  our  land  of  plenty,  scattering  the  seeds  of  ten- 
derness and  charity,  as  birds  of  passage  bear  the  seeds 
of  precious  plants  from  land  to  land,  without  even  dream- 
ing of  the  office  which  they  perform. 

Thursday , September  ls£.  — Mr.  Thoreau  dined 

with  us  yesterday He  is  a keen  and  delicate 

observer  of  nature,  — a genuine  observer,  — which, 
I suspect,  is  almost  as  rare  a character  as  even  an  origi- 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


97 


J842.] 

nal  poet ; and  Nature,  in  return  for  his  love.,  seems  to 
adopt  him  as  her  especial  child,  and  shows  him  secrets 
which  few  others  are  allowed  to  witness.  He  is  familiar 
with  beast,  fish,  fowl,  and  reptile,  and  has  strange  stories- 
to  tell  of  adventures  and  friendly  passages  with  these 
lower  brethren  of  mortality.  Herb  and  flower,  likewise, 
wherever  they  grow,  whether  in  garden  or  wildwood, 
are  his  familiar  friends.  He  is  also  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  clouds,  and  can  tell  the  portents  of  storms.  It 
is  a characteristic  trait,  that  he  has  a great  regard  for 
the  memory  of  the  Indian  tribes,  whose  wild  life  would 
have  suited  him  so  well ; and,  strange  to  say,  he  seldom 
walks  over  a ploughed  field  without  picking  up  an  ar- 
row-point, spear-head,  or  other  relic  of  the  red  man,  as 
if  their  spirits  willed  him  to  be  the  inheritor  of  their 
simple  wealth. 

With  all  this  he  has  more  than  a tincture  of  literature, 
— a deep  and  true  taste  for  poetry,  especially  for  the 
elder  poets,  and  he  is  a good  writer,  — at  least  he  has 
written  a good  article,  a rambling  disquisition  on  Natural 
History,  in  the  last  Dial,  which,  he  says,  was  chiefly 
made  up  from  journals  of  his  own  observations.  Me- 
thinks  this  article  gives  a very  fair  image  of  his  mind 
and  character,  — so  true,  innate,  and  literal  in  observa- 
tion, yet  giving  the  spirit  as  well  as  letter  of  what  he 
sees,  even  as  a lake  reflects  its  wooded  banks,  showing 
every  leaf,  yet  giving  the  wild  beauty  of  the  whole 
scene.  Then  there  are  in  the  article  passages  of  cloudy 
and  dreamy  metaphysics,  and  also  passages  where  his 
thoughts  seem  to  measure  and  attune  themselves  into 
spontaneous  verse,  as  they  rightfully  may,  since  there  is 
~^al  poetry  in  them.  There  is  a basis  of  good  sense 

VOL.  II.  5 


O 


98 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


and  o*  moral  truth,  too,  throughout  the  article,  which 
also  is  a reflection  of  his  character  ; for  he  is  not  unwise 
to  think  and  feel,  and  I find  him  a healthy  and  whole- 
some man  to  know. 

After  dinner  (at  which  we  cut  the  first  watermelon 
and  muskmelon  that  our  garden  has  grown),  Mr.  Thoreau 
and  I walked  up  the  bank  of  the  river,,  and  at  a certain 
point  he  shouted  for  his  boat.  Forthwith  a young  man 
paddled  it  across,  and  Mr.  Thoreau  and  I voyaged  far- 
ther up  the  stream,  which  soon  became  more  beautiful 
than  any  picture,  with  its  dark  and  quiet  sheet  of  water, 
half  shaded,  half  sunny,  between  high  and  wooded  banks. 
The  late  rains  have  swollen  the  stream  so  much  that 
many  trees  are  standing  up  to  their  knees,  as  it  were,  in 
the  water,  and  boughs,  which  lately  swung  high  in  air, 
now  dip  and  drink  deep  of  the  passing  wave.  As  to  the 
poor  cardinals  which  glowed  upon  the  bank  a few  days 
since,  I could  see  only  a few  of  their  scarlet  hats,  peep- 
ing above  the  tide.  Mr.  Thoreau  managed  the  boat  so 
perfectly,  either  with  two  paddles  or  with  one,  that  it 
seemed  instinct  with  his  own  will,  and  to  require  no 
physical  effort  to  guide  it.  He  said  that,  when  some 
Indians  visited  Concord  a few  years  ago,  he  found  that 
he  had  acquired,  without  a teacher,  their  precise  method 
of  propelling  and  steering  a canoe.  Nevertheless  he 
was  desirous  of  selling  the  boat  of  which  he  was  so  fit 
a pilot,  and  which  was  built  by  his  own  hands  ; so  I 
agreed  to  take  it,  and  accordingly  became  possessor  of 
the  Musketaquid.  I wish  I could  acquire  the  aquatic 
skill  of  the  original  owner. 

September  2 d.  — Yesterday  afternoon  Mr.  Thoreac 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


99 


1842.  j 

arrived  with  the  boat.  The  adjacent  meadow  being 
overflowed  by  the  rise  of  the  stream,  he  had  rowed  di- 
rectly to  the  foot  of  the  orchard,  and  landed  at  the  bars, 
after  floating  over  forty  or  fifty  yards  of  water  where 
people  were  lately  making  hay.  I entered  the  boat 
with  him,  in  order  to  have  the  benefit  of  a lesson  in  row- 
ing and  paddling I managed,  indeed,  to  propel 

the  boat  by  rowing  with  two  oars,  but  the  use  of  the 
single  paddle  is  quite  beyond  my  present  skill.  Mr. 
Thoreau  had  assured  me  that  it  was  only  necessary  to 
will  the  boat  to  go  in  any  particular  direction,  and  she 
would  immediately  take  that  course,  as  if  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  the  steersman.  It  may  be  so  with  him,  but 
it  is  certainly  not  so  with  me.  The  boat  seemed  to  be 
bewitched,  and  turned  its  head  to  every  point  of  the 
compass  except  the  right  one.  He  then  took  the  paddle 
himself,  and,  though  I could  observe  nothing  peculiar  in 
his  management  of  it,  the  Musketaquid  immediately  be- 
came as  docile  as  a trained  steed.  I suspect  that  she 
has  not  yet  transferred  her  affections  from  her  old  mas- 
ter to  her  new  one.  By  and  by,  when  we  are  better 

acquainted,  she  will  grow  more  tractable We 

propose  to  change  her  name  from  Musketaquid  (the  In- 
dian name  of  the  Concord  River,  meaning  the  river  of 
meadowrs)  to  the  Pond-Lily,  which  will  be  very  beauti- 
ful and  appropriate,  as,  during  the  summer  season,  she 
will  bring  home  many  a cargo  of  pond-lilies  from  along 
the  river’s  weedy  shore.  It  is  not  very  likely  that  I 
shall  make  such  long  voyages  in  her  as  Mr.  Thoreau 
has  made.  He  once  followed  our  river  down  to  the 
Merrimack,  and  the.uce,  I believe,  to  Newburyport  in 
this  little  craft 


100 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


7 > 842 


In  the  evening, called  to  see  us,  wishing 

to  talk  with  me  about  a Boston  periodical,  of  which  he 
had  heard  that  I was  to  be  editor,  and  to  which  he  de- 
sired to  contribute.  He  is  an  odd  and  clever  young  man, 
with  nothing  very  peculiar  about  him,  — some  original- 
ity and  self-inspiration  in  his  character,  but  none,  or 
very  little,  in  his  intellect.  Nevertheless,  the  lad  him- 
self seems  to  feel  as  if  he  were  a genius.  I like  him 
well  enough,  however  ; but,  after  all,  these  originals  in 
a small  way,  after  one  has  seen  a few  of  them,  become 
more  dull  and  commonplace  than  even  those  who  keep 
the  ordinary  pathway  of  life.  They  have  a rule  and  a 
routine,  which  they  follow  with  as  little  variety  as  other 
people  do  their  rule  and  routine  ; and  when  once  we 
have  fathomed  their  mystery,  nothing  can  be  more 
wearisome.  An  innate  perception  and  reflection  of 
truth  give  the  only  sort  of  originality  that  does  not  fi- 
nally grow  intolerable. 

September  4th.  — I made  a voyage  in  the  Pond-Lily 
all  by  myself  yesterday  morning,  and  was  much  encour- 
aged  by  my  success  in  causing  the  boat  to  go  whither  I 
would.  I have  always  liked  to  be  afloat,  but  I think  I 
have  never  adequately  conceived  of  the  enjoyment 
vill  now,  when  I begin  to  feel  a power  over  that  which 
supports  me.  I suppose  I must  have  felt  something 
like  this  sense  of  triumph  when  I first  learned  to  swim  ; 
but  I have  forgotten  it.  O that  I could  run  wild ! — • 
that  is,  that  1 could  put  myself  into  a true  relation  with 
Nature,  and  be  on  friendly  terms  with  all  congenial  ele- 
ments. • 

We  had  a thunder-storm  last  evening;  and  to-day 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


lOi 


has  been  a cool,  breezy  autumnal  day,  such  as  my  soul 
and  body  love. 

September  1 8th, — How  the  summer-time  flits  away, 
even  while  it  seems  to  be  loitering  onward,  arm  in  arm 
with  autumn ! Of  late  I have  walked  but  little  over  the 
hills  and  through  the  woods,  my  leisure  being  chiefly 
occupied  with  my  boat,  which  I have  now  learned  to 
manage  with  tolerable  skill.  Yesterday  afternoon  I 
made  a voyage  alone  up  the  North  Branch  of  Concord 
River.  There  was  a strong  west  wind  blowing  dead 
against  me,  which,  together  with  the  current,  increased 
by  the  height  of  the  water,  made  the  first  part  of  the 
passage  pretty  toilsome.  The  black  river  was  all 
dimpled  over  with  little  eddies  and  whirlpools ; and  the 
breeze,  moreover,  caused  the  billows  to  beat  against  the 
bow  of  the  boat,  with  a sound  like  the  flapping  of  a bird’s 
wing.  The  water-weeds,  where  they  were  discernible 
through  the  tawny  water,  were  straight  outstretched  by 
the  force  of  the  current,  looking  as  if  they  were  forced 
to  hold  on  to  their  roots  with  all  their  might.  If  for  a 
moment  I desisted  from  paddling,  the  head  of  the  boat 
was  swept  round  by  the  combined  might  of  wind  and 
tide.  However,  I toiled  onward  stoutly,  and,  entering 
the  North  Branch,  soon  found  myself  floating  quietly 
along  a tranquil  stream,  sheltered  from  the  breeze  by 
the  woods  and  a lofty  hill.  The  current,  likewise,  lin- 
gered along  so  gently  that  it  was  merely  a pleasure  to 
propel  the  boat  against  it.  I never  could  have  con- 
ceived that  there  was  so  beautiful  a river-scene  in  Con* 
cord  as  this  of  the  North  Branch.  The  stream  flows 
through  the  midmoct  privacy  and  deepest  heart  of  a 


102 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


wood,  which,  as  if  but  half  satisfied  with  its  presence, 
calm,  gentle,  and  unobtrusive  as  it  is,  seems  to  cr  wd 
upon  it,  and  barely  to  allow  it  passage ; for  the  trees 
are  rooted  on  the  very  verge  of  the  water,  and  dip  their 
pendent  branches  into  it.  On  one  side  there  is  a high 
bank,  forming  the  side  of  a hill,  the  Indian  name  of 
which  I have  forgotten,  though  Mr.  Thoreau  told  it  to 
me ; and  here,  in  some  instances,  the  trees  stand  leaning 
over  the  river,  stretching  out  their  arms  as  if  about  to 
plunge  in  headlong.  On  the  other  side,  the  bank  is 
almost  on  a level  with  the  water ; and  there  the  quiet 
congregation  of  trees  stood  with  feet  in  the  flood,  and 
fringed  with  foliage  down  to  its  very  surface.  Vines 
here  and  there  twine  themselves  about  bushes  or  aspens 
*or  alder- trees,  and  hang  their  clusters  (though  scanty 
and  infrequent  this  season)  so  that  I can  reach  them 
from  my  boat.  I scarcely  remember  a scene  of  more 
complete  and  lovely  seclusion  than  the  passage  of  the 
river  through  this  wood.  Even  an  Indian  canoe,  in 
olden  times,  could  not  have  floated  onward  in  deeper 
solitude  than  my  boat.  I have  never  elsewhere  had 
such  an  opportunity  to  observe  how  much  more  beauti- 
ful reflection  is  than  what  we  call  reality.  The  sky,  and 
the  clustering  foliage  on  either  hand,  and  the  effect  of 
sunlight  as  it  found  its  way  through  the  shade,  giving 
lightsome  hues  in  contrast  with  the  quiet  depth  of  the 
prevailing  tints,  — all  these  seemed  unsurpassably  beau- 
tiful when  beheld  in  upper  air.  But  on  gazing  down- 
ward, there  they  were,  the  same  even  to  the  minutest 
particular,  yet  arrayed  in  ideal  beauty,  whicli  satisfied 
the  spirit  incomparably  more  than  the  actual  scene.  I am 
half  convinced  that  the  reflection  is  indeed  the  reality , 


1342.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS*  103 

the  real  thing  which  Nature  imperfectly  images  to  out 
grosser  sense.  At  any  rate,  the  disembodied  shadow  is 
nearest  to  the  soul. 

There  were  many  tokens  of  autumn  in  this  beautiful 
picture.  Two  or  three  of  the  trees  were  actually 
dressed  in- their  coats  of  many  colors, — the  real  scar- 
let and  gold  which  they  wear  before  they  put  on 
mourning.  These  stood  on  low,  marshy  spots,  where 
a frost  has  probably  touched  them  already.  Others 
were  of  a light,  fresh  green,  resembling  the  hues  of 
spring,  though  this,  likewise,  is  a token  of  decay.  The 
great  mass  of  the  foliage,  however,  appears  unchanged ; 
but  ever  and  anon  down  came  a yellow  leaf,  half  flitting 
upon  the  air,  half  falling  through  it,  and  finally  settling 
upon  the  water.  A multitude  of  these  were  floating" 
here  and  there  along  the  river,  many  of  them  curling 
upward,  so  as  to  form  little  boats,  fit  for  fairies  to  voy- 
age in.  They  looked  strangely  pretty,  with  yet  a 
melancholy  prettiness,  as  they  floated  along.  The 
general  aspect  of  the  river,  however,  differed  but  little 
from  that  of  summer,  — at  least  the  difference  defies 
expression.  It  is  more  in  the  character  of  the  rich 
yellow  sunlight  than  in  aught  else.  The  water  of  the 
stream  has  now  a thrill  of  autumnal  coolness ; yet  when- 
ever a broad  gleam  fell  across  it,  through  an  interstice 
of  the  foliage,  multitudes  of  insects  were  darting  to  and 
fro  upon  its  surface.  The  sunshine,  thus  falling  across 
the  dark  river,  has  a most  beautiful  effect.  It  bur- 
nishes it,  as  it  were,  and  yet  leaves  it  as  dark  as  ever. 

On  my  return,  I suffered  the  boat  to  float  almost  of 
its  own  will  down  the  stream,  and  caught  fish  enough 
for  this  morning’s  breakfast.  But,  partly  f'om  a qualm 


104 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842 


of  conscience,  I finally  put  them  all  into  the  water 
again,  and  saw  them  swim  away  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened 

Monday,  October  10th.  — A long  while,  indeed,  since 
my  last  date.  But  the  weather  has  been  generally 
sunny  and  pleasant,  though  often  very  cold;  and  1 
cannot  endure  to  waste  anything  so  precious  as  autum- 
nal sunshine  by  staying  in  the  house.  So  I have 
spent  almost  all  the  daylight  hours  in  the  open  air. 
My  chief  amusement  has  been  boating  up  and  down  the 
river.  A week  or  two  ago  (September  27  and  28)  1 
went  on  a pedestrian  excursion  with  Mr.  Emerson,  and 
was  gone  two  days  and  one  night,  it  being  the  first  and 
only  night  that  I have  spent  away  from  home.  We 
were  that  night  at  the  village  of  Harvard,  and  the  next 
morning  walked  three  miles  farther,  to  the  Shaker  vil- 
lage, where  we  breakfasted.  Mr.  Emerson  had  a theo- 
logical discussion  with  two  of  the  Shaker  brethren ; but 
the  particulars  of  it  have  faded  from  my  memory  ; and 
all  the  other  adventures  of  the  tour  have  now  so  lost 
their  freshness  that  I cannot  adequately  recall  them. 
Wherefore  let  them  rest  untold.  I recollect  nothing  so 
well  as  the  aspect  of  some  fringed  gentians,  which  we 
saw  growing  by  the  roadside,  and  which  were  so  beauti- 
ful that  I longed  to  turn  back  and  pluck  them.  After 
an  arduous  journey,  we  arrived  safe  home  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  second  day,  — the  first  time  that  I ever  came 
home  in  my  life  ; for  I never  had  a home  before.  On 

Saturday  of  the  same  week,  my  friend  D.  R came 

to  see  us,  and  stayed  till  Tuesday  morning.  On 
Wednesday  there  was  a cattle-show  in  the  village,  o / 


1642.  J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS  105 

which  I would  give  a description,  if  it  had  possessed 
any  picturesque  points.  The  foregoing  are  the  chief 
outward  events  of  our  life. 

In  the  mean  time  autumn  has  been  advancing,  and  is 
said  to  be  a month  earlier  than  usual.  We  had  frosts, 
sufficient  to  kill  the  bean  and  squash  vines,  more  than  a 
fortnight  ago ; but  there  has  since  been  some  of  the  most 
delicious  Indian-summer  weather  that  I ever  experi- 
enced,— mild,  sweet,  perfect  days,  in  which  the  warm 
sunshine  seemed  to  embrace  the  earth  and  all  earth’s 
children  with  love  and  tenderness.  Generally,  however, 
the  bright  days  have  been  vexed  with  winds  from  the 
northwest,  somewhat  too  keen  and  high  for  comfort. 
These  winds  have  strewn  our  avenue  with  withered 
leaves,  although  the  trees  still  retain  some  density  of 
foliage,  which  is  now  imbrowned  or  otherwise  variegated 
by  autumn.  Our  apples,  too,  have  been  falling,  falling, 
falling ; and  we  have  picked  the  fairest  of  them  from  the 
dewy  grass,  and  put  them  in  our  store-room  and  else- 
where. On  Thursday,  John  Flint  began  to  gather  those 
which  remained  on  the  trees ; and  I suppose  they  will 
amount  to  nearly  twenty  barrels,  or  perhaps  more.  As 
usual  when  I have  anything  to  sell,  apples  are  very  low 
indeed  in  price,  and  will  not  fetch  me  more  than  a 
dollar  a barrel.  I have  sold  my  share  of  the  potato- 
field  for  twenty  dollars  and  ten  bushels  of  potatoes  for 
my  own  use.  This  may  suffice  for  the  economical 
history  of  our  recent  life. 

12  o'clock,  m,  — Just  now  I heard  a sharp  tapping 
at  the  window  of  my  study,  and,  looking  up  from  my 
book  (a  volume  of  Rabelais),  behold!  the  head  of  a 
little  bird,  wh:>  seemed  to  demand  admittance  ! He  was 

S* 


106 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1842. 


probably  attempting  to  get  a fly,  which  was  on  the  pane 
of  glass  against  which  he  rapped ; and  on  my  first 
motion  the  feathered  visitor  took  wing.  This  incident 
had  a cui  ious  effect  on  me.  It  impressed  me  as  if  the 
bird  had  been  a spiritual  visitant,  so  strange  was  it  that 
this  little  Wild  thing  should  seem  to  ask  our  hospitality. 

November  8th.  — I am  sorry  that  our  journal  has 
fallen  so  into  neglect ; but  I see  no  chance  of  amend- 
ment. All  my  scribbling  propensities  will  be  far  more 
than  gratified  in  writing  nonsense  for  the  press  ; so  that 
any  gratuitous  labor  of  the  pen  becomes  peculiarly  dis- 
tasteful. Since  the  last  date,  we  have  paid  a visit  of 
nine  days  to  Boston  and  Salem,  whence  we  returned  a 
week  ago  yesterday.  Thus  we  lost  above  a week  of 
delicious  autumnal  weather,  which  should  have  been 
spent  in  the  woods  or  upon  the  river.  Ever  since  our 
return,  however,  until  to-day,  there  has  been  a succession 
of  genuine  Indian -summer  days,  with  gentle  winds  or 
none  at  all,  and  a misty  atmosphere,  which  idealizes  all 
nature,  and  a mild,  beneficent  sunshine,  inviting  one  to 
lie  down  in  a nook  and  forget  all  earthly  care:  To-day 

the  sky  is  dark  and  lowering,  and  occasionally  lets  fall  a 
few  sullen  tears.  I suppose  we  must  bid  farewell  to 
Indian  summer  now,  and  expect  no  more  love  and 
tenderness  from  Mother  Nature  till  next  spring  be  well 
advanced.  She  has  already  made  herself  as  unlovely 
in  outward  aspect  as  can  well  be.  We  took  a walk  to 
Sleepy  Hollow  yesterday,  and  beheld  scarcely  a green 
thing,  except  the  everlasting  verdure  of  the  family  of 
pines,  which,  indeed,  are  trees  to  thank  God  for  at  this 
season.  A range  of  young  birches  had  retained  a pretty 


1842.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BJOfc* 


107 


liberal  coloring  of  yellow  or  tawny  leaves,  which  became 
very  cheerful  in  the  sunshine.  There  were  one  or  two 
oak-trees  whose  foliage  still  retained  a deep,  dusky  red, 
which  looked  rich  and  warm  ; but  most  of  the  oaks  had 
reached  the  last  stage  of  autumnal  decay,  — the  dusky 
brown  hue.  Millions  of  their  leaves  strew  the  woods 
and  rustle  underneath  the  foot ; but  enough  remai* 
upon  the  boughs  to  make  a melancholy  harping  when 
the  wind  sweeps  over  them.  We  found  some  fringed 
gentians  in  the  meadow,  most  of  them  blighted  and  with- 
ered ; but  a few  were  quite  perfect.  The  other  day 
since  our  return  from  Salem,  I found  a violet ; yet  ii 
was  so  cold  that  day,  that  a large  pool  of  water,  undei 
the  shadow  of  some  trees,  had  remained  frozen  from 
morning  till  afternoon.  The  ice  was  so  thick  as  not  to 
be  broken  by  some  sticks  and  small  stones  which  I threw 
upon  it.  But  ice  and  snow  too  will  soon  be  no  extraor- 
dinary matters  with  us. 

During  the  last  week  we  have  had  three  stoves  put 
up,  and  henceforth  no  light  of  a cheerful  fire  will  glad- 
den us  at  eventide.  Stoves  are  detestable  in  every  re- 
spect, except  that  they  keep  us  perfectly  comfortable. 

Thursday . November  2fah.  — This  is  Thanksgiving 
Day,  a good  old  festival,  and  we  have  kept  it  with  our 
hearts,  and,  besides,  have  made  good  cheer  upon  our 
turkey  and  pudding,  and  pies  and  custards,  although 
none  sat  at  our  board  but  our  two  selves.  There  was  a 
new  and  livelier  sense,  I think,  that  we  have  at  last 
found  a home,  and  that  a new  family  has  been  gathered 
since  the  last  Thanksgiving  Day.  There  have  been 
many  br  *&ht,  cold  days  latterly,  — so  cold  that  it  has 


108 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843 


required  a pretty  rapid  pace  to  keep  one’s  self  warm 
a-walking.  Day  before  yesterday  I saw  a party  of  boys 
skating  on  a pond  of  water  that  has  overflowed  a neigh- 
boring meadow.  Running  water  has  not  yet  frozen. 
Vegetation  has  quite  come  to  a stand,  except  in  a few 
sheltered  spots.  In  a deep  ditch  we  found  a tall  plant 
of  the  freshest  and  healthiest  green,  which  looked  as  if 
it  must  have  grown  within  the  last  few  weeks.  We 
wander  among  the  wood-paths,  which  are  very  pleasant 
in  the  sunshine  of  the  afternoons,  the  trees  looking  rich 
and  warm,  — such  of  them,  I mean,  as  have  retained 
their  russet  leaves  ; and  where  the  leaves  are  strewn 
along  the  paths,  or  heaped  plentifully  in  some  hollow 
of  the  hills,  the  effect  is  not  without  a charm.  To-day 
the  morning  rose  with  rain,  which  has  since  changed  to 
snow  and  sleet ; and  now  the  landscape  is  as  dreary  as 
can  well  be  imagined,  — white,  with  the  brownness  of 
the  soil  and  withered  grass  everywhere  peeping  out. 
The  swollen  river,  of  a leaden  hue,  drags  itself  sullenly 
along ; and  this  may  be  termed  the  first  winter’s  day. 

Friday , March  31s£,  1843.  — The  first  month  of 
spring  is  already  gone  ; and  still  the  snow  lies  deep  on 
hill  and  valley,  and  the  river  is  still  frozen  from  bank  to 
bank,  although  a late  rain  has  caused  pools  of  water  to 
stand  on  the  surface  of  the  ice,  and  the  meadows  are 
overflowed  into  broad  lakes.  Such  a protracted  winter 
has  not  been  known  for  twenty  years,  at  least.  I have 
almost  forgotten  the  wood-paths  and  shady  places  which 
I used  to  know  so  well  last  summer  ; and  my  views  are 
so  much  confined  to  the  interior  of  our  mansion,  that 
sometimes,  looking  out  of  the  window,  I am  surprised  to 


AMERiCAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


109 


1843.] 

catch  a glimpse  of  houses,  at  no  great  distance,  which  had 
quite  passed  out  of  my  recollection.  From  present  ap- 
pearances, another  month  may  scarcely  suffice  to  wash 
away  all  the  snow  from  the  open  country ; and  in  the 
woods  and  hollows  it  may  linger  yet  longer.  The  win- 
ter will  not  have  been  a day  less  than  five  months  long ; 
and  it  would  not  be  unfair  to  call  it  seven.  A great 
space,  indeed,  to  miss  the  smile  of  Nature,  in  a single 
year  of  human  life.  Even  out  of  the  midst  of  happiness 
I have  sometimes  sighed  and  groaned ; for  I love  the 
sunshine  and  the  green  woods,  and  the  sparkling  blue 
water  ; and  it  seems  as  if  the  picture  of  our  inward  bliss 

should  be  set  in  a beautiful  frame  of  outward  nature 

As  to  the  daily  course  of  our  life,  I have  written  with 
pretty  commendable  diligence,  averaging  from  two  to 
four  hours  a day ; and  the  result  is  seen  in  various 
magazines.  I might  have  written  more,  if  it  had  seemed 
worth  while ; but  I was  content  to  earn  only  so  much 
gold  as  might  suffice  for  our  immediate  wants,  having 
prospect  of  official  station  and  emolument  which  would 
do  away  with  the  necessity  of  writing  for  bread.  Those 
prospects  have  not  yet  had  their  fulfilment ; and  we  are 
well  content  to  wait,  because  an  office  would  inevitably 
remove  us  from  our  present  happy  home,  — at  least 
from  an  outward  home ; for  there  is  an  inner  one  that 
will  accompany  us  wherever  we  go.  Meantime,  the 
magazine  people  do  not  pay  their  debts ; so  that  we  taste 
some  of  the  inconveniences  of  poverty.  It  is  an  annoy- 
ance, not  a trouble. 

Every  day,  I trudge  through  snow  and  slosh  to  the 
village,  look  into  the  post-office,  and  spend  an  hour  at 
the  reading-room ; and  then  return  home,  generally  with' 


110  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1843, 

out  having  spoken  a word  to  a human  being In 


the  way  of  exercise  1 saw  and  split  wood,  and,  physically, 
I never  was  in  a better  condition  than  now.  This  is 
chiefly  owing,  doubtless,  to  a satisfied  heart,  in  aid  of 
which  comes  the  exercise  above  mentioned,  and  about  a 
fair  proportion  of  intellectual  labor. 

On  the  9th  of  this  month,  we  left  home  again  on  a 
visit  to  Boston  and  Salem.  I alone  went  to  Salem, 
where  I resumed  all  my  bachelor  habits  for  nearly  a 
fortnight,  leading  the  same  life  in  which  ten  years  of 
my  youth  flitted  away  like  a dream.  But  how  much 
changed  was  I ! At  last  I had  caught  hold  of  a reality 
which  never  could  be  taken  from  me.  It  was  good 
thus  to  get  apart  from  my  happiness,  for  the  sake  of 
contemplating  it.  On  the  21st,  I returned  to  Boston, 
and  went  out  to  Cambridge  to  dine  with  Longfellow, 
whom  I had  not  seen  since  his  return  from  Europe. 
The  next  day  we  came  back  to  our  old  house,  which 
had  been  deserted  all  this  time  ; for  our  servant  had 
gone  with  us  to  Boston. 

Friday , April  1th . — My  wife  has  gone  to  Boston 

to  see  her  sister  M , who  is  to  be  married  in  two  or 

three  weeks,  and  then  immediately  to  visit  Europe  for 
six  months I betook  myself  to  sawing  and  split- 

ting wood;  there  being  an  inward  unquietness  which 
demanded  active  exercise,  and  I sawed,  I think,  more 
briskly  than  ever  before.  When  I re-entered  the  house, 
it  was  with  somewhat  of  a desolate  feeling ; yet  not 
without  an  intermingled  pleasure,  as  being  the  more 
conscious  that  all  separation  was  temporary,  and  scarcely 
real,  even  for  the  little  time  that  it  may  last.  After  my 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS* 


111 


solitary  dinner,  I lay  down,  with  the  Dial  hi  my  hand, 

and  attempted  to  sleep  ; but  sleep  would  not  come 

So  I arose,  and  began  this  record  in  the  journal,  almost 
at  the  commencement  of  which  I was  interrupted  by  a 
visit  from  Mr.  Thoreau,  who  came  to  return  a book,  and 
to  announce  his  purpose  of  going  to  reside  at  Staten 
Island,  as  private  tutor  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Emerson’s 
brother.  We  had  some  conversation  upon  this  subject, 
and  upon  the  spiritual  advantages  of  change  of  place, 
and  upon  the  Dial,  and  upon  Mr.  Alcott,  and  other  kin- 
dred or  concatenated  subjects.  I am  glad,  on  Mr.  Thu 
reau’s  own  account,  that  he  is  going  away,  as  he  is  out 
of  health,  and  may  be  benefited  by  his  removal ; but,  on 
my  account,  I should  like  to  have  him  remain  here,  he- 
being  one  of  the  few  persons,  I think,  with  whom  to 
hold  intercourse  is  like  hearing  the  wind  among  the 
boughs  of  a forest-tree;  and,  with  all  this  wild  freedom, 
there  is  high  and  classic  cultivation  in  him  too 

I had  a purpose,  if  circumstances  would  permit,  of 
passing  the  whole  term  of  my  wife’s  absence  without 
speaking  a word  to  any  human  being;  but  now  my 
Pythagorean  vow  has  been  broken,  within  three  or 
four  hours  after  her  departure. 

jSatw'day , April  8th . — After  journalizing  yesterday 
afternoon,  I went  out  and  sawed  and  split  wood  till 
tea-time,  then  studied  German  (translating  Lenore), 
with  an  occasional  glance  at  a beautiful  sunset,  which 
I could  not  enjoy  sufficiently  by  myself  to  induce  me 
to  lay  aside  the  book.  After  lamplight,  finished  Lenore, 
and  drowj&d  over  Voltaire’s  Candide,  occasionally  re- 
freshing myself  w-iti*  a tune  from  Mr.  Thoreau’s  mush 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


112 


r1843. 


cal  box,  which  he  had  left  in  my  keeping,  The 
evening  was  but  a dull  one. 

I retired  soon  after  nine,  and  felt  some  apprehension 
that  the  old  Doctor’s  ghost  would  take  this  opportunity 
to  visit  me  ; but  I rather  think  his  former  visitations 
have  not  been  intended  for  me,  and  that  I am  not 
sufficiently  spiritual  for  ghostly  communication.  At  all 
events,  I met  with  no  disturbance  of  the  kind,  and  slept 
soundly  enough  till  six  o’clock  or  thereabouts.  The 
forenoon  was  spent  with  the  pen  in  my  hand,  and  some- 
times I had  the  glimmering  of  an  idea,  and  endeavored 
to  materialize  it  in  words ; but  on  the  whole  my  mind 
was  idly  vagrant,  and  refused  to  work  to  any  .syste- 
matic purpose.  Between  eleven  and  twelve  I w7ent  to 
the  post-office,  but  found  no  letter ; then  spent  above 
an  hour  reading  at  the  Athenseum.  On  my  way  home, 
I encountered  Mr.  Flint,  for  the  first  time  these  many 
weeks,  although  he  is  our  next  neighbor  in  one  direc- 
tion. I inquired  if  he  could  sell  us  some  potatoes,  and 
he  promised  to  send  half  a bushel  for  trial.  Also, 
he  encouraged  me  to  hope  that  he  might  buy  a barrel 
of  our  apples.  After  my  encounter  with  Mr.  Flint,  I 
returned  to  our  lonely  old  abbey,  opened  the  door  with- 
out the  usual  heart-spring,  ascended  to  my  study,  and 
began  to  read  a tale  of  Tieck.  Slow  work,  and  dull 
work  too ! Anon,  Molly,  the  cook,  rang  the  bell  for 
dinner,  — a sumptuous  banquet  of  stewed  veal  and 
macaroni,  to  which  I sat  down  in  solitary  state.  My 
appetite  served  me  sufficiently  to  eat  with,  but  not  for 
enjoyment.  Nothing  has  a zest  in  my  present  widowed 
state.  [Thus  far  I had  written,  when  Mr.  Emerson 
called.]  After  dinner,  I lay  down  on  the  couch,  with 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


113 


643.] 


the  Dial  in  my  hand  as  a soporific,  and  had  a short 
nap ; then  began  to  journalize. 

Mr.  Emerson  came,  with  a sunbeam  in  his  face ; and 
we  had  as  good  a talk  as  I ever  remember  to  have  had 
with  him.  He  spoke  of  Margaret  F uller,  who,  he  says, 
has  risen  perceptibly  into  a higher  state  since  their  last 
meeting.  [There  rings  the  tea-bell.]  Then  we  dis- 
coursed of  Ellery  Channing,  a volume  of  whose  poems 
is  to  be  immediately  published,  with  revisions  by  Mr. 

Emerson  himself  and  Mr.  Sam  G.  Ward He  calls 

them  “ poetry  for  poets.”  Next  Mr.  Thoreau  was  dis- 
cussed, and  his  approaching  departure ; in  respect  to 

which  we  agreed  pretty  well We  talked  of 

Brook  Farm,  and  the  singular  moral  aspects  which  it 
presents,  and  the  great  desirability  that  its  progress  and 
developments  should  be  observed  and  its  history  writ- 
ten ; also  of  C.  N , who,  it  appears,  is  passing 

through  a new  moral  phasis.  He  is  silent,  inexpressive, 
talks  little  or  none,  and  listens  without  response,  except 
a sardonic  laugh  ; and  some  of  his  friends  think  that  he 
is  passing  into  permanent  eclipse.  Various  other  mat- 
ters were  considered  or  glanced  at,  and  finally,  between 
five  and  six  o’clock,  Mr.  Emerson  took  his  leave.  1 
then  went  out  to  chop  wood,  my  allotted  space  for 
which  had  been  very  much  abridged  by  his  visit ; but 
I was  not  sorry.  I went  on  with  the  journal  for  a few 
minutes  before  tea,  and  have  finished  the  present  rec- 
ord in  the  setting  sunshine  and  gathering  dusk 

Salem . — ....  Here  I am,  in  my  old  chamber,  where 
I produced  those  stupendous  works  of  fiction  which 
have  since  impressed  the  universe  with  wonderment  and 


H 


114  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l84», 

awe ! To  this  chamber,  doubtless,  in  all  succeeding 
ages,  pilgrims  will  come  to  pay  their  tribute  of  rever- 
ence ; — they  will  put  off  their  shoes  at  the  threshold 
for  fear  of  desecrating  the  tattered  old  carpets ! 
“ There,”  they  will  exclaim,  “ is  the  very  bed  in  which 
he  slumbered,  and  where  he  was  visited  by  those  ethe- 
real visions  which  he  afterwards  fixed  forever  in  glow- 
ing words ! There  is  the  wash-stand  at  which  this 
exalted  personage  cleansed  himself  from  the  stains  of 
earth,  and  rendered  his  outward  man  a fitting  exponent 
of  the  pure  soul  within.  There,  in  its  mahogany  frame, 
is  the  dressing-glass,  which  often  reflected  that  noble 
brow,  those  hyacinthine  locks,  that  mouth  bright  with 
smiles  or  tremulous  with  feeling,  that  flashing  or  melt- 
ing eye,  that  — in  short,  every  item  of  the  magnani- 
mous face  of  this  unexampled  man.  There  i*  the 
pine  table,  — there  the  old  flag-bottomed  chair  on  which 
he  sat,  and  at  which  he  scribbled,  during  his  agonief  of 
inspiration ! There  is  the  old  chest  of  drawers  in 
which  he  kept  what  shirts  a poor  author  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  possessed  ! There  is  the  closet  in  which 
was  reposited  his  threadbare  suit  of  black ! There  is 
the  worn-out  shoe-brush  with  which  this  polished  writer 
polished  his  boots.  There  is  — ” but  I believe  this  will 

be  pretty  much  all,  so  here  I close  the  catalogue 

A cloudy  veil  stretches  over  the  abyss  of  my  nature* 
I have,  however,  no  love  of  secrecy  and  darkness.  I 
am  glad  to  think  that  God  sees  through  my  heart,  and, 
if  any  angel  has  power  to  penetrate  into  it,  lie  is  wel- 
come to  know  everything  that  is  there.  Tes,  and  so 
may  any  mortal  who  is  capable  of  full  symp*rhy,  mid 
therefore  worthy  to  come  into  my  depths.  But  he 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


m 


must  find  his  own  way  there.  I can  neither  guide  no? 
enlighten  him.  It  is  this  involuntary  reserve,  I sup* 
pose,  that  has  given  the  objectivity  to  my  writings  ; 
and  when  people  think  that  I am  pouring  myself  out 
in  a tale  or  an  essay,  I am  merely  telling  what  is  com- 
mon to  human  nature,  not  what  is  peculiar  to  myself. 
I sympathize  with  them,  not  they  with  me 

I have  recently  been  both  lectured  about  and 
preached  about  here  in  my  native  city ; the  preacher 
was  Rev.  Mr.  Fox  of  Newburyport ; but  how  he  con- 
trived to  put  me  into  a sermon  I know  not.  I trust  he 
took  for  his  text,  “ Behold  an  Israelite  indeed,  in  whom 
there  is  no  guile.” 

Salem , March  \2th . — . . . . That  poor  home!  how 
desolate  it  is  now  ! Last  night,  being  awTake,  . . . 
my  thoughts  travelled  back  to  the  lonely  old  Manse; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  I were  wandering  up  stairs  and 
down  stairs  all  by  myself.  My  fancy  was  almost  afraid 
to  be  there  alone.  I could  see  every  object  in  a dim, 
gray  light,  — our  chamber,  the  study,  all  in  confusion  ; 
the  parlor,  with  the  fragments  of  that  abortive  break- 
fast on  the  table,  and  the  precious  silver  forks,  and  the 
old  bronze  image,  keeping  its  solitary  stand  upon  the 
mantel-piece.  Then,  methought,  the  wretched  Vigwig- 
gie  came,  and  jumped  upon  the  window-sill,  and  clung 
there  with  her  fore  paws,  mewing  dismally  for  admit- 
tance, which  I could  not  grant  her,  being  there  myself 
only  in  the  spirit.  And  then  came  the  ghost  of  the  old 
Doctor,  stalking  through  the  gallery,  and  down  the 
staircase,  and  peeping  into  the  parlor;  and  though  I 
was  wdde  awake,  and  conscious  of  being  so  many  miles 


116  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1843. 

from  the  spot,  still  it  was  quite  awful  til  think  of  th* 
$host  having  sole  possession  of  our  home  ; for  I could 
not  quite  separate  myself  from  it,  after  all.  Somehow 

*he  Doctor  and  I seemed  to  be  there  tete-a-tete I 

believe  I did  not  have  any  fantasies  about  the  ghostly 
kitchen-maid  ; but  I trust  Mary  left  the  flat-irons  within 
aer  reach,  so  that  she  may  do  all  her  ironing  while  we 
are  away,  and  never  disturb  us  more  at  midnight.  I 
suppose  she  comes  thither  to  iron  her  shroud,  and  per- 
haps, likewise,  to  smooth  the  Doctor’s  band.  Probably, 
during  her  lifetime,  she  allowed  him  to  go  to  some  ordi- 
nation or  other  grand  clerical  celebration  with  rumpled 
linen ; and  ever  since,  and  throughout  all  earthly  futu- 
rity (at  least,  as  long  as  the  house  shall  stand),  she  is 
doomed  to  exercise  a nightly  toil  with  a spiritual  flat- 
iron. Poor  sinner!  — and  doubtless  Satan  heats  the 
irons  for  her.  What  nonsense  is  all  this ! but,  really, 
it  does  make  me  shiver  to  think  of  that  poor  home  of 
ours. 

March  16^. — ....  As  for  this  Mr. , I wish 

he  would  not  be  so  troublesome.  His  scheme  is  well 
enough,  and  might  possibly  become  popular;  but  it 
has  no  peculiar  advantages  with  reference  to  myself, 
nor  do  the  subjects  of  his  proposed  books  particularly 
suit  my  fancy  as  themes  to  write  upon.  Somebody  else 
will  answer  his  purpose  just  as  well;  and  I would 
rather  write  books  of  my  own  imagining  than  be  hired 
to  develop  the  ideas  of  an  engraver  ; especially  as  the 
pecuniary  prospect  is  not  better,  nor  so  good,  as  it  might 
be  elsewhere.  I intend  to  adhere  to  my  former  plan 
of  writing  one  or  two  mythological  story-books,  to  b« 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  117 

published  under  O'Sullivan’s  auspices  in  New  York,  — - 
which  is  the  only  place  where  books  can  be  published 
with  a chance  ot  profit.  As  a matter  of  courtesy,  I may 

call  on  Mr. if  I have  time  ; but  I do  not  intend  to 

be  connected  with  this  affair. 

Sunday , April  9th.  — . . . . After  finishing  my  record 
in  the  journal,  I sat  a long  time  in  grandmother’s 

chair,  thinking  of  many  things My  spirits  were  at 

a lower  ebb  than  they  ever  descend  to  when  I am  not 
alone ; nevertheless,  neither  was  I absolutely  sad. 
Many  times  I wound  and  rewound  Mr.  Thoreau’s  little 
musical  box ; but  certainly  its  peculiar  sweetness  had 
evaporated,  and  I am  pretty  sure  that  I should  throw  it 
out  of  the  window  were  I doomed  to  hear  it  long  and 
often.  It  has  not  an  infinite  soul.  When  it  was  almost 
as  dark  as  the  moonlight  would  let  it  be,  I lighted  the 
lamp,  and  went  on  with  Tieck’s  tale,  slowly  and  painful- 
ly, often  wishing  for  help  in  my  difficulties.  At  last  I 
determined  to  learn  a little  about  pronouns  and  verbs 
before  proceeding  further,  and  so  took  up  the  phrase- 
book,  with  which  I was  commendably  busy,  when,  at 
about  a quarter  to  nine,  came  a knock  at  my  study-door, 
and,  behold,  there  was  Molly  with  a letter ! How  she 
came  by  it  I did  not  ask,  being  content  to  suppose  it  was 
brought  by  a heavenly  messenger.  I had  not  expected 
a letter ; and  what  a comfort  it  was  to  me  in  my  loneli- 
ness and  sombreness ! I called  Molly  to  take  her  note 
(enclosed),  which  she  received  with  a face  of  delight  as 
broad  and  bright  as  the  kitchen  fire.  Then  I read,  and 
re-read,  and  re-re-read,  and  quadruply,  quintuply,  and 
sextuply  re-read  my  epistle,  until  I had  it  all  by  heart, 


118 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843. 


and  then  continued  to  re-read  it  for  the  sake  of  the  pen- 
manship. Then  I took  up  the  phrase-book  again  ; bul 
could  not  study,  and  so  bathed  and  retired,  it  being  now 
not  far  from  ten  o’clock.  I lay  awake  a good  deal  in 
the  night,  but  saw  no  ghost 

I arose  about  seven,  and  found  that  the  upper  part  of 
my  nose,  and'  the  region  round  about,  was  grievously 
discolored  ; and  at  the  angle  of  the  left  eye  there  is  a 
great  spot  of  almost  black  purple,  and  a broad  streak 
of  the  same  hue  semicircling  beneath  either  eye,  while 
green,  yellow,  and  orange  overspread  the  circumjacent 
country.  It  looks  not  unlike  a gorgeous  sunset,  throw- 
ing its  splendor  over  the  heaven  of  my  countenance. 
It  will  behoove  me  to  show  myself  as  little  as  possible, 
else  people  will  think  I have  fought  a pitched  bat- 
tle  The  Devil  take  the  stick  of  wood  ! What  had 

I done,  that  it  should  bemaul  me  so  ? However,  there 
is  no  pain,  though,  I think,  a very  slight  affection  ot 
the  eyes. 

This  forenoon  I began  to  write,  and  caught  an  idea 
by  the  skirts,  which  I intend  to  hold  fast,  though  it 
struggles  to  get  free.  As  it  was  not  ready  to  be  put 
upon  paper,  however,  I took  up  the  Dial,  and  finished 
reading  the  article  on  Mr.  Alcott.  It  is  not  very  satis- 
factory, and  it  has  not  taught  me  much.  Then  I read 
Margaret’s  article  on  Canova,  which  is  good.  About 
this  time  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  I went  down  without 

much  alacrity,  though  with  a good  appetite  enough 

It  was  in  the  angle  of  my  right  eye,  not  my  left,  that 
the  blackest  purple  was  collected.  But  they  both 
look  like  the  very  Devil. 

Half  past  jive  o'clock . — After  writing  the  above,  . . . 


/ 843-  ^ AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  119 

I again  set  to  work  on  Tieck’s  tale,  and  worried  through 
several  pages  ; and  then,  at  half  past  four,  threw  open 
one  of  the  western  windows  of  my  study,  and  sallied 
forth  to  take  the  sunshine.  I went  down  through  the 
orchard  to  the  river-side.  The  orchard-path  is  still 
deeply  covered  with  snow ; and  so  is  the  whole  visible 
universe,  except  streaks  upon  the  hillsides,  and  spots  in 
the  sunny  hollows,  where  the  brown  earth  peeps  through. 
The  river,  which  a few  days  ago  was  entirely  impris- 
oned, has  now  broken  its  fetters ; but  a tract  of  ice 
extended  across  from  near  the  foot  of  the  monument  to 
the  abutment  of  the  old  bridge,  and  looked  so  solid  that 
I supposed  it  would  yet  remain  for  a day  or  two. 
Large  cakes  and  masses  of  ice  came  floating  down  the 
current,  which,  though  not  very  violent,  hurried  along 
at  a much  swifter  pace  than  the  ordinary  one  of  our 
sluggish  river-god.  These  ice-masses,  when  they  struck 
the  barrier  of  ice  above  mentioned,  acted  upon  it  like 
a battering-ram,  and  were  themselves  forced  high  out 
of  the  water,  or  sometimes  carried  beneath  the  main 
sheet  of  ice.  At  last,  down  the  stream  came  an 
immense  mass  of  ice,  and,  striking  the  barrier  about  at 
its  centre,  it  gave  way,  and  the  whole  was  swept 
onward  together,  leaving  the  river  entirely  free,  with 
only  here  and  there  a cake  of  ice  floating  quietly  along. 
The  great  accumulation,  in  its  downward  course,  hit 
against  a tree  that  stood  in  mid-current,  and  caused  it 
to  quiver  like  a reed ; and  it  swept  quite  over  the 
shrubbery  that  bordered  what,  in  summer-time,  is  the 
river’s  bank,  but  which  is  now  nearly  the  centre  of 
the  stream.  Our  river  in  its  present  state  has  quite  a 
noble  breadth,  The  little  hillock  which  formed  the 


120 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[18  43 


abutment  of  the  old  bridge  is  now  an  island  with  its 
tuft  of  trees.  Along  the  hither  shore  a row  of  trees 
stand  up  to  their  knees,  and  the  smaller  ones  to  their 
middles,  in  the  water ; and  afar  off,  on  the  surface  of 
the  stream,  we  see  tufts  of  bushes  emerging,  thrusting 
up  their  heads,  as  it  were,  to  breathe.  The  water 
comes  over  the  stone  wall,  and  encroaches  several  yards 
on  the  boundaries  of  our  orchard.  [Here  the  supper- 
bell  rang.]  If  our  boat  were  in  good  order,  I should 
now  set  forth  on  voyages  of  discovery,  and  visit  nooks 
on  the  borders  of  the  meadows,  which  by  and  by  will 
be  a mile  or  two  from  the  water’s  edge.  But  she  is 
in  very  bad  condition,  full  of  water,  and,  doubtless,  as 
leaky  as  a sieve. 

On  coming  from  supper,  I found  that  little  Puss  had 
established  herself  in  the  study,  probably  with  intent 
to  pass  the  night  here.  She  now  lies  on  the  footstool 
between  my  feet,  purring  most  obstreperously.  The 
day  of  my  wife’s  departure,  she  came  to  me,  talking 
with  the  greatest  earnestness ; but  whether  it  was  to 
condole  with  me  on  my  loss,  or  to  demand  my  re- 
doubled care  for  herself,  I could  not  well  make  out. 
As  Puss  now  constitutes  a third  part  of  the  family, 
this  mention  of  her  will  not  appear  amiss.  How  Molly 
employs  herself,  I know  not.  Once  in  a while,  I hear 
a door  slam  like  a thunder- clap ; but  she  never  shows 
her  face,  nor  speaks  a word,  unless  to  announce  a visitor 
or  deliver  a letter.  This  day,  on  my  part,  will  have 
been  spent  without  exchanging  a syllable  with  any 
human  being,  unless  something  unforeseen  should  yet 
call  for  the  exercise  of  speech  before  bedtime. 


1843.] 


AMElilCAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1 21 


Monday , April  \0th.  — I sat  till  eight  o'clock,  medi- 
tating upon  this  world  and  the  next,  ....  and  some- 
times dimly  shaping  out  scenes  of  a tale.  Then  betook 
myself  to  the  German  phrase-book.  Ah ! these  are 
but  dreary  evenings.  The  lamp  would  not  brighten 
my  spirits,  though  it  was  duly  filled This  fore- 

noon was  spent  in  scribbling,  by  no  means  to  my  satis- 
faction*  until  past  eleven,  when  I went  to  the  village. 
Nothing  in  our  box  at  the  post-office.  I read  during 
the  customary  hour,  or  more,  at  the  Athena3um,  and 
returned  without  saying  a word  to  mortal.  I gathered, 
from  some  conversation  that  I heard,  that  a son  of 
Adam  is  to  be  buried  this  afternoon  from  the  meeting- 
house ; but  the  name  of  the  deceased  escaped  me. 
It  is  no  great  matter,  so  it  be  but  written  in  the 
Book  of  Life. 

My  variegated  face  looks  somewhat  more  human 
to-day ; though  I was  unaffectedly  ashamed  to  meet 
anybody’s  gaze,  and  therefore  turned  my  back  or  my 
shoulder  as  much  as  possible  upon  the  world.  At 
dinner,  behold  an  immense  joint  of  roast  veal ! I would 
willingly  have  had  some  assistance  in  the  discussion  ol 
this  great  piece  of  calf.  I am  ashamed  to  eat  alone ; 
it  becomes  the  mere  gratification  of  animal  appetite,  — 
the  tribute  which  we  are  compelled  to  pay  to  our 
grosser  nature ; whereas  in  the  company  of  another 
it  is  refined  and  moralized  and  spiritualized ; and  o 
our  earthly  victuals  (or  rather  vittles , for  the  fc 
a very  foolish  mode  of  spelling),  — over  our 
vittles  is  diffused  a sauce  of  lofty  and  gentle  tho 
and  tough  meat  is  mollified  with  tender  feelings, 
oh ! these  solitary  meals  are  the  di smallest 

VOL.  II.  6 


122 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


present  experience.  When  the  company  rose  from  table, 
they  all,  in  m}  single  person,  ascended  to  the  study, 
and  employed  themselves  in  reading  the  article  on 
Oregon  in  the  Democratic  Review.  Then  they  plod  led 
onward  in  the  rugged  and  bewildering  depths  of  Tieck’s 
£ale  until  five  o’clock,  when,  with  one  accord,  they  went 
out  to  split  wood.  This  has  been  a gray  day,  with  now 
and  then  a sprinkling  of  snow-flakes  through  the  air.  . . 
To-day  no  more  than  yesterday  have  I spoken  a word 

to  mortal It  is  now  sunset,  and  I must  meditate 

till  dark. 


April  11  th. — I meditated  accordingly,  but  without 
any  very  wonderful  result.  Then  at  eight  o’clock  both- 
ered myself  till  after  nine  with  this  eternal  tale  of 
Tieck.  The  forenoon  was  spent  in  scribbling ; but  at 
eleven  o’clock  my  thoughts  ceased  to  flow,  — indeed, 
their  current  has  been  wofully  interrupted  all  along, 
— so  I threw  down  my  pen,  and  set  out  on  the  daily 
journey  to  the  village.  Horrible  walking ! I wasted 
the  customary  hour  at  the  Athenaeum,  and  returned 
home,  if  home  it  may  now  be  called.  Till  dinner-time 
I labored  on  Tieck’s  tale,  and  resumed  that  agreeable 
employment  after  the  banquet. 

Just  when  I was  on  the  point  of  choking  with  a 
huge  German  word,  Molly  announced  Mr.  Thoreau.  He 
wished  to  take  a row  in  the  boat,  for  the  last  time, 
haps,  before  he  leaves  Concord.  So  we  emptied 
ater  out  of  her,  and  set  forth  on  our  voyage.  She 
but  not  more  than  she  did  in  the  autumn.  We 
1 to  the  foot  of  the  hill  which  borders  the  North 
b.  and  there  landed,  and  climbed  the  moist  and 


1943.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


123 


snowy  hillside  for  the  sake  of  the  prospect.  Looking 
down  the  river,  it  might  well  have  been  mistaken  for 
an  arm  of  the  sea,  so  broad  is  now  its  swollen  tide  ; 
and  I could  have  fancied  that,  beyond  one  other  head- 
land,  the  mighty  ocean  would  outspread  itself  before  the 
eye.  On  our  return  we  boarded  a large  cake  of  ice, 
which  was  floating  down  the  river,  and  were  borne  by 
it  directly  to  our  own  landing-place,  with  the  boat 
towing  behind. 

Parting  with  Mr.  Thoreau,  I spent  half  an  hour  in 
chopping  wood,  when  Molly  informed  me  that  Mr.  Em- 
erson wished  to  see  me.  He  had  brought  a letter  of 
Ellery  Channing,  written  in  a style  of  very  pleasant 
humor.  This  being  read  and  discussed,  together  with 
a few  other  matters,  he  took  his  leave,  since  which  1 
have  been  attending  to  my  journalizing  duty  ; and  thus 
this  record  is  brought  down  to  the  present  moment. 

April  25th . — Spring  is  advancing,  sometimes  with 
sunny  days,  and  sometimes,  as  is  the  case  now,  with 
chill,  moist,  sullen  ones.  There  is  an  influence  in  the 
season  that  makes  it  almost  impossible  for  me  to  bring 
my  mind  down  to  literary  employment ; perhaps  because 
several  months’  pretty  constant  work  has  exhausted 
that  species  of  energy,  — perhaps  because  in  spring  it  ia 
more  natural  to  labor  actively  than  to  think.  But  my 
impulse  now  is  to  be  idle  altogether,  — to  lie  in  the 
sun,  or  wander  about  and  look  at  the  revival  of  Nature 
from  her  deathlike  slumber,  or  to  be  borne  down  the 
current  of  the  river  in  my  boat.  If  I had  wings,  I 
would  gladly  fly ; yet  would  prefer  to  be  wafted  along 
by  a breeze,  sometimes  alighting  on  a patch  of  green 


124 


AMEKXCAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


L184& 


grass,  then  gently  whirled  away  to  a still  sunnier 

spot O,  how  blest  should  I be  were  there  nothing 

to  do ! Then  I would  watch  every  inch  and  hair’s 
breadth  of  the  progress  of  the  season  ; and  not  a leaf 
should  put  itself  forth,  in  the  vicinity  of  our  old  mansion, 
without  my  noting  it.  But  now,  with  the  burden  of  a 
continual  task  upon  me,  I have  not  freedom  of  mind  to 
make  such  observations.  I merely  see  what  is  going 
on  in  a very  general  way.  The  snow,  which,  two  or 
three  weeks  ago,  covered  hill  and  valley,  is  now  dimin- 
ished to  one  or  two  solitary  specks  in  the  visible  land- 
scape ; though  doubtless  there  are  still  heaps  of  it  in 
the  shady  places  in  the  woods.  There  have  been  no 
violent  rains  to  carry  it  off : it  has  diminished  gradually, 
inch  by  inch,  and  day  after  day ; and  I observed,  along 
the  roadside,  that  the  green  blades  of  grass  had  some- 
times sprouted  on  the  very  edge  of  the  snow-drift  the 
moment  that  the  earth  was  uncovered. 

The  pastures  and  grass-fields  have  not  yet  a general 
effect  of  green ; nor  have  they  that  cheerless  brown 
tint  which  they  wear  in  later  autumn,  when  vegetation 
has  entirely  ceased.  There  is  now  a suspicion  of  verd- 
ure,— the  faint  shadow  of  it,  — but  not  the  warm 
reality.  Sometimes,  in  a happy  exposure,  — there  is 
one  such  tract  across  the  river,  the  carefully  cultivated 
mowing-field,  in  front  of  an  old  red  homestead,  — such 
patches  of  land  wear  a beautiful  and  tender  green,  which 
no  other  season  will  equal;  because,  let  the  grass  be 
green  as  it  may  hereafter,  it  will  not  be  so  set  off  by 
surrounding  barrenness.  The  trees  in  our  orchard,  and 
elsewhere,  have  as  yet  no  leaves  ; yet  to  the  most  care- 
less eye  they  appear  full  of  life  and  vegetable  blood.  It 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOtE-ROOKS. 


125 


seems  as  if,  by  one  magic  touch,  they  might  instantane- 
ously put  forth  all  their  foliage , and  the  wind,  which 
now  sighs  through  their  naked  branches,  might  all  at 
once  find  itself  impeded  by  innumerable  leaves.  This 
sudden  development  would  be  scarcely  more  wonderful 
than  the  gleam  of  verdure  which  often  brightens,  in  a 
moment,  as  it  were,  along  the  slope  of  a bank  or  road- 
side. It  is  like  a gleam  of  sunlight.  Just  now  it  was 
brown,  like  the  rest  of  the  scenery:  look  again,  and 
there  is  an  apparition  of  green  grass.  The  Spring,  no 
doubt,  comes  onward  with  fleeter  footsteps,  because 
Winter  has  lingered  so  long  that,  at  best,  she  can  hardly 
retrieve  half  the  allotted  term  of  her  reign. 

The  river,  this  season,  has  encroached  farther  on  the 
land  than  it  has  been  known  to  do  for  twenty  years 
past.  It  has  formed  along  its  course  a succession  of 
lakes,  with  a current  through  the  midst.  My  boat  has 
lain  at  the  bottom  of  the  orchard,  in  very  convenient 
proximity  to  the  house.  It  has  borne  me  over  stone 
fences ; and,  a few  days  ago,  Ellery  Channing  and  I 
passed  through  two  rails  into  the  great  northern  road, 
along  which  we  paddled  for  some  distance.  The  trees 
have  a singular  appearance  in  the  midst  of  waters.  The 
curtailment  of  their  trunks  quite  destroys  the  proportions 
of  the  whole  tree  ; and  we  become  conscious  of  a regu- 
larity and  propriety  in  the  forms  of  Nature,  by  the 
effect  of  this  abbreviation.  The  waters  are  now  subside 
ing,  but  gradually.  Islands  become  annexed  to  the 
main-land,  and  other  islands  emerge  from  the  flood,  and 
will  soon,  likewise,  be  connected  with  the  continent. 
We  have  seen  on  a small  scale  the  process  of  the  deluge, 
and  can  now  witness  that  of  the  reappearance  of  the 
eaith. 


126 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843. 


Crows  visited  us  long  before  the  snow  was  off.  They 
seem  mostly  to  have  departed  now,  or  else  to  have  be- 
taken themselves  to  remote  depths  of  the  woods,  which 
they  haunt  all  summer  long.  Ducks  came  in  great 
numbers,  and  many  sportsmen  went  in  pursuit  of  them, 
along  the  river ; but  they  also  have  disappeared.  Gulls 
come  up  from  seaward,  and  soar  high  overhead,  flapping 
their  broad  wings  in  the  upper  sunshine.  They  are 
among  the  most  picturesque  birds  that  I am  acquainted 
with ; indeed,  quite  the  most  so,  because  the  manner  of 
their  flight  makes  them  almost  stationary  parts  of  the 
landscape.  The  imagination  has  time  to  rest  upon 
them ; they  have  not  flitted  away  in  a moment.  You 
go  up  among  the  clouds,  and  lay  hold  of  these  soaring 
gulls,  and  repose  with  them  upon  the  sustaining  atmos- 
phere. The  smaller  birds,  — the  birds  that  build  their 
nests  in  our  trees,  and  sing  for  us  at  morning-red,  — I 

will  not  describe But  I must  mention  the  great 

companies  of  blackbirds  — more  than  the  famous  u four- 
and-twenty”  who  were  baked  in  a pie  — that  congre- 
gate on  the  tops  of  contiguous  trees,  and  vociferate  with 
all  the  clamor  of  a turbulent  political  meeting.  Politics 
must  certainly  be  the  subject  of  such  a tumultuous  de- 
bate ; but  still  there  is  a melody  in  each  individual  ut- 
terance, and  a harmony  in  the  general  effect.  Mr. 
Thoreau  tells  me  that  these  noisy  assemblages  consist 
of  three  different  species  of  blackbirds ; but  I forget  the 
other  two.  Robins  have  been  long  among  us,  and 
swallows  have  more  recently  arrived. 

April  2 Qth.  — Here  is  another  misty  day,  muffling 
die  sun.  The  lilac  shrubs  under  ray  study-window  are 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


127 


almost  in  leaf.  In  two  or  three  days  more,  I may  put 
forth  my  hand  and  pluck  a green  bough.  These  lilacs 
appear  to  be  very  aged,  and  have  lost  the  luxuriant  fo- 
liage of  their  prime.  Old  age  lias  a singular  aspect  in 
lilacs,  rose-bushes,  and  other  ornamental  shrubs.  It 
seems  as  if  such  things,  as  they  grow  only  for  beauty, 
ought  to  flourish  in  immortal  youth,  or  at  least  to  die 
before  their  decrepitude.  They  are  trees  of  Paradise, 
and  therefore  not  naturally  subject  to  decay  ; but  have 
lost  their  birthright  by  being  transplanted  hither. 
There  is  a kind  of*  ludicrous  unfitness  in  the  idea  of  a 
venerable  rose-bush ; and  there  is  something  analogous 
to  this  in  human  life.  Persons  who  can  only  be  grace- 
ful and  ornamental  — who  can  give  the  world  nothing 
but  flowers  — should  die  young,  and  never  be  seen  with 
gray  hairs  and  wrinkles,  any  more  than  the  flower- 
shrubs  with  mossy  bark  and  scanty  foliage,  like  the 
lilacs  under  my  window.  Not  that  beauty  is  not  wor- 
thy of  immortality.  Nothing  else,  indeed,  is  worthy  of 
it ; and  thence,  perhaps,  the  sense  of  impropriety  when 
we  see  it  triumphed  over  by  time.  Apple-trees,  on  the 
other  hand,  grow  old  without  reproach.  Let  them  live 
as  long  as  they  may,  and  contort  themselves  in  what- 
ever fashion  they  please,  they  are  still  respectable,  even 
if  they  afford  us  only  an  apple  or  two  in  a season,  or 
none  at  all.  Human  flower-shrubs,  if  they  will  grow 
old  on  earth,  should,  beside  their  lovely  blossoms,  bear 
some  kind  of  fruit  that  will  satisfy  earthly  appetites  ; 
else  men  will  not  be  satisfied  that  the  moss  should 
gather  on  them. 

Winter  and  Spring  are  now  struggling  for  the  mas 
tery  in  my  study ' \nd  I yield  somewhat  to  each,  and 


128  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1843 

wholly  to  neither.  The  window  is  open,  and  there  is  a 
fire  in  the  stove.  The  day  when  the  window  is  first 
thrown  open  should  be  an  epoch  in  the  year;  but  I have 
forgotten  to  record  it.  Seventy  or  eighty  springs  have 
visited  this  old  house ; and  sixty  of  them  found  old  Dr. 
Ripley  here,  — not  always  old,  it  is  true,  but  gradually 
getting  wrinkles  and  gray  hairs,  and  looking  more  and 
more  the  picture  of  winter.  But  he  was  no  flower- 
shrub,  but  one  of  those  fruit-trees  or  timber-trees  that 
acquire  a grace  with  their  old  age.  Last  Spring  found 
this  house  solitary  for  the  first  time  since  it  was  built ; 
and  now  again  she  peeps  into  our  open  windows  and 
finds  new  faces  here 

It  is  remarkable  how  much  uncleanness  winter  brings 

with  it,  or  leaves  behind  it The  yard,  garden,  and 

avenue,  which  should  be  my  department,  require  a great 
amount  of  labor.  The  avenue  is  strewed  with  withered 
leaves,  — the  whole  crop,  apparently,  of  last  year,  — 
some  of  which  are  now  raked  into  heaps  ; and  we 
intend  to  make  a bonfire  of  them There  are  quan- 

tities of  decayed  branches,  which  one  tempest  after 
another  has  flung  down,  black  and  rotten.  In  the 
garden  are  the  old  cabbages  which  we  did  not  think 
worth  gathering  last  autumn,  and  the  dry  bean-vines, 
and  the  withered  stalks  of  the  asparagus-bed ; in  short, 
all  the  wrecks  of  the  departed  year,  — its  mouldering 
relics,  its  dry  bones.  It  is  a pity  that  the  world  cannot 
be  made  over  anew  every  spring.  Then,  in  the  yard, 
there  are  the  piles  of  firewood,  which  I ought  to  have 
sawed  and  thrown  into  the  shed  long  since,  but  which 
will  cumber  the  earth,  I fear,  till  June,  at  least.  Quan- 
tities of  chips  are  strewn  about,  and  on  removing  them 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


129 


we  find  the  yellow  stalks  of  grass  sprouting  underneath. 
Nature  does  her  best  to  beautify  this  disarray.  The 
grass  springs  up  most  industriously,  especially  in  shel- 
tered and  sunny  angles  of  the  buildings,  or  round  the 
doorsteps,  — a locality  which  seems  particularly  favor- 
able to  its  growth  ; for  it  is  already  high  enough  to  bend 
over  and  wave  in  the  wind.  I was  surprised  to  observe 
Xhat  some  weeds  (especially  a plant  that  stains  the  fin- 
gers with  its  yellow  juice)  had  lived,  and  retained  their 
freshness  and  sap  as  perfectly  as  in  summer,  through  all 
the  frosts  and  snows  of  last  winter.  I saw  them,  the 
last  green  thing,  in  the  autumn  ; and  here  they  are 
again,  the  first  in  the  Spring. 

Thursday , April  21th,  — I took  a walk  into  the  fields, 
and  round  our  opposite  hill,  yesterday  noon,  but  made 
no  very  remarkable  observation.  The  frogs  have  begun 
their  concerts,  though  not  as  yet  with  a full  choir.  I 
found  no  violets  nor  anemones,  nor  anything  in  the  like- 
ness of  a flower,  though  I looked  carefully  along  the 
shelter  of  the  stone  walls,  and  in  all  spots  apparently 
propitious.  I ascended  the  hill,  and  had  a wide  pros- 
pect of  a swollen  river,  extending  around  me  in  a semi- 
circle of  three  or  four  miles,  and  rendering  the  view 
much  finer  than  in  summer,  had  there  only  been  foliage. 
It  seemed  like  the  formation  of  a new  world ; for 
islands  were  everywhere  emerging,  and  capes  extending 
forth  into  the  flood;  and  these  tracts,  which  were  thus 
won  from  the  watery  empire,  were  among  the  greenest 
in  the  landscape.  The  moment  the  deluge  leaves  them, 
Nature  asserts  them  to  be  her  property  by  covering 
them  with  verdure;  or  perhaps  the  grass  had  been 


130 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843 


growing  under  the  water.  On  the  hill-top  where  1 
stood,  the  grass  had  scarcely  begun  to  sprout ; and  I 
observed  that  even  those  places  which  looked  greenest 
in  the  distance  were  but  scantily  grass-covered  when  I 
actually  reached  them.  It  was  hope  that  painted  them 
so  bright. 

Last  evening  we  saw  a bright  light  on  the  river, 
betokening  that  a boat’s  party  were  engaged  in  spear- 
ing fish.  It  looked  like  a descended  star,  — like  red 
Mars,  — and,  as  the  water  was  perfectly  smooth,  its 
gleam  was  reflected  downward  into  the  depths.  It  is  a 
very  picturesque  sight.  In  the  deep  quiet  of  the  night 
I suddenly  heard  the  light  and  lively  note  of  a bird  from 
a neighboring  tree,  — a real  song,  such  as  those  which 
greet  the  purple  dawn,  or  mingle  with  the  yellow  sun- 
shine. What  could  the  little  bird  mean  by  pouring  it 
forth  at  midnight  ? Probably  the  note  gashed  out  from 
the  midst  of  a dream,  in  which  he  fancied  himself  in 
Paradise  with  his  mate ; and,  suddenly  awaking,  he 
found  he  was  on  a cold,  leafless  bough,  with  a New 
England  mist  penetrating  through  his  feathers.  That 
was  a sad  exchange  of  imagination  for  reality ; but  if  he 
found  his  mate  be-side  him,  all  was  well. 

This  is  another  misty  morning,  ungenial  in  aspect,  but 
kinder  than  it  looks  ; for  it  paints  the  hills  and  valleys 
with  a richer  brush  than  the  sunshine  could.  There  is 
more  verdure  now  than  when  I looked  out  of  the 
window  an  hour  ago.  The  willow- tree  opposite  my 
study  window  is  ready  to  put  forth  its  leaves.  There 
are  some  objections  to  willows.  It  is  not  a dry  and 
cleanly  tree ; it  impresses  me  with  an  association  of 
eliminess ; and  no  trees,  I think,  are  perfectly  satisfac- 


IS43-J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  131 

tory,  which  have  not  a firm  and  hard  texture  of  trunk 
and  branches.  But  the  willow  is  almost  the  earliest  to 
put  forth  its  leaves,  and  the  last  to  scatter  them  on  the 
ground ; and  during  the  whole  winter  its  yellow  twigs 
give  ii  a sunny  aspect,  which  is  not  without  a cheering 
influence  in  a proper  point  of  view*  Our  old  house 
would  lose  much  were  this  willow  to  be  cut  down,  with 
its  golden  crown  over  the  roof  in  winter,  and  its  heap  of 
summer  verdure.  The  present  Mr.  Ripley  planted  it, 
fifty  years  ago,  or  thereabouts. 

Friday , June  2 d.  — Last  night  there  came  a frost, 
which  has  done  great  damage  to  my  garden.  The 
beans  have  suffered  very  much,  although,  luckily,  not 
more  than  half  that  I planted  have  come  up*  The 
squashes,  both  summer  and  winter,  appear  to  be  almost 
killed.  As  to  the  other  vegetables,  there  is  little  mis- 
chief done,  — the  potatoes  not  being  yet  above  ground, 
except  two  or  three  ; and  the  peas  and  corn  are  of  a 
hardier  nature.  It  is  sad  that  Nature  will  so  sport  with 
us  poor  mortals,  inviting  us  with  sunny  smiles  to  confide 
in  her ; and  then,  when  we  are  entirely  in  her  power, 
striking  us  to  the  heart.  Our  summer  commences  at 
the  latter  end  of  June,  and  terminates  somewhere  about 
the  first  of  August.  There  are  certainly  not  more  than 
six  weeks  of  the  whole  year  when  a frost  may  be 
deemed  anything  remarkable. 

Friday,  June  23 d.  — Summer  has  come  at  last,  — the 
longest  days,  with  blazing  sunshine,  and  fervid  heat. 
Yesterday  glowed  like  molten  brass.  Last  night  was 
She  most  uncomfortably  and  unsleepably  sultry  that  w<a 


132 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843. 


have  experienced  since  our  residence  in  Concord ; and 
to-day  it  scorches  again.  I have  a sort  of  enjoyment  in 
these  seven  times  heated  furnaces  of  midsummer,  even 
though  they  make  me  droop  like  a thirsty  plant.  The 
sunshine  can  scarcely  be  too  burning  for  my  taste  ; but 
I am  no  enemy  to  summer  showers.  Co.uld  I only  have 
the  freedom  to  be  perfectly  idle  now,  — no  duty  to  fulfil, 
no  mental  or  physical  labor  to  perform,  — I should  be 
as  happy  as  a squash,  and  much  in  the  same  mode  ; but 
the  necessity  of  keeping  my  brain  at  work  eats  into  my 
comfort,  as  the  squash-bugs  do  into  the  heart  of  the 
vines.  I keep  myself  uneasy  and  produce  little,  and 
almost  nothing  that  is  worth  producing. 

The  garden  looks  well  now  : the  potatoes  flourish ; 
the  early  corn  waves  in  the  wind ; the  squashes,  both 
for  summer  and  winter  use,  are  more  forward,  I 
suspect,  than  those  of  any  of  my  neighbors.  I am 
forced,  however,  to  carry  on  a continual  warfare  with 
the  squash-bugs,  who,  were  I to  let  them  alone  for  a 
day,  would  perhaps  quite  .destroy  the  prospects  of  the 
whole  summer.  It  is  impossible  not  to  feel  angry  with 
these  unconscionable  insects,  who  scruple  not  to  do  such 
excessive  mischief  to  me,  with  only  the  profit  of  a meal 
or  two  to  themselves.  For  their  own  sakes  they  ought 
at  least  to  wait  till  the  squashes  are  better  grown.  Why 
is  it,  I wonder,  that  Nature  has  provided  such  a host  of 
enemies  for  every  useful  esculent,  while  the  weeds  are 
suffered  to  grow  unmolested,  and  are  provided  with  such 
tenacity  of  life,  and  such  methods  of  propagation,  that 
the  gardener  must  maintain  a continual  struggle  or  they 
will  hopelessly  overwhelm  him  ? What  hidden  virtu# 
is  in  these  things,  that  it  is  granted  them  to  sow  them 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


133 


selves  with  the  wind,  and  to  grapple  the  earth  with  this 
immitigable  stubbornness,  and  to  flourish  in  spite  of 
obstacles,  and  never  to  suffer  blight  beneath  any  sun  or 
shade,  but  always  to  mock  their  enemies  with  the  same 
wicked  luxuriance  ? It  is  truly  a mystery,  and  also  a 
symbol.  There  is  a sort  of  sacredness  about  them. 
Perhaps,  if  we  could  penetrate  Nature’s  secrets,  we 
should  find  that  what  we  call  weeds  are  more  essential 
to  the  well-being  of  the  world  than  the  most  precious 
fruit  or  grain.  This  may  be  doubted,  however,  for  there 
is  an  unmistakable  analogy  between  these  wicked  weeds 
and  the  bad  habits  and  sinful  propensities  which  have 
overrun  the  moral  world  ; and  we  may  as  well  imagine 
that  there  is  good  in  one  as  in  the  other. 

Our  peas  are  in  such  forwardness  that  I should  not 
wonder  if  we  had  some  of  them  on  the  table  within  a 
week.  The  beans  have  come  up  ill,  and  I planted  a 
fresh  supply  only  the  day  before  yesterday.  We  have 
watermelons  in  good  advancement,  and  muskmelons 
also  within  three  or  four  days.  I set  out  some  tomatoes 
last  night,  also  some  capers.  It  is  my  purpose  to  plant 
some  more  corn  at  the  end  of  the  month,  or  sooner. 
There  ought  to  be  a record  of  the  flower-garden,  and  of 
the  procession  of  the  wild-flowers,  as  minute,  at  least,  as 
of  the  kitchen  vegetables  and  pot-herbs.  Above  all,  the 
noting  of  the  appearance  of  the  first  roses  should  not  be 
v omitted ; nor  of  the  Arethusa,  one  of  the  delicatest, 
gracefullest,  and  in  every  manner  sweetest  of  the  whole 
race  of  flowers.  For  a fortnight  past  I have  found  it  in 
the  swampy  meadows,  growing  up  to  its  chin  in  heaps 
of  wet  moss.  Its  hue  is  a delicate  pink,  of  various 
depths  of  shade,  and  somewhat  in  the  form  of  a Grecian 


134 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843. 


helmet  To  describe  it  is  a feat  beyond  my  power.  Al- 
so the  visit  of  two  friends,  who  may  fitly  enough  be 
mentioned  among  flowers,  ought  to  have  been  described. 

Mrs.  F.  S and  Miss  A.  S . Also  I have 

neglected  to  mention  the  birth  of  a little  white  dove. 

I never  observed,  until  the  present  season,  how  long 
and  late  the  twilight  lingers  in  these  longest  days.  The 
orange  hue  of  the  western  horizon  remains  till  ten 
o’clock,  at  least,  and  how  much  later  I am  unable  to 
say.  The  night  before  last,  I could  distinguish  letters 
by  this  lingering  gleam  between  nine  and  ten  o’clock. 
The  dawn,  I suppose,  shows  itself  as  early  as  two  o’clock, 
so  that  the  absolute  dominion  of  night  has  dwindled  to 
almost  nothing.  There  seems  to  be  also  a diminished 
necessity,  or,  at  all  events,  a much  less  possibility,  of 
ileep  than  at  other  periods  of  the  year.  I get  scarcely 
any  sound  repose  just  now.  It  is  summer,  and  not  win- 
ter, that  steals  away  mortal  life.  Well,  we  get  the 
value  of  what  is  taken  from  us. 

Saturday , July  ls$.  — We  had  our  first  dish  of  green 
peas  (a  very  smairone)  yesterday.  Every  day  for  the 
last  week  has  been  tremendously  hot ; and  our  garden 
flourishes  like  Eden  itself,  only  Adam  could  hardly  have 
been  doomed  to  contend  with  such  a ferocious  banditti 
of  weeds. 

Sunday , July  9th.  — I know  not  what  to  say,  and  yet 
cannot  be  satisfied  without  marking  with  a word  or  two 
this  anniversary.  ....  But  life  now  swells  and  heaves 
beneath  me  like  a brim-full  ocean  ; and  the  endeavor  to 
comprise  any  portion  of  it  in  words  is  like  trying  to  dip 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


135 


1343.  ”1 

up  the  ocean  in  a goblet God  bless  and  keep  us  ! for 

there  is  something  more  awful  in  happiness  than  in  sor- 
row, — the  latter  being  earthly  and  finite,  the  former 
composed  of  the  substance  and  texture  of  eternity,  so 
that  spirits  still  embodied  may  well  tremble  at  it. 

July  18 th.  — This  morning  I gathered  our  first  sum- 
mer-squashes. We  should  have  had  them  some  days 
earlier,  but  for  the  loss  of  two  of  the  vines,  either  by  a 
disease  of  the  roots  or  by  those  infernal  bugs.  We  have 
had  turnips  and  carrots  several  times.  Currants  are 
now  ripe,  and  we  are  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  cherries, 
which  turn  out  much  more  delectable  than  I anticipated. 
George  Hillard  and  Mrs.  Hillard  paid  us  a visit  on 
Saturday  last.  On  Monday  afternoon  he  left  us,  and 
Mrs.  Hillard  still  remains  here. 

Friday , July  28th.  — We  had  green  corn  for  dinner 
yesterday,  and  shall  have  some  more  to-day,  not  quite 
full  grown,  but  sufficiently  so  to  be  palatable.  There 
has  been  no  rain,  except  one  moderate  shower,  for  many 
weeks ; and  the  earth  appears  to  be  wasting  away  in  a 
slow  fever.  This  weather,  I think,  affects  the  spirits 
very  unfavorably.  There  is  an  irksomeness,  a restless- 
ness, a pervading  dissatisfaction,  together  with  an  abso- 
lute incapacity  to  bend  the  mind  to  any  serious  effort. 
With  me,  as  regards  literary  production,  the  summer 
has  been  unprofitable  ; and  I only  hope  that  my  forces 
are  recruiting  themselves  for  the  autumn  and  winter., 
For  the  future,  I shall  endeavor  to  be  so  diligent  nine 
months  of  the  year  that  I may  allow  myself  a full  and 
tree  vacation  of  the  other  three. 


136 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1843 


Monday , July  3!s£.  — We  had  our  first  cucumber  yes* 
lerday.  There  were  symptoms  of  rain  on  Saturday, 
and  the  weather  has  since  been  as  moist  as  the  thirstiest 
soul  could  desire. 

Wednesday , September  13 th.  — There  was  a frost  the 
night  before  last,  according  to  George  Prescott ; but  no 
effects  of  it  were  visible  in  our  garden.  Last  night, 
however,  there  was  another,  which  has  nipped  the  leaves 
of  the  winter-squashes  and  cucumbers,  but  seems  to  have 
done  no  other  damage.  This  is  a beautiful  morning, 
and  promises  to  be  one  of  those  heavenly  days  that  ren- 
der autumn,  after  all,  the  most  delightful  season  of  the 
year.  We  mean  to  make  a voyage  on  the  river  this 
afternoon. 

Sunday , September  23 d.  — I have  gathered  the  two 
last  of  our  summer-squashes  to-day.  They  have  lasted 
ever  since  the  18th  of  July,  and  have  numbered  fifty- 
eight  edible  ones,  of  excellent  quality.  Last  Wednes- 
day, I think,  I harvested  our  winter  squashes,  sixty- 
three  in  number,  and  mostly  of  fine  size.  Our  last  series 
of  green  corn,  planted  about  the  1st  of  July,  was  good 
for  eating  two  or  three  days  ago.  We  still  have  beans  ; 
and  our  tomatoes,  though  backward,  supply  us  with  a 
dish  every  day  or  two.  My  potato-crop  promises  well ; 
and,  on  the  whole,  my  first  independent  experiment  of 
agriculture  is  quite  a successful  one. 

This  is  a glorious  day,  — bright,  very  warm,  yet  with 
an  unspeakable  gentleness  both  in  its  warmth  and  bright- 
ness. On  such  days  it  is  impossible  not  to  love  Nature, 
for  she  evidently  loves  us.  At  other  seasons  she  doea 


I $43.]  . AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  137 

not  give  me  this  impression,  or  only  at  very  rare  inter- 
vals ; but  in  these  happy,  autumnal  days,  when  she  has 
perfected  the  harvests,  and  accomplished  every  necessary 
thing  that  she  had  to  do,  she  overflows  with  a blessed 
superfluity  of  love.  It  is  good  to  be  alive  now.  Thank 
God  for  breath,  — yes,  for  mere  breath ! when  it  is  made 
up  of  such  a heavenly  breeze  as  this.  It  comes  to  the 
cheek  with  a real  kiss ; it  would  linger  fondly  around 
us,  if  it  might ; but,  since  it  must  be  gone,  it  caresses  us 
with  its  whole  kindly  heart,  and  passes  onward,  to  caress 
likewise  the  next  thing  that  it  meets.  There  is  a per- 
vading blessing  diffused  over  all  the  world.  I look  out 
of  the  window  and  think,  “ O perfect  day  ! 0 beautiful 

world  ! O good  God  ! ” And  such  a day  is  the  prom- 
ise of  a blissful  eternity.  Our  Creator  would  never 
have  made  such  weather,  and  given  us  the  deep  heart 
to  enjoy  it,  above  and  beyond  all  thought,  if  He  had  not 
meant  us  to  be  immortal.  It  opens  the  gates  of  heaven, 
and  gives  us  glimpses  far  inward. 

Bless  me  ! this  flight  has  carried  me  a great  way ; so 
now  let  me  come  back  to  our  old  abbey.  Our  orchard 
is  fast  ripening  ; and  the  apples  and  great,  thumping 
pears  strew  the  grass  in  such  abundance  that  it  becomes 
almost  a trouble  — though  a pleasant  one  — to  gather 
them.  This  happy  breeze,  too,  shakes  them  down,  as 
if  it  flung  fruit  to  us  out  of  the  sky ; and  often,  when 
the  air  is  perfectly  still,  I hear  the  quiet  fall  of  a great 
apple.  Well,  we  are  rich  in  blessings,  though  poor  in 
money 

Friday , October  6th.  — Yesterday  afternoon  I took  a 
solitary  walk  to  Walden  Pond.  It  was  a cool,  windy 


138  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1843 

day,  with  heavy  clouds  rolling  and  tumbling  about  the 
6ky,  but  still  a prevalence  of  genial  autumn  sunshine. 
The  fields  are  still  green,  and  the  great  masses  of  the 
woods  have  not  yet  assumed  their  many-colored  gar- 
ments ; but  here  and  there  are  solitary  oaks  of  deep, 
substantial  red,  or  maples  of  a more  brilliant  hue,  or 
chestnuts  either  yellow  or  of  a tenderer  green  than  in 
summer.  Some  trees  seem  to  return  to  their  hue  of 
May  or  early  June  before  they  put  on  the  brighter 
autumnal  tints.  In  some  places,  along  the  borders  of 
low  and  moist  land,  a whole  range  of  trees  were  clothed 
in  the  perfect  gorgeousness  of  autumn,  of  all  shades  of 
brilliant  color,  looking  like  the  palette  on  which  Nature 
was  arranging  the  tints  wherewith  to  paint  a picture. 
These  hues  appeared  to  be  thrown  together  without 
design ; and  yet  there  was  perfect  harmony  among 
them,  and  a softness  and  a delicacy  made  up  of  a thou- 
sand different  brightnesses.  There  is  not,  I think,  so 
much  contrast  among  these  colors  as  might  at  first  ap- 
pear. The  more  you  consider  them,  the  more  they 
seem  to  have  one  element  among  them  all,  which  is  the 
reason  that  the  most  brilliant  display  of  them  soothes 
the  observer,  instead  of  exciting  him.  And  I know  not 
whether  it  be  more  a moral  effect  or  a physical  one, 
operating  merely  on  the  eye ; but  it  is  a pensive  gayety 
which  causes  a §igh  often,  and  nevei  a smile.  We 
never  fancy,  for  instance,  that  these  gayly-clad  trees 
might  be  changed  into  young  damsels  in  holiday  attire, 
and  betake  themselves  to  dancing  on  the  plain.  If  they 
were  to  undergo  such  a transformation,  they  would 
surely  arrange  themselves  in  funeral  procession,  and  go 
sadly  along,  with  their  purple  and  scarlet  and  golden 


1843.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


139 


garments  trailing  over  the  withering  grass.  When  the 
sunshine  falls  upon  them,  they  seem  to  smile  ; but  it  is 
as  if  they  were  heart-broken.  But  it  is  in  vain  for  me 
to  attempt  to  describe  these  autumnal  brilliancies,  or  to 
convey  the  impression  which  they  make  on  me.  I have 
tried  a thousand  times,  and  always  without  the  slightest 
self-satisfaction.  Fortunately  there  is  no  need  of  such 
a record,  for  Nature  renews  the  picture  year  after  year; 
and  even  when  we  shall  have  passed  away  from  the 
world,  we  can  spiritually  create  these  scenes,  so  that  we 
may  dispense  with  all  efforts  to  put  them  into  words. 

Walden  Pond  was  clear  and  beautiful  as  usual.  It 
tempted  me  to  bathe ; and,  though  the  water  was  thrill- 
ingly  cold,  it  was  like  the  thrill  of  a happy  death. 
Never  was  there  such  transparent  water  as  this.  I 
threw  sticks  into  it,  and  saw  them  float  suspended  on  an 
almost  invisible  medium.  It  seemed  as  if  the  pure  air 
were  beneath  them,  as  well  as  above.  It  is  fit  for  bap- 
tisms ; but  one  would  not  wish  it  to  be  polluted  by 
having  sins  washed  into  it.  None  but  angels  should 
bathe  in  it;  but  blessed  babies  might  be  dipped  into 
its  bosom. 

In  a small  and  secluded  dell  that  opens  upon  the  most 
beautiful  cove  of  the  whole  lake,  there  is  a little  hamlet 
of  huts  or  shanties,  inhabited  by  the  Irish  people  who 
are  at  work  upon  the  railroad.  There  are  three  or  four 
of  these  habitations,  the  very  rudest,  I should  imagine, 
that  civilized  men  ever  made  for  themselves,  — con- 
structed of  rough  boards,  with  the  protruding  ends. 
Against  some  of  them  the  earth  is  heaped  up  to  the 
roof,  or  nearly  so ; and  when  the  grass  has  had  timo  to 
sprout  upon  them,  they  will  look  like  small  natural  hi}* 


140  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1343, 

locks,  or  a species  of  ant-hills,  — something  in  which 
Nature  has  a larger  share  than  man.  These  huts  are 
placed  beneath  the  trees,  oaks,.  walnuts,  and  white-pines* 
wherever  the  trunks  give  them  space  to  stand  ; and  by 
thus  adapting  themselves  to  natural  interstices,  instead 
of  making  new  ones,  they  do  not  break  or  disturb  the 
solitude  and  seclusion  of  the  place.  Voices  are  heard, 
and  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  children,  who  play  about 
like  the  sunbeams  that  come  down  through  the  branches. 
Women  are  washing  in  open  spaces,  and  long  lines  of 
whitened  clothes  are  extended  from  tree  to  tree,  flutter- 
ing and  gambolling  in  the  breeze.  A pig,  in  a sty  even 
more  extemporary  than  the  shanties,  is  grunting  and 
poking  his  snout  through  the  clefts  of  his  habitation 
The  household  pots  and  kettles  are  seen  at  the  doors ; 
and  a glance  within  shows  the  rough  benches  that  serve 
for  chairs,  and  the  bed  upon  the  floor.  The  visitor’s 
nose  takes  note  of  the  fragrance  of  a pipe.  And  yet, 
with  all  these  homely  items,  the  repose  and  sanctity  of 
the  old  wood  do  not  seem  to  be  destroyed  or  profaned. 
It  overshadows  these  poor  people,  and  assimilates  them 
somehow  or  other  to  the  character  of  its  natural  inhab- 
itants. Their  presence  did  not  shock  me  any  more  than 
if  I had  merely  discovered  a squirrel’s  nest  in  a tree. 
To  be  sure,  it  is  a torment  to  see  the  great,  high,  ugly 
embankment  of  the  railroad,  which  is  here  thrusting  it- 
self into  the  lake,  or  along  its  margin,  in  close  vicinity 
to  this  picturesque  little  hamlet.  I have  seldom  seen 
anything  more  beautiful  than  the  cove  on  the  border  of 
which  the  huts  are  situated  ; and  the  more  I looked,  the 
lovelier  it  grew.  The  trees  overshadowed  it  deeply; 
but  on  one  side  there  was  some  brilliant  shrubbery 


1844.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE -BOOKS. 


141 


which  seemed  to  light  up  the  whole  picture  with  the 
effect  of  a sweet  and  melancholy  smile.  I felt  as  if 
spirits  were  there,  — or  as  if  these  shrubs  had  a spirit- 
ual life.  In  short,  the  impression  was  indefinable  ; and, 
after  gazing  and  musing  a good  while,  I retraced  my 
steps  through  the  Irish  hamlet,  and  plodded  on  along  a 
wood-path. 

According  to  my  invariable  custom,  I mistook  my 
way,  and,  emerging  upon  the  road,  I turned  my  back 
instead  of  my  face  towards  Concord,  and  walked  on 
very  diligently  till  a guide-board  informed  me  of  my 
mistake.  I then  turned  about,  and  was  shortly  over- 
taken by  an  old  yeoman  in  a chaise,  who  kindly  offered 
me  a drive,  and  soon  set  me  down  in  the  village 


[extracts  from  letters.] 

May  27 'th,  1844.  — ....  My  cook  fills  his  office  admira- 
bly. He  prepared  what  I must  acknowledge  to  be  the 
best  dish  of  fried  fish  and  potatoes  for  dinner  to-day  that  1 
ever  tasted  in  this  house.  I scarcely  recognized  the  fish 
of  our  own  river.  I make  him  get  all  the  dinners,  while 
I confine  myself  to  the  much  lighter  task  of  breakfast 
and  tea.  He  also  takes  his  turn  in  washing  the  dishes. 

We  had  a very  pleasant  dinner  at  Longfellow’s,  and 
I liked  Mrs.  Longfellow  very  much.  The  dinner  was 

late  and  we  sat  long ; so  that  C and  I did  not  get 

to  Concord  till  half  past  nine  o’clock,  and  truly  the  old 
Manse  seemed  somewhat  dark  and  desolate.  The  next 
morning  George  Prescott  came  with  Una’s  Lion,  who 
greeted  me  very  affectionately,  but  whined  and  moaned 


142  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l£14 

as  if  he  missed  somebody  who  should  have  been  here. 
I am  not  quite  so  strict  as  I should  be  in  keeping  him 
out  of  the  house  ; but  I commiserate  him  and  myself 

for  are  we  not  both  of  us  bereaved  ? C , whom  I 

can  no  more  keep  from  smoking  than  I could  the  kitchen 
chimney,  has  just  come  into  the  study  with  a cigar,  which 
might  perfume  this  letter  and  make  you  think  it  came 
from  my  own  enormity,  so  I may  as  well  stop  here. 

May  29th.  — C- — — is  leaving  me,  to  my  unspeakable 
relief ; for  he  has  had  a bad  cold,  which  caused  him  to 
be  much  more  troublesome  and  less  amusing  than  might 
otherwise  have  been  the  case. 

May  31^. — . ...  I get  along  admirably,  and 
am  at  this  moment  superintending  the  corned  beef,  which 
has  been  on  the  fire,  as  it  appears  to  me,  ever  since  the 
beginning  of  time,  and  shows  no  symptom  of  being  done 
before  the  crack  of  doom.  Mrs.  Hale  says  it  must  boil 
till  it  becomes  tender  ; and  so  it  shall,  if  I can  find  wood 
to  keep  the  fire  a-going. 

Meantime,  I keep  my  station  in  the  dining-room,  and 
read  or  write  as  composedly  as  in  my  own  study.  Just 
now,  there  came  a very  important  rap  at  the  front  door, 
and  I threw  down  a smoked  herring  which  I had  begun 
to  eat,  as  there  is  no  hope  of  the  corned  beef  to-day,  and 
went  to  admit  the  visitor.  Who  should  it  be  but  Ben 

B , with  a very  peculiar  and  mysterious  grin  upon 

his  face!  He  put  into  my  hand  a missive  directed  to 
“ Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hawthorne.”  It  contained  a little  bit 

of  card,  signifying  that  Dr.  L.  F — — and  Miss  C.  B 

receive  their  friends  Thursday  eve,  June  6.  I arq 


1844.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


148 


afraid  I shall  be  too  busy  washing  my  dishes  to  pay 
many  visits.  The  washing  of  dishes  does  seem  to  me 
the  most  absurd  and  unsatisfactory  business  that  I ever 
undertook.  If,  when  once  washed,  they  would  remain 
clean  for  ever  and  ever  (which  they  ought  in  all  reason 
to  do,  considering  how  much  trouble  it  is),  there  would 
be  less  occasion  to  grumble ; but  no  sooner  is  it  done, 
than  it  requires  to  be  done  again.  On  the  whole,  I have 
come  to  the  resolution  not  to  use  more  than  one  dish  at 
each  meal.  However,  I moralize  deeply  on  this  and 
other  matters,  and  have  discovered  that  all  the  trouble 
and  affliction  in  the  world  come  from  the  necessity  of 
cleansing  away  our  earthly  stains. 

I ate  the  last  morsel  of  bread  yesterday,  and  congrat- 
ulate myself  on  being  now  reduced  to  the  fag-end  of 
necessity.  Nothing  worse  can  happen,  according  to  or- 
dinary modes  of  thinking,  than  to  want  bread  ; but,  like 
most  afflictions,  it  is  more  in  prospect  than  reality.  I 
found  one  cracker  in  the  tureen,  and  exulted  over  it  as 
if  it  had  been  so  much  gold.  However,  I have  sent  a 

petition  to  Mrs.  P stating  my  destitute  condition,  and 

imploring  her  succor ; and,  till  it  arrive,  I shall  keep 
myself  alive  on  herrings  and  apples,  together  with  part 
of  a pint  of  milk,  which  I share  with  Leo.  He  is  my 
great  trouble  now,  though  an  excellent  companion  too. 
But  it  is  not  easy  to  find  food  for  him,  unless  I give 
him  what  is  fit  for  Christians,  — though,  for  that  mat- 
er, he  appears  to  be  as  good  a Christian  as  most  lay- 
men, or  even  as  some  of  the  clergy.  I fried  some  pouts 
and  eels,  yesterday,  on  purpose  for  him,  for  he  does  not 
like  raw  fish.  They  were  very  good,  but  I should  hard- 
ly have  taken  the  trouble  on  my  own  account. 


144  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  fl344. 

George  P has  just  come  to  say  that  Mrs.  P 

has  no  bread  at  present,  and  is  gone  away  this  afternoon, 
but  that  she  will  send  me  some  to-morrow.  I mean  to 

have  a regular  supply  from  the  same  source You 

cannot  imagine  how  much  the  presence  of  Leo  relieves 
the  feeling  of  perfect  loneliness.  He  insists  upon  being 
in  the  room  with  me  all  the  time,  except  at  night,  when 
he  sleeps  in  the  shed,  and  I do  not  find  myself  severe 
enough  to  drive  him  out.  He  accompanies  me  likewise 
in  all  my  walks  to  the  village  and  elsewhere ; and,  in 
short,  keeps  at  my  heels  all  the  time,  except  when  I go 
down  cellar.  Then  he  stands  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  howls,  as  if  he  never  expected  to  see  me  again. 
He  is  evidently  impressed  with  the  present  solitude  of 
our  old  abbey,  both  on  his  own  account  and  mine,  and 
feels  that  he  may  assume  a greater  degree  of  intimacy 
than  would  be  otherwise  allowable.  He  will  be  easily 
brought  within  the  old  regulations  after  your  return. 

P.  S.  3 o’clock.  — The  beef  is  done  ! ! ! 

Concord . The  old  Manse . April  2 d.  — ....  Every- 
thing goes  on  well  with  me.  At  the  time  of  writing 
my  last  letter,  I was  without  bread.  Well,  just  at  sup- 
per-time came  Mrs.  B with  a large  covered  dish, 

which  proved  to  contain  a quantity  of  specially  good 
flapjacks,  piping  hot,  prepared,  I suppose,  by  the  fair 

hands  of  Miss  Martha  or  Miss  Abby,  for  Mrs.  P 

was  not  at  home.  They  served  me  both  for  supper 
and  breakfast ; and  I thanked  Providence  and  the 
young  ladies,  and  compared  myself  to  the  prophet  fed  by 
ravens,  — though  the  simile  does  rather  more  than  jus- 
tice to  myself,  and  not  enough  to  the  generous  donors 


1844.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


145 


of  the  flapjacks.  The  next  morning,  Mrs.  P herself 

brought  two  big  loaves  of  bread,  which  will  last  me  a 
week,  unless  I have  some  guests  to  provide  for.  I have 
likewise  found  a hoard  of  crackers  in  one  of  the  covered 
dishes ; so  that  the  old  castle  is  sufficiently  provisioned 
to  stand  a long  siege.  The  corned  beef  is  exquisitely 
done,  and  as  tender  as  a young  lady’s  heart,  all  owing 
to  my  skilful  cookery ; for  I consulted  Mrs.  Hale  at 
every  step,  and  precisely  followed  her  directions.  To 
say  the  truth,  I look  upon  it  as  such  a masterpiece  in 
its  way,  that  it  seems  irreverential  to  eat  it.  Things  on 
which  so  much  thought  and  labor  are  bestowed  should 

surely  be  immortal Leo  and  I attended  divine 

services  this  morning  in  a temple  not  made  with  hands. 
We  went  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  Peter’s  path,  and 
there  lay  together  under  an  oak,  on  the  verge  of  the 
broad  meadow. 

Salem , April  14 th,  1844.  — . ...  I went  to  George 
Hillard’s  office,  and  he  spoke  with  immitigable  resolution 
of  the  necessity  of  my  going  to  dine  with  Longfellow 
before  returning  to  Concord ; but  I have  an  almost 
miraculous  power  of  escaping  from  necessities  of  this 
kind.  Destiny  itself  has  often  been  worsted  in  the  at- 
tempt to  get  me  out  to  dinner.  Possibly,  however,  I may 
go.  Afterwards  I called  on  Colonel  Hall,  who  held  me 
long  in  talk  about  politics  and  other  sweetmeats.  Then 
I stepped  into  a book  auction,  not  to  buy,  but  merely 
to  observe,  and,  after  a few  moments,  who  should  come 
in,  with  a smile  as  sweet  as  sugar  (though  savoring 
rather  of  molasses),  but,  to  my  horror  and  petrifaction, 
• — — ! I anticipated  a great  deal  of  bore  and 


VOL.  II. 


146 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1844. 


botheration ; but,  through  Heaven’s  mercy,  he  merely 
spoke  a few  words,  and  left  me.  This  is  so  unlike  his 
deportment  in  times  past,  that  I suspect  “ The  Celestial 
Kailroad  ” must  have  given  him  a pique ; and,  if  so,  I 
shall  feet  as  if  Providence  had  sufficiently  rewarded  me 
for  that  pious  labor. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  I encountered  Mr. 
Howes  in  the  street.  He  looked  most  exceedingly  de- 
pressed, and,  pressing  my  hand  with  peculiar  emphasis, 
said  that  he  was  in  great  affliction,  having  just  heard  of 
his  son  George’s  death  in  Cuba.  He  seemed  encom- 
passed and  overwhelmed  by  this  misfortune,  and  walks 
the  street  as  in  a heavy  cloud  of  his  own  grief,  forth  from 
which  he  extended  his  hand  to  meet  my  grasp.  I ex- 
pressed my  sympathy,  which  I told  him  I was  now  the 
more  capable  of  feeling  in  a father’s  suffering,  as  being 
myself  the  father  of  a little  girl,  — and,  indeed,  the  being 
a parent  does  give  one  the  freedom  of  a wider  range  of 
sorrow  as  well  as  of  happiness.  He  again  pressed  my 
hand,  and  left  me 

When  I got  to  Salem,  there  was  great  joy,  as  you 

may  suppose Mother  hinted  an  apprehension 

that  poor  baby  would  be  spoilt,  whereupon  I irreverently 
observed  that,  having  spoiled  her  own  three  children,  it 
was  natural  for  her  to  suppose  that  all  other  parents 
would  do  the  same ; when  she  averred  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  spoil  such  children  as  E and  I,  because 

she  had  never  been  able  to  do  anything  with  us I 

could  hardly  convince  them  that  Una  had  begun  to 
smile  so  soon.  It  surprised  my  mother,  though  her  own 
children  appear  to  have  been  bright  specimens  of  baby- 
hood. E could  walk  and  talk  at  nine  months  old 


1844.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  147 

I do  not  understand  that  I was  quite  such  a miracle  of 
precocity,  but  should  think  it  not  impossible,  inasmuch 
as  precocious  boys  are  said  to  make  stupid  men. 

Concord , June  fttk.  — . . . . Mr.  F arrived  yes- 

terday,  and  appeared  to  be  in  most  excellent  health,  and 
as  happy  as  the  sunshine.  About  the  first  thing  he  did 
was  to  wash  the  dishes ; and  he  is  really  indefatigable 
in  the  kitchen,  so  that  I am  quite  a gentleman  of  leisure. 
Previous  to  his  arrival,  I had  kindled  no  fire  for  four 
entire  days,  and  had  lived  all  that  time  on  the  corned 
beef,  except  one  day,  when  Ellery  and  I went  down 
the  river  on  a fishing  excursion.  Yesterday,  we  boiled 
some  lamb,  which  we  shall  have  cold  for  dinner  to-day. 

This  morning,  Mr.  F fried  a sumptuous  dish  of 

eels  for  breakfast.  Mrs.  P continues  to  be  the  in* 

strument  of  Providence,  and  yesterday  sent  us  a very 
nice  plum-pudding. 

I have  told  Mr.  F — — that  I shall  be  engaged  in  the 
forenoons,  and  he  is  to  manage  his  own  occupations  and 
amusements  during  that  time 

Leo,  I regret  to  say,  has  fallen  under  suspicion  of  a 
very  great  crime,  — nothing  less  than  murder, — a fowl 
crime  it  may  well  be  called,  for  it  is  the  slaughter  of 
one  of  Mr.  Hayward’s  hens.  He  has  been  seen  to 
chase  the  hens,  several  times,  and  the  other  day  one  of 
them  was  found  dead.  Possibly  he  may  be  innocent, 
and,  as  there  is  nothing  but  circumstantial  evidence,  it 
must  be  left  with  his  own  conscience. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Hayward,  or  somebody  else,  seems  to 
have  given  him  such  a whipping  that  he  \s  absolutely 
stiff,  and  walks  about  like  a rheumatic  old  gentleman* 


148 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1844. 


I am  afraid,  too,  that  he  is  an  incorrigible  thief.  Ellery 
says  he  has  seen  him  coming  up  the  avenue  with  a 
calPs  whole  head  in  his  mouth.  How  he  came  by  it 
is  best  known  to  Leo  himself.  If  he  were  a dog  of 
fair  character,  it  would  be  no  more  than  charity  to  con- 
clude that  he  had  either  bought  it,  or  had  it  given  to 
him  ; but  with  the  other  charges  against  him,  it  inclines 
me  to  great  distrust  of  his  moral  principles.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  he  managed  his  stock  of  provisions  very  thriftily, 
* — burying  it  in  the  earth,  and  eating  a portion  of  it 
whenever  he  felt  an  appetite.  If  he  insists  upon  living 
by  highway  robbery,  it  would  be  well  to  make  him 
share  his  booty  with  us 

June  10th.  — ....  Mr.  F is  in  perfect  health, 

and  absolutely  in  the  seventh  heaven,  and  he  talks 
and  talks  and  talks  and  talks ; and  I listen  and  listen 
and  listen  with  a patience  for  which,  in  spite  of  all 
my  sins,  I firmly  expect  to  be  admitted  to  the  man- 
sions of  the  blessed.  And  there  is  really  a content- 
ment in  being  able  to  make  this  poor,  world- worn, 
hopeless,  half-crazy  man  so  entirely  comfortable  as  he 
seems  to  be  here.  He  is  an  admirable  cook.  We 
had  some  roast  veal  and  a baked  rice-pudding  on 
Sunday,  really  a fine  dinner,  and  cooked  in  better  style 
than  Mary  can  equal ; and  George  Curtis  came  to  dine 
with  us.  Like  all  male  cooks,  he  is  rather  expensive, 
and  has  a tendency  to  the  consumption  of  eggs  in  his 

various  concoctions I have  had  my  dreams  ol 

splendor ; but  never  expected  to  arrive  at  the  dignity 
of  keeping  a man-cook.  At  first  we  had  three  mealr 
r day  but  now  only  two 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


149 


/ebO.J 

We  dined  at  Mr.  Emerson’s  the  other  day,  in  com- 
pany with  Mr.  Hedge.  Mr.  Bradford  has  been  to  seo 

us  two  or  three  times He  looks  thinner  than 

ever. 


[PASSAGES  FROM  NOTE-BOOKS.] 

May  5tk , 1850.  — I left  Portsmouth  last  Wednesday, 
at  the  quarter  past  twelve,  by  the  Concord  Railroad,  which 
at  Newcastle  unites  with  the  Boston  and  Maine  Railroad 
about  ten  miles  from  Portsmouth.  The  station  at 
Newcastle  is  a small  wooden  building,  with  one  railroad 
passing  on  one  side,  and  another  on  another,  and  the  two 
crossing  each  other  at  right  angles.  At  a little  distance 
stands  a black,  large,  old,  wooden  church,  with  a square 
tower,  and  broken  windows,  and  a great  rift  through  the 
middle  of  the  roof,  all  in  a stage  of  dismal  ruin  and 
decay.  A farm-house  of  the  old  style,  with  a long 
sloping  roof,  and  as  black  as  the  church,  stands  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road,  with  its  barns ; and  these  are 
all  the  buildings  in  sight  of  the  railroad  station.  On 
the  Concord  rail,  in  the  train  of  cars,  with  the  locomo- 
tive puffing,  and  blowing  off  its  steam,  and  making  ? 
great  bluster  in  that  lonely  place,  while  along  the  other 
railroad  stretches  the  desolate  track,  with  the  withered 
weeds  growing  up  betwixt  the  two  lines  of  iron,  all  so 
desolate.  And  anon  you  hear  a low  thunder  running 
along  these  iron  rails  ; it  grows  louder  ; an  object  is 
seen  afar  off ; it  approaches  rapidly,  and  comes  down 
upon  you  like  fate,  swift  and  inevitable.  In  a moment, 
it  dashes  along  in  front  of  the  station-house,  and  comes 
to  a pause,  the  locomotive  hissing  and  fuming  in  itf 


150  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1858 

eagerness  to  go  on.  How  much  life  has  come  at  once  inU 
this  lonely  place  ! Four  or  five  long  cars,  each,  perhaps, 
with  fifty  people  in  it,  reading  newspapers,  reading 
pamphlet  novels,  chattering,  sleeping;  all  this  vision  of 
passing  life!  A moment  passes,  while  the  luggage- 
men  are  putting  on  the  trunks  and  packages ; then  the 
bell  strikes  a few  times,  and  away  goes  the  train  again, 
quickly  out  of  sight  of  those  who  remain  behind,  while 
a solitude  of  hours  again  broods  over  the  station-house, 
which,  for  an  instant,  has  thus  been  put  in  communica- 
tion with  far-off  cities,  and  then  remains  by  itself,  with 
the  old,  black,  ruinous  church,  and  the  black  old  farm- 
house, both  built  years  and  years  ago,  before  railroads 
were  ever  dreamed  of.  Meantime,  the  passenger,  step- 
ping from  the  solitary  station  into  the  train,  finds  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  a new  world  all  in  a moment. 
He  rushes  out  of  the  solitude  into  a village ; thence, 
through  woods  and  hills,  into  a large  inland  town ; 
beside  the  Merrimack,  which  has  overflowed  its  banks, 
and  eddies  along,  turbid  as  a vast  mud-puddle,  some 
times  almost  laving  the  doorstep  of  a house,  and  with 
trees  standing  in  the  flood  half-way  up  their  trunks. 
Boys,  with  newspapers  to  sell,  or  apples  and  lozenges ; 
many  passengers  departing  and  entering,  at  each  new 
station  ; the  more  permanent  passenger,  with  his  check 
or  ticket  stuck  in  his  hat-band,  where  the  conductor 
may  see  it.  A party  of  girls,  playing  at  ball  with  a 
young  man.  Altogether  it  is  a scene  of  stirring  life, 
with  which  a person  who  had  been  waiting  long  for  the 
train  to  come  might  find  it  difficult  at  once  to  amal- 
gamate himself. 

It  is  a sombre,  brooding  day,  and  begins  to  rain  as 


1850.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


151 


the  cars  pass  onward.  In  a little  more  than  two  hours 
we  find  ourselves  in  Boston,  surrounded  by  eager 
hackmen. 

Yesterday  I went  to  the  Athenaeum,  and,  being 
received  with  great  courtesy  by  Mr.  Folsom,  was 
shown  all  over  the  edifice  from  the  very  bottom  to 
the  very  top,  whence  I looked  out  over  Boston.  It 
is  an  admirable  point  of  view  ; but,  it  being  an  overcast 
and  misty  day,  I did  not  get  the  full  advantage  of 
it.  The  library  is  in  a noble  hall,  and  looks  splen- 
didly with  its  vista  of  alcoves.  The  most  remarkable 
sight,  however,  was  Mr.  Hildreth,  writing  his  history 
of  the  United  States.  He  sits  at  a table,  at  the 
entrance  of  one  of  the  alcoves,  with  his  books  and 
papers  before  him,  as  quiet  and  absorbed  as  he  would 
be  in  the  loneliest  study ; now  consulting  an  authority ; 
now  penning  a sentence  or  a paragraph,  without  seem- 
ing conscious  of  anything  but  his  subject.  It  is  very 
curious  thus  to  have  a glimpse  of  a book  in  process 
of  creation  under  one’s  eye.  I know  not  how  many 
hours  he  sits  there ; but  while  I saw  him  he  was  a 
pattern  of  diligence  and  unwandering  thought.  He 
had  taken  himself  out  of  the  age,  and  put  himself,  I 
suppose,  into  that  about  which  he  was  writing.  Being 
deaf,  he  finds  it  much  the  easier  to  abstract  himself. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  a miracle.  He  is  a thin,  middle- 
aged  man,  in  black,  with  an  intelligent  face,  rather  sen- 
sible than  sctolar-like. 

Mr.  Folsom  accompanied  me  to  call  upon  Mr. 
Ticknor,  the  historian  of  Spanish  literature.  He  has 
a fine  house,  at  the  corner  of  Park  and  Beacon  Streets, 
perhaps  the  very  best  position  in  Boston.  A marble 


152 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


hall,  a wide  and  easy  staircase,  a respectable  old  man- 
servant, evidently  long  at  home  in  the  mansion,  to 
admit  us.  We  entered  the  library,  Mr.  Folsom  con- 
siderably in  advance,  as  being  familiar  with  the  house ; 
and  I heard  Mr.  Ticknor  greet  him  in  friendly  tones, 
their  scholar-like  and  bibliographical  pursuits,  I suppose, 
bringing  them  into  frequent  conjunction.  Then  I was 
introduced,  and  received  with  great  distinction,  but  yet 
without  any  ostentatious  flourish  of  courtesy.  Mr. 
Ticknor  has  a great  head,  and  his  hair  is  gray  or  gray- 
ish. You  recognize  in  him  at  once  the  man  who 
knows  the  world,  the  scholar,  too,  which  probably  is 
his  more  distinctive  character,  though  a little  more 
under  the  surface.  He  was  in  his  slippers ; a volume 
of  his  book  was  open  on  a table,  and  apparently  he 
had  been  engaged  in  revising  or  annotating  it.  His 
library  is  a stately  and  beautiful  room  for  a private 
dwelling,  and  itself  looks  large  and  rich.  The  fire- 
place has  a white  marble  frame  about  it,  sculptured 
with  figures  and  reliefs.  Over  it  hung  a portrait  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  a copy,  I think,  of  the  one  that 
represents  him  in  Melrose  Abbey. 

Mr.  Ticknor  was  most  kind  in  his  alacrity  to  solve  the 
point  on  which  Mr.  Folsom,  in  my  behalf,  had  consulted 
him  (as  to  whether  there  had  been  any  English  trans- 
lation of  the  Tales  of  Cervantes)  ; and  most  liberal  in 
his  offers  of  books  from  his  library.  Certainly,  he  is  a 
fine  example  of  a generous-principled  scholar,  anxious 
to  assist  the  human  intellect  in  its  efforts  and  researches 
Methinks  he  must  have  spent  a happy  life  (as  happi 
ness  goes  among  mortals),  writing  his  great  three-vol 
umed  book  for  twenty  years  ; writing  it,  not  for  bread. 


1850.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  153 

nor  with  any  uneasy  desire  of  fame,  but  only  with  a 
purpose  to  achieve  something  true  and  enduring.  He 
is,  I apprehend,  a man  of  great  cultivation  and  refine- 
ment, and  with  quite  substance  enough  to  be  polished 
and  refined,  without  being  worn  too  thin  in  the  process, 
— a man  of  society.  He  related  a singular  story  of  an 
attempt  of  his  to  become  acquainted  with  me  years  ago, 
when  he  mistook  my  kinsman  Eben  for  me. 

At  half  past  four,  I went  to  Mr.  Thompson’s,  the 
artist  who  has  requested  to  paint  my  picture.  This  was 
the  second  sitting.  The  portrait  looked  dimly  out  from 
Jhe  canvas,  as  from  a cloud,  with  something  that  I 
could  recognize  as  my  outline,  but  no  strong  resem- 
blance as  yet.  I have  had  three  portraits  taken  before 
this,  — an  oil  picture,  a miniature,  and  a crayon  sketch, — 
neither  of  them  satisfactory  to  those  most  familiar  with 
my  physiognomy.  In  fact,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
true  portrait ; they  are  all  delusions,  and  I never  saw 
any  two  alike,  nor  hardly  any  two  that  I would  recog- 
nize, merely  by  the  portraits  themselves,  as  being  of  the 
same  man.  A bust  has  more  reality.  This  artist  is  a 
man  of  thought,  and  with  no  mean  idea  of  his  art ; a 
Swedenborgian,  or,  as  he  prefers  to  call  it,  a member  of 
the  New  Church ; and  I have  generally  found  some- 
thing marked  in  men  who  adopt  that  faith.  He  had 
pair  ted  a good  picture  of  Bryant.  He  seems  to  me  to 
possess  truth  in  himself,  and  to  aim  at  it  in  his  artistic 
endeavors. 

May  6^A.  — This  morning  it  is  an  easterly  rain  (south- 
easterly, I should  say  just  now  at  twelve  o’clock),  and  I 
«rent  at  nine,  by  appointment,  to  sit  for  my  picture, 

7* 


154  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [i860. 

The  artist  painted  awhile  ; but  soon  found  that  he  had 
not  so  much  light  as  was  desirable,  and  complained  that 
his  tints  were  as  muddy  as  the  weather.  Further  sit- 
ting was  therefore  postponed  till  to-morrow  at  eleven. 
It  will  be  a good  picture ; but  I see  no  assurance,  as 
yet,  of  the  likeness.  An  artist’s  apartment  is  always 
very  interesting  to  me,  with  its  pictures,  finished  and 
unfinished  ; its  little  fancies  in  the  pictorial  way,  — as 
here  two  sketches  of  children  among  flowers  and  foliage, 
representing  Spring  and  Summer,  Winter  and  Autumn 
being  yet  to  come  out  of  the  artist’s  mind ; the  portraits 
of  his  wife  and  children ; here  a clergyman,  there  a poet ; 
here  a woman  with  the  stamp  of  reality  upon  her, 
there  a feminine  conception  which  we  feel  not  to  have 
existed.  There  was  an  infant  Christ,  or  rather  a child 
Christ,  not  unbeautiful  but  scarcely  divine.  I love  the 
odor  of  paint  in  an  artist’s  room  ; his  palette  and  all  his 
other  tools  have  a mysterious  charm  for  me.  The  pur- 
suit has  always  interested  my  imagination  more  than 
any  other,  and  I remember  before  having  my  fir^t  por- 
trait taken,  there  was  a great  bewitchery  in  the  idea, 
as  if  it  were  a magic  process.  Even  now,  it  is  not 
without  interest  to  me. 

I left  Mr.  Thompson  before  ten,  and  took  my  way 
through  the  sloppy  streets  to  the  Athenaeum,  where  I 
looked  over  the  newspapers  and  periodicals,  and  found 
two  of  my  old  stories  (Peter  Goldthwaite  and  the  Sha- 
ker Bridal)  published  as  original  in  the  last  London 
Metropolitan  ! The  English  are  much  more  unscrupu- 
lous and  dishonest  pirates  than  ourselves.  However 
if  they  are  poor  enough  to  perk  themselves  in  such 
false  feathers  as  these,  Heaven  help  them  ! I glanced 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


155 


Ib50.] 


over  the  stories,  and  they  seemed  painfully  cold  and 
dull.  It  is  the  more  singular  that  these  should  be  so 
published,  inasmuch  as  the  whole  book  was  republished 
in  London,  only  a few  months  ago.  Mr.  Fields  tells 
me  that  two  publishers  in  London  had  advertised  the 
Scarlet  Letter  as  in  press,  each  book  at  a shilling. 

Certainly  life  is  made  much  more  tolerable,  and  man 
respects  himself  far  more,  when  he  takes  his  meals  with 
a certain  degree  of  order  and  state.  There  should  be  a 
sacred  law  in  these  matters  ; and,  as  consecrating  the 
whole  business,  the  preliminary  prayer  is  a good  and 
real  ordinance.  The  advance  of  man  from  a savage 
und  animal  state  may  be  as  well  measured  by  his  mode 
and  morality  of  dining,  as  by  any  other  circumstance. 
At  Mr.  Fields’s,  soon  after  entering  the  house,  I heard  the 
brisk  and  cheerful  notes  of  a canary  bird,  singing  with 
great  vivacity,  and  making  its  voice  echo  through  the 
large  rooms.  It  was  very  pleasant,  at  the  close  of  the 
rainy,  east-windy  day,  and  seemed  to  fling  sunshine 
through  the  dwelling. 

May  7 th.  — I did  not  go  out  yesterday  afternoon,  but 
after  tea  I went  to  Parker’s.  The  drinking  and  smok- 
ing  shop  is  no  bad  place  to  see  one  kind  of  life.  The 
front  apartment  is  for  drinking.  The  door  opens  into 
Court  Square,  and  is  denoted,  usually,  by  some  choice 
specimens  of  dainties  exhibited  in  the  windows,  or 
hanging  beside  the  door-post ; as,  for  instance,  a pair  of 
canvas-back  ducks,  distinguishable  by  their  delicately 
mottled  feathers  ; an  admirable  cut  of  raw  beefsteak  ; a 
ham,  ready  boiled,  and  with  curious  figures  traced  io 


156  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1350 

spices  on  its  outward  fat ; a half,  or  perchance  the 
whole,  of  a large  salmon,  when  in  season ; a bunch  of 
partridges,  &c.,  &c.  A screen  stands  directly  before 
the  door,  so  as  to  conceal  the  interior  from  an  outside 
barbarian.  At  the  counter  stand,  at  almost  all  hours,  — 
certainly  at  all  hours  when  I have  chanced  to  observe, 
— tipplers,  either  taking  a solitary  glass,  or  treating  all 
round,  veteran  topers,  flashy  young  men,  visitors  from 
the  country,  the  various  petty  officers  connected  with 
the  law,  whom  the  vicinity  of  the  Court-House  brings 
hither.  Chiefly,  they  drink  plain  liquors,  gin,  brandy, 
or  whiskey,  sometimes  a Tom  and  Jerry,  a gin  cocktail 
(which  the  bar-tender  makes  artistically,  tossing  it  in  a 
large  parabola  from  one  tumbler  to  another,  until  fit  for 
drinking),  a brandy-smash,  and  numerous  other  con- 
coctions. All  this  toping  goes  forward  with  little  or  no 
apparent  exhilaration  of  spirits ; nor  does  this  seem  to 
be  the  object  sought,  — it  being  either,  I imagine,  to  cre- 
ate a titillation  of  the  coats  of  the  stomach  and  a gen- 
eral sense  of  invigoration,  without  affecting  the  brain. 
Very  seldom  does  a man  grow  wild  and  unruly. 

The  inner  room  is  hung  round  with  pictures  and 
engravings  of  various  kinds,  — a painting  of  a premium 
ox,  a lithograph  of  a Turk  and  of  a Turkish  lady,  .... 
and  various  showily  engraved  tailors’  advertisements, 
and  other  shop  bills  ; among  them  all,  a small  painting 
of  a drunken  toper,  sleeping  on  a bench  beside  the  grog- 
shop, — a ragged,  half-hatless,  bloated,  red-nosed,  jolly 
miserable-looking  devil,  very  well  done,  and  strangely 
suitable  to  the  room  in  which  it  hangs.  Round  the  walls 
are  placed  some  half  a dozen  marble-topped  tables,  and  a 
centre -table  in  th*  midst;  most  of  them  strewn  with 


1850.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


157 


theatrical  and  other  show-bills ; and  the  large  theatre 
bills,  with  their  type  of  gigantic  solidity  and  blackness, 
hung  against  the  walls. 

Last  evening,  when  I entered,  there  was  one  guest 
somewhat  overcome  with  liquor,  and  slumbering  with  his 
chair  tipped  against  one  of  the  marble  tables.  In  the 
course  of  a quarter  of  an  hour,  he  roused  himself  (a  plain, 
middle-aged  man),  and  went  out  with  rather  an  unsteady 
step,  and  a hot,  red  face.  One  or  two  others  were 
smoking,  and  looking  over  the  papers,  or  glancing  at  a 
play-bill.  From  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  descended  a 
branch  with  two  gas-burners,  which  sufficiently  illumi- 
nated every  corner  of  the  room.  Nothing  is  so  remark- 
able in  these  bar-rooms  and  drinking-places,  as  the 
perfect  order  that  prevails : if  a man  gets  drunk,  it  is  no 
otherwise  perceptible  than  by  his  going  to  sleep,  or  his 
inability  to  walk. 

Pacing  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  this  grog-shop  of 
Parker’s  (or  sometimes,  on  cold  and  rainy  days,  taking 
his  station  inside),  there  is  generally  to  be  observed  an 
elderly  ragamuffin,  in  a dingy  and  battered  hat,  an  old 
surtout,  and  a more  than  shabby  general  aspect ; a thin 
face  and  red  nose,  a patch  over  one  eye,  and  the  other 
half  drowned  in  moisture.  He  leans  in  a slightly  stoop- 
ing posture  on  a stick,  forlorn  and  silent,  addressing 
nobody,  but  fixing  his  one  moist  eye  on  you  with  a 
certain  intentness.  He  is  a man  who  has  been  in 
decent  circumstances  at  some  former  period  of  his  life, 
but,  falling  into  decay  (perhaps  by  dint  of  too  frequent 
visits  at  Parker’s  bar),  he  now  haunts  about  the  place, 
as  a ghost  haunts  the  spot  where  he  was  murdered,  “ tc 
collect  his  rents,”  as  Parker  says,  — that  is,  to  catch  an 


158  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [i860. 

occasional  ninepence  from  some  charitable  acquaintances, 
or  a glass  of  liquor  at  the  bar.  The  word  “ raga- 
muffin ” which  I have  used  above,  does  not  accurately 
express  the  man,  because  there  is  a sort  of  shadow  or 
delusion  of  respectability  about  him,  and  a sobriety  too, 
and  a kind  of  decency  in  his  groggy  and  red-nosed 
destitution. 

Underground,  beneath  the  drinking  and  smoking- 
rooms,  is  Parker’s  eating-hall,  extending  all  the  way  to 
Court  Street.  All  sorts  of  good  eating  may  be  had 
there,  and  a gourmand  may  feast  at  what  expense  he 

will. 

I take  an  interest  in  all  the  nooks  and  crannies  and 
every  development  of  cities ; so  here  I try  to  make  a 
description  of  the  view  from  the  back  windows  of  a 
house  in  the  centre  of  Boston,  at  which  I now  glance  in 
the  intervals  of  writing.  The  view  is  bounded,  at  per- 
haps thirty  yards  distance,  by  a row  of  opposite  brick 
dwellings,  standing,  I think,  on  Temple  Place;  houses 
of  the  better  order,  with  tokens  of  genteel  families  visi- 
ble in  all  the  rooms  betwixt  the  basements  and  the  attic 
windows  in  the  roof ; plate-glass  in  the  rear  drawing- 
rooms, flower-pots  in  some  of  the  windows  of  the  upper 
stories.  Occasionally,  a lady’s  figure,  either  seated  or 
appearing  with  a flitting  grace,  or  dimly  manifest  farther 
within  the  obscurity  of  the  room.  A balcony,  with  a 
wrought-iron  fence  running  along  under  the  row  of 
drawing-room  windows,  above  the  basement.  In  the 
space  betwixt  the  opposite  row  of  dwellings  and  that  in 
which  I am  situated,  are  the  low  out-houses  of  the  above- 
described  houses,  with  flat  roofs  ; or  solid  brick  walls* 


(660.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


159 


with  walks  oi  them,  and  high  railings,  for  the  conven- 
ience of  the  washerwomen  in  hanging  out  their  clothes. 
In  the  intervals  are  grass-plots,  already  green,  because 
so  sheltered ; and  fruit-trees,  now  beginning  to  put  forth 
their  leaves,  and  one  of  them,  a cherry-tree,  almost  in 
full  blossom.  Birds  flutter  and  sing  among  these  trees. 
I should  judge  it  a good  site,  for  the  growth  of  delicate 
fruit ; for,  quite  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  houses,  the 
blighting  winds  cannot  molest  the  trees.  They  have 
sunshine  on  them  a good  part  of  the  day,  though  the 
shadow  must  come  early,  and  I suppose  there  is  a rich 
soil  about  the  roots.  I see  grape-vines  clambering 
against  one  wall,  and  also  peeping  over  another,  where 
the  main  body  of  the  vine  is  invisible  to  me.  In  another 
place,  a frame  is  erected  for  a grape-vine,  and  probably 
it  will  produce  as  rich  clusters  as  the  vines  of  Madeira, 
here  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  in  this  little  spot  of  fructi- 
fying earth,  while  the  thunder  of  wheels  rolls  about  it 
on  every  side.  The  trees  are  not  all  fruit-trees.  One 
pretty  well-grown  buttonwood-tree  aspires  upward  above 
the  roofs  of  the  houses.  In  the  full  verdure  of  summer, 
there  will  be  quite  a mass  or  curtain  of  foliage  between 
the  hither  and  the  thither  row  of  houses. 

Afternoon.  — At  eleven,  I went  to  give  Mr.  Thomp- 
son a sitting  for  my  picture.  I like  the  painter.  He 
seems  to  reverence  his  art  and  to  aim  at  truth  in  it,  as  I 
said  before ; a man  of  gentle  disposition  too,  and  sim- 
plicity of  life  and  character.  I seated  myself  in  the 
pictorial  chair,  with  the  only  light  in  the  room  descend- 
ing upon  me  from  a high  opening,  almost  at  the  ceiling, 
the  rest  of  the  sole  window  being  shuttered.  He  began 
to  work,  and  we  talked  in  an  idle  and  desultory  way,  — 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1©? 


[1850. 


neither  of  us  feeling  very  conversable,  --  which  he 
attributed  to  the  atmosphere,  it  being  a bright,  west- 
windy,  bracing  day.  We  talked  about  the  pictures  of 
Christ,  and  how  inadequate  and  untrue  they  are.  He 
said  he  thought  artists  should  attempt  only  to  paint 
child-Christs,  human  powers  being  inadequate  to  the 
task  of  painting  such  purity  and  holiness  in  a manly 
development.  Then  he  said  that  an  idea  of  a picture 
had  occurred  to  him  that  morning,  while  reading  a 
chapter  in  the  New  Testament,  — how  “they  parted 
his  garments  among  them,  and  for  his  vesture  did  cast 
lots”  His  picture  was  to  represent  the  soldier  to  whom 
the  garment  without  a seam  had  fallen,  after  taking  it 
home  and  examining  it,  and  becoming  impressed  with 
a sense  of  the  former  wearer’s  holiness.  I do  not  quite 
see  how  he  would  make  such  a picture  tell  its  own 
story  ; — but  I find  the  idea  suggestive  to  my  own  mind, 
and  I think  I could  make  something  of  it.  We  talked  of 
physiognomy  and  impressions  of  character,  — first  im- 
pressions, — and  how  apt  they  are  to  come  aright  in  the 
face  of  the  closest  subsequent  observation. 

- There  were  several  visitors  in  the  course  of  the  sitting, 
one  a gentleman,  a connection  from  the  country,  with 
whom  the  artist  talked  about  family  matters  and  per- 
sonal affairs,  — observing  on  the  poorness  of  his  own 
business,  and  that  he  had  thoughts  of  returning  to  New 
York.  I wish  he  would  meet  with  better  success.  Two 
or  three  ladies  also  looked  in.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Thomp- 
son had  been  painting  with  more  and  more  eagerness, 
casting  quick,  keen  glances  at  me,  and  then  making  hastv 
touches  on  the  picture,  as  if  to  secure  with  his  brush 
what  he  had  caught  with  his  eye.  He  observed  that 


1850.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


161 


he  was  just  getting  interested  in  the  work,  and  I could 
recognize  the  feeling  that  was  in  him  as  akin  to  what 
I have  experienced  myself  in  the  glow  of  composition. 
Nevertheless,  he  seemed  able  to  talk  about  foreign  mat- 
ters, through  it  all.  He  continued  to  paint  in  this  rapid 
way,  up  to  the  moment  of  closing  the  sitting ; when  he 
took  the  canvas  from  the  easel,  without  giving  me  time 
to  mark  what  progress  he  had  made,  as  he  did  the  last 
time. 

The  artist  is  middle-sized,  thin,  a little  stooping,  with 
a quick,  nervous  movement.  He  has  black  hair,  not 
thick,  a beard  under  his  chin,  a small  head,  but  well- 
developed  forehead,  black  eyebrows,  eyes  keen,  but 
kindly,  and  a dark  face,  not  indicating  robust  health, 
but  agreeable  in  its  expression.  His  voice  is  gentle  and 
sweet,  and  such  as  comes  out  from  amidst  refined  feel- 
ings. He  dresses  very  simply  and  unpictorially  in  a 
gray  frock  or  sack,  and  does  not  seem  to  think  of  mak- 
ing a picture  of  himself  in  his  own  person. 

At  dinner  to-day  there  was  a young  Frenchman, 

whom befriended  a year  or  so  ago,  when  he  had 

not  another  friend  in  America,  and  obtained  employment 
for  him  in  a large  dry-goods  establishment.  He  is  a 
young  man  of  eighteen  or  thereabouts,  with  smooth  black 
hair,  neatly  dressed ; his  face  showing  a good  disposition, 
but  with  nothing  of  intellect  or  character.  It  is  funny  to 
think  of  this  poor  little  Frenchman,  a Parisian  too,  eat- 
ing our  most  un-French  victuals, — our  beefsteaks,  and 
roasts,  and  various  homely  puddings  and  hams,  and  all 
things  most  incongruent  to  his  hereditary  stomach ; but 
nevertheless  he  eats  most  cheerfully  and  uncomplain- 
ingly He  has  not  a large  measure  of  French  vivacity, 

K 


162 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1860. 


never  rattles,  never  dances,  nor  breaks  into  ebullitions 
of  mirth  and  song  ; on  the  contrary,  I have  never  known 
a youth  of  his  age  more  orderly  and  decorous.  He  is 
kind-hearted  and  grateful,  and  evinces  his  gratitude  to 
the  mother  of  the  family  and  to  his  benefactress  by 
occasional  presents,  not  trifling  when  measured  by  his 
small  emolument  of  five  dollars  per  week.  Just  at  this 
time  he  is  confined  to  his  room  by  indisposition,  caused, 
it  is  suspected,  by  a spree  on  Sunday  last.  Our  gross 
Saxon  orgies  would  soon  be  the  ruin  of  his  French  con- 
stitution. 

A thought  to-day.  Great  men  need  to  be  lifted  upon 
/he  shoulders  of  the  whole  world,  in  order  to  conceive 
their  great  ideas  or  perform  their  great  deeds.  That  is, 
there  must  be  an  atmosphere  of  greatness  round  about 
them.  A hero  cannot  be  a hero  unless  in  an  heroic 
world. 

May  8 th. — I went  last  evening  to  the  National 
Theatre  to  see  a pantomime.  It  was  Jack  the  Giant- 
Killer,  and  somewhat  heavy  and  tedious.  The  audi- 
ence was  more  noteworthy  than  the  play.  The  theatre 
itself  is  for  the  middling  and  lower  classes,  and  I had 
not  taken  my  seat  in  the  most  aristocratic  part  of  the 
house  ; so  that  I found  myself  surrounded  chiefly  by 
young  sailors,  Hanover  Street  shopmen,  mechanics,  and 
other  people  of  that  class.  It  is  wonderful ! the  difference 
that  exists  in  the  personal  aspect  and  dress,  and  no  less 
in  the  manners,  of  people  in  this  quarter  of  the  city,  as 
compared  with  other  parts  of  it. 

Or.e  would  think  that  Oak  Hall  should  give  a common 


1850.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  1()3 

garb  and  air  to  the  great  mass  of  the  Boston  popula- 
tion ; but  it  seems  not  to  be  so ; and  perhaps  what  is 
most  singular  is,  that  the  natural  make  of  the  men  has 
a conformity  and  suitableness  to  the  dress.  Glazed 
caps  and  Palo  Alto  hats  were  much  worn.  It  is  a pity 
that  this  picturesque  and  comparatively  graceful  hat 
should  not  have  been  generally  adopted,  instead  of  fall 
ing  to  the  exclusive  use  of  a rowdy  class. 

In  the  next  box  to  me  were  two  young  women,  with 
an  infant,  but  to  which  of  them  appertaining  I could 
not  at  first  discover.  One  was  a large,  plump  girl, 
with  a heavy  face,  a snub  nose,  coarse-looking,  but 
good-natured,  and  with  no  traits  of  evil,  — save,  indeed, 
that  she  had  on  the  vilest  gown  of  dirty  white  cotton, 
so  pervadingly  dingy  that  it  was  white  no  longer,  as 
it  seemed  to  me.  The  sleeves  were  short,  and  ragged 
at  the  borders,  and  her  shawl,  which  she  took  off  on 
account  of  the  heat,  was  old  and  faded,  — the  shabbiest 
and  dirtiest  dress  that  I ever  saw  a woman  wear. 
Yet  she  was  plump,  and  looked  comfortable  in  body 
and  mind.  I imagine  that  she  must  have  had  a bet- 
ter dress  at  home,  but  had  come  to  the  theatre  ex- 
temporaneously, and,  not  going  to  the  dre-ss  circle,  con- 
sidered her  ordinary  gown  good  enough  for  the  occasion. 
The  other  girl  seemed  as  young  or  younger  than  her- 
self. She  was  small,  with  a particularly  intelligent  and 
pleasant  face,  not  handsome,  perhaps,  but  as  good  or 
better  than  if  it  were.  It  was  mobile  with  whatever 
sentiment  chanced  to  be  in  her  mind,  as  quick  and  viva- 
cious a face  in  its  movements  as  I have  ever  seen; 
cheerful,  too,  and  indicative  of  a sunny,  though  I should 
think  it  might  1/3  a hasty,  temper  She  was  dressed  ic 


164  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [i860. 

a dark  gown  (chintz,  I suppose  the  women  call  it),  a 
good,  homely  dress,  proper  enough  for  the  fireside,  but  a 
strange  one  to  appear  in  at  a theatre.  Both  these  girls 
appeared  to  enjoy  themselves  very  much,  — the  large  and 
heavy  one  in  her  own  duller  mode  ; the  smaller  mani- 
festing her  interest  by  gestures,  pointing  at  the  stage, 
and  with  so  vivid  a talk  of  countenance  that  it  was  pre- 
cisely as  if  she  had  spoken.  She  was  not  a brunette, 
and  this  made  the  vivacity  of  her  expression  the  more 
agreeable.  Her  companion,  on  the  other  hand,  was  so 
dark,  that  I rather  suspected  her  to  have  a tinge  of 
African  blood. 

There  were  two  men  who  seemed  to  have  some  con- 
nection with  these  girls,  — one  an  elderly,  gray-headed 
personage,  well-stricken  in  liquor,  talking  loudly  and 
foolishly,  but  good-humoredly  ; the  other  a young  man, 
sober,  and  doing  his  best  to  keep  his  elder  friend  quiet. 
The  girls  seemed  to  give  themselves  no  uneasiness  about 
the  matter.  Both  the  men  wore  Palo  Alto  hats.  I 
could  not  make  out  whether  either  of  the  men  were  the 
father  of  the  child,  though  I was  inclined  to  set  it  down 
as  a family  party. 

As  the  play  went  on,  the  house  became  crowded  and 
oppressively  warm,  and  the  poor  little  baby  grew  dark 
red,  or  purple  almost,  with  the  uncomfortable  heat  in  its 
small  body.  It  must  have  been  accustomed  to  discom- 
fort, and  have  concluded  it  to  be  the  condition  of  mortal 
life,  else  it  never  would  have  remained  so  quiet.  Per- 
haps it  had  been  quieted  with  a sleeping-potion.  The 
two  young  women  were  not  negligent  of  it ; but  passed 
it  to  and  fro  between  them,  each  willingly  putting  her- 
ael f to  inconvenience  for  the  sake  of  tending  it  But  I 


1350.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


160 


really  feared  it  might  die  in  some  kind  of  a fit,  so  hot 
was  the  theatre,  so  purple  with  heat,  yet  strangely  quiet, 
was  the  child.  I was  glad  to  hear  it  cry  at  last ; but  it 
lid  not  cry  with  any  great  rage  and  vigor,  as  it  should, 
Out  in  a stupid  kind  of  way.  Hereupon  the  smaller  of 
the  two  girls,  after  a little  inefficacious  dandling,  at  once 
settled  the  question  of  maternity  by  nursing  her  baby. 
Children  must  be  hard  to  kill,  however  injudicious  the 
treatment.  The  two  girls  and  their  cavaliers  remained 
till  nearly  the  close  of  the  play.  I should  like  well  to 
know  who  they  are,  — of  what  condition  in  life,  and 
whether  reputable  as  members  of  the  class  to  which 
they  belong.  My  own  judgment  is  that  they  are  so. 
Throughout  the  evening,  drunken  young  sailors  kept 
stumbling  into  and  out  of  the  boxes,  calling  to  one  am 
other  from  different  parts  of  the  house,  shouting  to  the 
performers,  and  singing  the  burden  of  songs.  It  was  a 
scene  of  life  in  the  rough. 

May  14 th.  — A stable  opposite  the  house,  — an  old 
wooden  construction,  low,  in  three  distinct  parts  ; the 
centre  being  the  stable  proper,  where  the  horses  are 
kept,  and  with  a chamber  over  it  for  the  hay.  On  one 
side  is  the  department  for  chaises  and  carriages ; on  the 
other,  the  little  office  where  the  books  are  kept.  In  the 
interior  region  of  the  stable  everything  is  dim  and  un- 
defined, — half-traceable  outlines  of  stalls,  sometimes 
the  shadowy  aspect  of  a horse.  Generally  a groom  n 
dressing  a horse  at  the  stable  door,  with  a care  and  ac- 
curacy that  leave  no  part  of  the  animal'  un visited  by 
the  currycomb  and  brash ; the  horse,  meanwhile,  evi 
dently  enjoying  it,  but  sometimes,  when  the  more  sens* 


166 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850 


tive  parts  are  touched,  giving  a half-playful  kick  with 
his  hind  legs,  and  a little  neigh.  If  the  men  bestowed 
half  as  much  care  on  their  own  personal  cleanliness, 
they  would  be  all  the  better  and  healthier  men  there- 
for. They  appear  to  be  busy  men,  these  stablers,  yet 
have  a lounging  way  with  them,  as  if  indolence  were 
somehow  diffused  through  their  natures.  The  appar- 
ent head  of  the  establishment  is  a sensible,  thoughtful- 
looking,  large -featured  and  homely  man,  past  the  middle 
age,  clad  rather  shabbily  in  gray,  stooping  somewhat, 
and  without  any  smartness  about  him.  There  is  a 
groom,  who  seems  to  be  a very  comfortable  kind  of  per- 
sonage, — a man  of  forty-five  or  thereabouts  (R.  W. 
Emerson  says  he  was  one  of  his  schoolmates),  but  not 
looking  so  old ; corpulent,  not  to  say  fat,  with  a white 
frock,  which  his  goodly  bulk  almost  fills,  enveloping  him 
from  neck  nearly  to  ankles.  On  his  head  he  wears  a 
cloth  cap  of  a jockey  shape ; his  pantaloons  are  turned 
ap  an  inch  or  two  at  bottom,  and  he  wears  brogans  on 
his  feet.  His  hair,  as  may  be  seen  when  he  takes  off* 
his  cap  to  wipe  his  brow,  is  black  and  in  perfect  preser- 
vation, with  not  exactly  a curl,  yet  a vivacious  and  elastic 
kind  of  twist  in  it.  His  face  is  fresh-colored,  comfort- 
able, sufficiently  vivid  in  expression,  not  at  all  dimmed 
by  his  fleshly  exuberance,  because  the  man  possesses 
vigor  enough  to  carry  it  off*.  His  bodily  health  seems 
nerfect ; so,  indeed,  does  his  moral  and  intellectual.  He 
is  very  active  and  assiduous  in  his  duties,  currycomb* 
ing  and  rubbing  down  the  horses  with  alacrity  and  skill ; 
and,  when  not  otherwise  occupied,  you  may  see  him 
talking  jovially  with  chance  acquaintances,  or  observing 
what  is  going  forward  in  the  street.  If  a female  ao 


*850. J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  167 

quaintance  happens  to  pass,  he  touches  his  jockey  cap, 
and  bows,  accomplishing  this  courtesy  with  a certain 
smartness  that  proves  him  a man  of  the  world.  Wheth- 
er it  be  his  greater  readiness  to  talk,  or  the  wisdom  of 
what  he  says,  he  seems  •usually  to  be  the  centre  talker 
of  the  group.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  see  such  an  image 
of  earthly  comfort  as  this.  A fat  man  who  feels  his 
flesh  as  a disease  and  encumbrance,  and  on  whom  it 
presses  so  as  to  make  him  melancholy  with  dread  of 
apoplexy,  and  who  moves  heavily  under  the  burden  of 
himself,  — such  a man  is  a doleful  and  disagreeable 
object.  But  if  he  have  vivacity  enough  to  pervade  all 
his  earthiness,  and  bodily  force  enough  to  move  lightly 
under  it,  and  if  it  be  not  too  unmeasured  to  have  a 
trimness  and  briskness  in  it,  then  it  is  good  and  whole- 
some to  look  at  him. 

In  the  background  of  the  house,  a cat,  occasionally 
stealing  along  on  the  roofs  of  the  low  out-houses ; de- 
scending a flight  of  wooden  steps  into  the  brick  area ; 
investigating  the  shed,  and  entering  all  dark  and  secret 
places  ; cautious,  circumspect,  as  if  in  search  of  some- 
thing ; noiseless,  attentive  to  every  noise.  Moss  grows 
on  spots  of  the  roof ; there  are  little  boxes  of  earth  here 
and  there,  with  plants  in  them.  The  grass-plots  apper- 
taining to  each  of  the  houses  whose  rears  are  opposite 
ours  (standing  in  Temple  Place)  are  perhaps  ten  or 
twelve  feet  broad,  and  three  times  as  long.  Jlere  and 
there  is  a large,  painted  garden-pot,  half  buried  in  earth. 
Besides  the  large  trees  in  blossom,  there  are  little  ones, 
probably  of  last  year’s  setting  out.  Early  in  the  day 
chambermaids  are  seen  hanging  the  bedclothes  out  of 
the  upper  windows  ; at  the  window  of  the  basement  of 


168 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


18ol> 


the  same  house,  I see  a woman  ironing.  Were  I a soli- 
tary prisoner,  I should  not  doubt  to  find  occupation  of 
deep  interest  for  my  whole  day  in  watching  only  one  of 
the  houses.  One  house  seems  to  be  quite  shut  up  ; all 
the  blinds  in  the  three  windows^f  each  of  the  four  stories 
being  closed,  although  in  the  roof- windows  of  the  attic 
story  the  curtains  are  hung  carelessly  upward,  instead 
of  being  drawn.  I think  the  house  is  empty,  perhaps 
for  the  summer.  The  visible  side  of  the  whole  row  of 
houses  is  now  in  the  shade,  — they  looking  towards, 
I should  say,  the  southwest.  Later  in  the  day,  they 
are  wholly  covered  with  sunshine,  and  continue  so 
through  the  afternoon ; and  at  evening  the  sunshine 
slowly  withdraws  upward,  gleams  aslant  upon  the 
windows,  perches  on  the  chimneys,  and  so  disappears. 
The  upper  part  of  the  spire  and  the  weathercock  of  the 
Park  Street  Church  appear  over  one  of  the  houses, 
looking  as  if  it  were  close  behind.  It  shows  the  wind 
to  be  east  now.  At  one  of  the  windows  of  the  third 
story  sits  a woman  in  a colored  dress,  diligently  sewing 
on  something  white.  She  sews,  not  like  a lady,  but  with 
an  occupational  air.  Her  dress,  I observe,  on  closer 
observation,  is  a kind  of  loose  morning  sack,  with,  I 
think,  a silky  gloss  on  it ; and  she  seems  to  have  a silver 
comb  in  her  hair,  — no,  this  latter  item  is  a mistake. 
Sheltered  as  the  space  is  between  the  two  rows  of 
houses,  a^  puff  of  the  east  wind  finds  its  way  in,  and 
shakes  off  some  of  the  withering  blossoms  from  the  cher- 
ry-trees. 

Quiet  as  the  prospect  is,  there  is  a continual  and  near 
thunder  of  wheels  proceeding  from  Washington  Street 
In  a building  not  far  off,  there  is  a hall  for  exhibitions 


1850. J AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS  169 

and  sometimes,  in  the  evenings,  loud  music  is  heard 
from  it , or,  if  a diorama  be  shown  (that  of  Bunker 
Hill, ’for  instance,  or  the  burning  of  Moscow),  an  im- 
mense racket  of  imitative  cannon  and  musketry. 

May  16^. — It  has  been  an  easterly  rain  yesterday 
and  to-day,  with  occasional  lightings  up,  and  then  a 
heavy  downfall  of  the  gloom  again. 

Scenes  out  of  the  rear  windows,  — the  glistening  roof 
of  the  opposite  houses ; the  chimneys,  now  and  then 
choked  with  their  own  smoke,  which  a blast  drives  down 
their  throats.  The  church-spire  has  a mist  about  it. 
Once  this  morning  a solitary  dove  came  and  alighted  on 
the  peak  of  an  attic  window,  and  looked  down  into  the 
areas,  remaining  in  this  position  a considerable  time. 
Now  it  has  taken  a flight,  and  alighted  on  the  roof  of  this 
house,  directly  over  the  window  at  which  I sit,  so  that  I 
can  look  up  and  see  its  head  and  beak,  and  the  tips  of 
its  claws.  The  roofs  of  the  low  out-houses  are  black  with 
moisture ; *he  gutters  are  full  of  water,  and  there  is  a 
little  puddle  where  there  is  a place  for  it  in  the  hollow 
of  a board.  On  the  grass-plot  are  strewn  the  fallen  blos- 
soms of  the  cherry-tree,  and  over  the  scene  broods  a 
parallelogram  of  sombre  sky.  Thus  it  will  be  all  day 
as  it  was  yesterday ; and,  in  the  evening,  one  window 
after  another  will  be  lighted  up  in  the  drawing-rooms. 
Through  the  white  curtains  may  be  seen  the  gleam  of 
an  astral-lamp,  like  a fixed  star.  In  the  basement 
rooms,  the  work  of  the  kitchen  going  forward ; in  the 
upper  chambers,  here  and  there  a light. 

In  a bar*reom,  a large,  oval  basin  let  into  the  counter 

VOL.  II.  8 


170 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850 


with  a brass  tube  rising  from  the  centre,  out  of  which 
gushes  continually  a miniature  fountain,  and  descends 
in  a soft,  gentle,  never-ceasing  rain  into  the  basin,  where 
swim  a company  of  gold-fishes.  Some  of  them  gleam 
brightly  in  their  golden  armor ; others  have  a dull 
white  aspect,  going  through  some  process  of  transfor- 
mation. One  would  think  that  the  atmosphere,  contin- 
ually filled  with  tobacco-smoke,  might  impregnate  the 
water  unpleasantly  for  the  scaly  people ; but  then  it  is 
continually  flowing  away  and  being  renewed.  And 
what  if  some  toper  should  be  seized  with  the  freak  of 
emptying  his  glass  of  gin  or  brandy  into  the  basin,  — 
would  the  fishes  die  or  merely  get  jolly? 

I saw,  for  a wonder,  a man  pretty  drunk  at  Parker’s 
the  other  evening,  ■ — a well-dressed  man,  of  not  ungentle- 
manly  aspect.  He  talked  loudly  and  foolishly,  but  in  good 
phrases,  with  a great  flow  of  language,  and  he  was  no 
otherwise  impertinent  than  in  addressing  his  talk  to  stran- 
gers. Finally,  after  sitting  a long  time  staring  stead- 
fastly across  the  room  in  silence,  he  arose,  and  staggered 
away  as  best  he  might,  only  showing  his  very  drunken 
state  when  he  attempted  to  walk. 

Old  acquaintances,  — a gentleman  whom  I knew  ten 
years  ago,  brisk,  active,  vigorous,  with  a kind  of  fire 
of  physical  well-being  and  cheerful  spirits  glowing 
through  him.  Now,  after  a course,  I presume,  of  rather 
free  living,  pale,  thin,  oldish,  with  a grave  and  care  or 
pain  worn  brow,  — yet  still  lively  and  cheerful  in  his 
accost,  though  with  something  invincibly  saddened  in 
his  tones.  Another,  formerly  commander  of  a revenue 
vessel,  — a man  of  splendid  epaulets  and  very  aristo- 
cratic equipment  and  demeanor;  now  out  of  service 


1850.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  171 

and  without  position,  and  changed  into  a brandy-burnt 
and  rowdyish  sort  of  personage.  He  seemed  as  if  he 
might  still  be  a gentleman  if  he  would  ; but  his  manners 
show  a desperate  state  of  mind  by  their  familiarity, 
recklessness,  the  lack  of  any  hedge  of  reserve  about  him- 
self, while  still  he  is  evidently  a man  of  the  world,  ac- 
customed to  good  society.  He  has  latterly,  I think, 
been  in  the  Russian  service,  and  would  very  probably 
turn  pirate  on  fair  occasion. 

Lenox , July  14^.— The  tops  of  the  chestnut-trees 
have  a whitish  appearance,  they  being,  I suppose,  in 
bloom.  Red  raspberries  are  just  through  the  sea- 
son. 

Language,  — human  language,  — after  all,  is  but  little 
better  than  the  croak  and  cackle  of  fowls  and  other 
utterances  of  brute,  nature,  — sometimes  not  so  ade- 
quate. 

July  16^.  — The  tops  of  the  chestnut-trees  are  pecu- 
liarly rich,  as  if  a more  luscious  sunshine  were  falling 
on  them  than  anywhere  else.  “ Whitish,  ” as  above, 
don’t  express  it. 

The  queer  gestures  and  sounds  of  a hen  looking 
about  for  a place  to  deposit  her  egg ; her  self-im- 
portant gait ; the  sideway  turn  of  1:  er  head  and  cock 
of  her  eye,  as  she  prys  into  one  and  another  nook, 
croaking  all  the  while,  — evidently  with  the  idea  that 
the  egg  in  question  is  the  most  important  thing  that 
has  been  brought  to  pass  since  the  world  began.  A 


172 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850 


speckled  black  and  white  and  tufted  hen  of  ours  does 
it  to  most  ludicrous  perfection ; and  there  is  something 
laughably  womanish  in  it  too. 

July  25th.  — As  I sit  in  my  study,  with  the  windows 
open,  the  occasional  incident  of  the  visit  of  some 
winged  creature,  — wasp,  hornet,  or  bee  — entering  out 
of  the  warm  sunny  atmosphere,  soaring  round  the  room 
in  large  sweeps,  then  buzzing  against  the  glass,  as 
not  satisfied  with  the  place,  and  desirous  of  getting 
out.  Finally,  the  joyous,  uprising  curve  with  which, 
coming  to  the  open  part  of  the  window,  it  emerges  into 
the  cheerful  glow  of  the  outside. 

August  Ath.  — Dined  at  hotel  with  J.  T.  Fields  and 
wife.  Afternoon,  drove  with  them  to  Pittsfield  and 
called  on  Dr.  Holmes. 

August  5th . — Drove  with  Fields  and  his  wife  to 
Stockbridge,  being  thereto  invited  by  Mr.  Field  of 
Stockbridge,  in  order  to  ascend  Monument  Mountain. 
Found  at  Mr.  Field’s  Dr.  Holmes  and  Mr.  Duyckink 
of  New  York ; also  Mr.  Cornelius  Matthews  and  Her- 
man Melville.  Ascended  the  mountain ; that  is  to 
say,  Mrs.  Fields  and  Miss  Jenny  Field,  Mr.  Field  and 
Mr.  Fields,  Dr.  Holmes,  Messrs.  Duyckink,  Matthews, 
Melville,  Mr.  Henry  Sedgewick,  and  I,  and  were  caught 
in  a shower.  Dined  at  Mr.  Field’s.  Afternoon,  under 
guidance  of  J.  T.  Headley,  the  party  scrambled  through 
the  ice-glen. 

August  7th . — Messrs.  Duyckink,  Matthews,  Melville, 


1850.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


173 


and  Melville,  junior,  called  in  the  forenoon.  Gave 
them  a couple  of  bottles  of  Mr.  Mansfield’s  champagne, 
and  walked  down  to  the  lake  with  them.  At  twilight 
Mr.  Edwin  P.  Whipple  and  wife  called. 

August  8tk.  — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whipple  took  tea 
with  us. 

August  12th.  — Seven  chickens  hatched  J.  T.  Head- 
ley  and  brother  called.  Eight  chickens. 

August  l§th. — Monument  Mountain,  in  the  early 
sunshine ; its  base  enveloped  in  mist,  parts  of  which  are 
floating  in  the  sky,  so  that  the  great  hill  looks  really 
as  if  it  were  founded  on  a cloud.  Just  emerging 
from  the  mist  is  seen  a yellow  field  of  rye,  and,  above 
that,  forest. 

August  21s£. — Eight  more  chickens  hatched.  As- 
cended a mountain  with  my  wife ; a beautiful,  mellow, 
autumnal  sunshine. 

August  24 tk.  — In  the  afternoons,  nowadays,  this 
valley  in  which  I dwell  seems  like  a vast  basin  filled 
with  golden  sunshine  as  with  wine. 

August  31s£. — J.  R.  Lowell  called  in  the  evening. 

September  1st.  — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lowell  called  in  the 
forenoon,  on  their  way  to  Stockbridge  or  Lebanon  to 
meet  Miss  Bremer. 

September  2d.  — “ When  I grow  up/’  quoth  J , in 


AMERICAN  NOTE-bOOKb. 


174 


[1850 


illustration  of  the  might  to  which  he  means  to  attain,  — 
“ when  I grow  up,  I shall  be  two  men.,, 

September  8c?.  — Foliage  of  maples  begins  to  change. 
Julian,  after  picking  up  a handful  of  autumnal  maple- 
leaves  the  other  day,  — “ Look,  papa,  here ’s  a bunch 
of  fire!” 


September  7th.  — In  a wood,  a heap  or  pile  of  logs 
and  sticks,  that  had  been  cut  for  firewood,  and  piled 
up  square,  in  order  to  be  carted  away  to  the  house 
when  convenience  served,  — or,  rather,  to  be  sledded 
in  sleighing  time.  But  the  moss  had  accumulated  on 
them,  and  leaves  falling  over  them  from  year  to  year 
and  decaying,  a kind  of  soil  had  quite  covered  them, 
although  the  softened  outline  of  the  woodpile  was 
perceptible  in  the  green  mound.  It  was  perhaps  fifty 
years — perhaps  more  — since  the  woodman  had  cut 
and  piled  those  logs  and  sticks,  intending  them  for  his 
winter  fires.  But  he  probably  needs  no  fire  now. 
There  was  something  strangely  interesting  in  this  sim- 
ple circumstance.  Imagine  the  long-dead  woodman, 
and  his  long-dead  wife  and  family,  and  the  old  man 
who  was  a little  child  when  the  wood  was  cut,  coming 
back  from  their  graves,  and  trying  to  nuke  a fire  with 
this  mossy  fuel. 

September  19 th.  — Lying  by  the  lake  yesterday 
afternoon,  with  my  eyes  shut,  while  the  waves  and 
sunshine  were  playing  together  on  the  water,  the 
quick  glimmer  of  the  wavelets  was  perceptible  through 
my  closed  eyelids. 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


175 


r850.J 

October  13 th.  — A windy  day,  with  wind  northwest, 
cool,  with  a prevalence  of  dull  gray  clouds  over  tho 
sky,  but  with  brief,  quick  glimpses  of  sunshine. 

The  foliage  having  its  autumn  hues,  Monument 
Mountain  looks  like  a headless  sphinx,  wrapped  in  a rich 
Persian  shawl.  Yesterday,  through  a diffused  mist, 
with  the  sun  shining  on  it,  it  had  the  aspect  of  bur- 
nished copper.  The  sun-gleams  on  the  hills  are  pe- 
culiarly magnificent  just  in  these  days. 

One  of  the  children,  drawing  a cow  on  the  blackboard, 
says,  “ I ’ll  kick  this  leg  out  a little  more,”  — a very 
happy  energy  of  expression,  completely  identifying  her- 
self with  the  cow ; or  perhaps,  as  the  cow’s  creator, 
conscious  of  full  power  over  its  movements. 

October  14 th.  — The  brilliancy  of  the  foliage  has 
passed  its  acme ; and  indeed  it  has  not  been  so  magnifi- 
cent this  season  as  in  some  others,  owing  to  the  gradual 
approaches  of  cooler  weather,  and  there  having  been 
slight  frosts  instead  of  severe  ones.  There  is  still  a 
shaggy  richness  on  the  hillsides. 

October  1 §th.  — A morning  mist,  filling  up  the  whole 
length  and  breadth  of  the  valley  betwixt  my  house  and 
Monument  Mountain,  the  summit  of  the  mountain 
emerging.  The  mist  reaches  almost  to  my  window,  sc 
dense  as  to  conceal  everything,  except  that  near  its 
hither  boundary  a few  ruddy  or  yellow  tree-tops  ap- 
pear, glorified  by  the  early  sunshine,  as  is  likewise  the 
whole  mist- cloud. 

There  is  a glen  between  this  house  and  the  lake 


176 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850. 


through  which  winds  a little  brook  with  pools  and  tiny 
waterfalls  over  the  great  roots  of  trees.  The  glen  is 
deep  and  narrow,  and  filled  with  trees;  so  that,  in  the 
summer,  it  is  all  a dense  shadow  of  obscurity.  Now,  the 
foliage  of  the  trees  being  almost  entirely  a golden 
yellow,  instead  of  being  full  of  shadow,  the  glen  is 
absolutely  full  of  sunshine,  and  its  depths  are  more  bril- 
liant than  the  open  plain  or  the  mountain-tops.  The 
trees  are  sunshine,  and,  many  of  the  golden  leaves  being 
freshly  fallen,  the  glen  is  strewn  with  sunshine,  amid 
which  winds  and  gurgles  the  bright,  dark  little  brook. 

December  ls£.  — I saw  a dandelion  in  bloom  near  the 
lake. 

December  19 th. — If  the  world  were  crumbled  to  the 
finest  dust,  and  scattered  through  the  universe,  there 
would  not  be  an  atom  of  the  dust  for  each  star. 

“ Generosity  is  the  flower  of  justice.” 

The  print  in  blood  of  a naked  foot  to  be  traced 
through  the  street  of  a town. 

Sketch  of  a personage  with  the  malignity  of  a witch, 
and  doing  the  mischief  attributed  to  one,  — but  by 
natural  means  ; breaking  off  love-affairs,  teaching  chi) 
dren  vices,  ruining  men  of  wealth,  &c. 

Ladislaus,  King  of  Naples,  besieging  the  city  of 
Florence,  agreed  to  show  mercy,  provided  the  inhabi- 
tants would  deliver  to  him  a certain  virgin  of  famous 


1850.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


177 


beauty,  the  daughter  of  a physician  of  the  city.  When 
she  was  sent  to  the  king,  every  one  contributing  some- 
thing to  adorn  her  in  the  richest  manner,  her  father 
gave  her  a perfumed  handkerchief,  at  that  time  a uni- 
versal decoration,  richly  wrought.  This  handkerchief 
was  poisoned  with  his  utmost  art,  ....  and  they  pres- 
ently died  in  one  another’s  arms. 

Of  a bittei  satirist,  — of  Swift,  for  instance, — it 
might  be  said,  that  the  person  or  thing  on  which  his 
satire  fell  shrivelled  up  as  if  the  Devil  had  spit  on  it. 

The  F ount  of  Tears,  — a traveller  to  discover  it,  — 
and  other  similar  localities. 

Benvenuto  Cellini  saw  a Salamander  in  the  house- 
hold fire.  It  was  shown  him  by  his  father,  in  child- 
hood. 

For  the  virtuoso’s  collection,  — the  pen  with  which 
Faust  signed  away  his  salvation,  with  the  drop  of  blood 
dried  in  it. 

An  article  on  newspaper  advertisements,  — a country 
newspaper,  methinks,  rather  than  a city  one. 

An  eating-house,  where  all  the  dishes  served  out, 
even  to  the  bread  and  salt,  shall  be  poisoned  with  the 
adulterations  that  are  said  to  be  practised.  Perhaps 
Death  himself  might  be  the  cook. 

Personify  the  century,  — talk  of  its  present  middle 
age, of  its  youth,  — and  its  adventures  and  prospects* 
8* 


L 


178 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850 


An  uneducated  countryman,  supposing  he  had  a live 
frog  in  his  stomach,  applied  himself  to  the  study  of 
medicine  in  order  to  find  a cure  for  this  disease  ; and  he 
became  a profound  physician.  Thus  misfortune,  physi- 
cal or  moral,  may  be  the  means  of  educating  and  elevat- 
ing us. 

“ Mather’s  Manduction  and  Ministerium,”  — or  “ Di 
rections  for  a candidate  ” for  the  ministry,  — with  the 
autographs  of  four  successive  clergymen  in  it,  all  of  them, 
at  one  time  or  another,  residents  of  the  old  Manse, — 
Daniel  Bliss,  1734  ; William  Emerson,  1770  ; Ezra  Rip- 
ley, 1781  ; and  Samuel  Ripley,  son  of  the  preceding.  The 
book,  according  to  a Latin  memorandum,  was  sold  to 
Daniel  Bliss  by  Daniel  Bremer,  who,  I suppose,  was 
another  student  of  divinity.  Printed  at  Boston  “for 
Thomas  Hancock,  and  sold  at  his  shop  in  Ann  St. 
near  the  Draw  Bridge,  1726.”  William  Emerson  was 
son-in-law  of  Daniel  Bliss.  Ezra  Ripley  married  the 
widow  of  said  William  Emerson,  and  Samuel  Ripley 
was  their  son. 

Mrs.  Prescott  has  an  ox  whose  visage  bears  a strong 
resemblance  to  Daniel  Webster,  — a majestic  brute. 

The  spells  of  witches  have  the  power  of  producing 
meats  and  viands  that  have  the  appearance  of  a sumptu- 
ous feast,  which  the  Devil  furnishes.  But  a Divine 
Providence  seldom  permits  the  meat  to  be  good,  but 
it  has  generally  some  bad  taste  or  smell,  — mostly 
wants  salt,  — and  the  feast  is  often  without  bread. 

An  article  on  cemeteries,  with  fantastic  ideas  of  mon* 


r850.j  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  179 

uments  ; for  Instance,  a sun-dial ; — a large,  wide  carved 
stone  chair,  with  some  such  motto  as  “ Rest  and  Think,” 
and  others,  facetious  or  serious. 

“ Mamma,  I see  a part  of  your  smile,”  — a child  to 
her  mother,  whose  mouth  was  partly  covered  by  her 
hand. 

“ The  syrup  of  my  bosom,”  — an  improvisation  of  a 
little  girl,  addressed  to  an  imaginary  child. 

“The  wind-turn,”  “the  lightning-catch,”  a child’s 
phrases  for  weathercock  and  lightning-rod. 

“ Where  \s  the  man-mountain  of  these  Liliputs  ? ” 
cried  a little  boy,  as  he  looked  at  a small  engraving  of 
the  Greeks  getting  into  the  wooden  horse. 

When  the  sun  shines  brightly  on  the  new  snow,  we 
discover  ranges  of  hills,  miles  away  towards  the  south, 
which  we  have  never  seen  before. 

To  have  the  North  Pole  for  a fishing-pole,  and  the 
Equinoctial  Line  for  a fishing-line. 

If  we  consider  the  lives  of  the  lower  animals,  we  shall 
see  in  them  a close  parallelism  to  those  of  mortals  ; — 
toil,  struggle,  danger,  privation,  mingled  with  glimpses 
of  peace  and  ease  ; enmity,  affection,  a continual  hope 
of  bettering  themselves,  although  their  objects  lie  at  less 
distance  before  them  than  ours  can  do.  Thus,  no  argu- 
ment for  the  imperfect  character  of  our  existence  and 
its  delusory  promises,  and  its  apparent  injustice,  can  be 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


180 


[1851, 


drawn  in  reference  to  our  immortality,  without,  in  a de- 
gree, being  applicable  to  our  brute  brethren. 


Lenox , February  12 th9  1851.  — A walk  across  the 
lake  with  Una.  A heavy  rain,  some  days  ago,  has 
melted  a good  deal  of  the  snow  on  the  intervening  de 
scent  between  our  house  and  the  lake  ; but  many  drifts, 
depths,  and  levels  yet  remain ; and  there  is  a frozen 
crust,  sufficient  to  bear  a man’s  weight,  and  very  slip- 
pery. Adown  the  slopes  there  are  tiny  rivulets,  which 
exist  only  for  the  winter.  Bare,  brown  spaces  of  grass 
here  and  there,  but  still  so  infrequent  as  only  to  diver- 
sify the  scene  a little.  In  the  woods,  rocks  emerging, 
and,  where  there  is  a slope  immediately  towards  the 
lake,  the  snow  is  pretty  much  gone,  and  we  see  partridge- 
berries  frozen,  and  outer  shells  of  walnuts,  and  chestnut- 
burrs,  heaped  or  scattered  among  the  roots  of  the  trees. 
The  walnut-husks  mark  the  place  where  the  boys,  after 
nutting,  sat  down  to  clear  the  walnuts  of  their  outer 
shell.  The  various  species  of  pine  look  exceedingly 
brown  just  now,  — less  beautiful  than  those  trees  which 
shed  their  leaves.  An  oak-tree,  with  almost  all  its  brown 
foliage  still  rustling  on  it.  We  clamber  down  the  bank, 
and  step  upon  the  frozen  lake.  It  was  snow-covered 
for  a considerable  time ; but  the  rain  overspread  it  with 
a surface  of  water,  or  imperfectly  melted  snow,  which 
is  now  hard  frozen  again  ; and  the  thermometer  having 
been  frequently  below  zero,  I suppose  the  ice  may  be 
four  or  five  feet  thick.  Frequently  there  are  great 
cracks  across  it,  caused,  I suppose,  by  the  air  beneath, 
and  giving  an  idea  of  greater  firmness  than  if  there  were 
no  cracks  ; round  holes,  which  have  been  hewn  in  the 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  181 

marble  pavement  by  fishermen,  and  are  now  frozen  over 
again,  looking  darker  than  the  rest  of  the  surface ; spaces 
where  the  snow  was  more  imperfectly  dissolved  than 
elsewhere ; little  crackling  spots,  where  a thin  surface 
of  ice,  over  the  real  mass,  crumples  beneath  one’s  foot ; 
the  track  of  a line  of  footsteps,  most  of  them  vaguely 
formed,  but  some  quite  perfectly,  where  a person  passed 
across  the  hike  while  its  surface  was  in  a state  of  slush, 
but  which  are  now  as  hard  as  adamant,  and  remind  one 
of  the  traces  discovered  by  geologists  in  rocks  that  hard- 
ened thousands  of  ages  ago.  It  seems  as  if  the  person 
passed  when  the  lake  was  in  an  intermediate  state  be- 
tween ice  and  water.  In  one  spot  some  pine  boughs* 
which  somebody  had  cut  and  heaped  there  for  an  un- 
known purpose.  In  the  centre  of  the  lake,  we  see  the 
surrounding  hills  in  a new  attitude,  this  being  a basin 
in  the  midst  of  them.  Where  they  are  covered  with 
wood,  the  aspect  is  gray  or  black  ; then  there  are  bare 
slopes  of  unbroken  snow,  the  outlines  and  indentations 
being  much  more  hardly  and  firmly  defined  than  in  sum* 
mer.  We  went  southward  across  the  lake,  directly  for- 
wards Monument  Mountain,  which  reposes,  as  I said, 
like  a headless  sphinx.  Its  prominences,  projections,  and 
roughnesses  are  very  evident ; and  it  does  not  present  a 
smooth  and  placid  front,  as  when  the  grass  is  green  and 
the  trees  in  leaf.  At  one  end,  too,  we  are  sensible  of  pre- 
cipitous descents,  black  and  shaggy  with  the  forest  that 
is  likely  always  to  grow  there  ; and,  in  one  streak,  a 
headlong  sweep  downward  of  snow.  We  just  set  cur 
feet  on  the  farther  shore,  and  then  immediately  returned, 
facing  the  northwest  wind,  which  blew  very  sharply 
against  us. 


182  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  > [lS5j. 

After  landing,  we  came  homeward,  tracing  up  tho 
little  brook  so  far  as  it  lay  in  our  course.  It  was  consid- 
erably swollen,  and  rushed  fleetly  on  its  course  between 
overhanging  banks  of  snow  and  ice,  from  which  de- 
pended adamantine  icicles.  The  little  waterfalls  with 
which  we  had  impeded  it  in  the  summer  and  autumn, 
Could  do  no  more  than  form  a large  ripple,  so  much 
greater  was  the  volume  of  water.  In  some  places  the 
crust  of  frozen  snow  made  a bridge  quite  over  the  brook ; 
so  that  you  only  knew  it  was  there  by  its  brawling  sound 
beneath. 

The  sunsets  of  winter  are  incomparably  splendid, 
and  when  the  ground  is  covered  with  snow,  no  brilliancy 
of  tint  expressible  by  words  can  come  within  an  infinite 
distance  of  the  effect.  Our  southern  view  at  that  time, 
with  the  clouds  and  atmospherical  hues,  is  quite  inde- 
scribable and  unimaginable ; and  the  various  distances  of 
the  hills  which  lie  between  us  and  the  remote  dome  of 
Taconic,  are  brought  out  with  an  accuracy  unattainable 
in  summer.  The  transparency  of  the  air  at  this  season 
has  the  effect  of  a telescope  in  bringing  objects  appar- 
ently near,  while  it  leaves  the  scene  all  its  breadth. 
The  sunset  sky,  amidst  its  splendor,  has  a softness  and 
delicacy  that  impart  themselves  to  a white  marble 
world. 

February  1 8^A.  — A walk,  yesterday  afternoon,  with 
the  children  ; a bright,  and  rather  cold  day,  breezy  from 
the  north  and  westward.  There  has  been  a good  deal 
of  soaking  rain  lately,  and  it  has,  in  great  measure, 
cleared  hills  and  plains  of  snow,  only  it  may  be  seen 
lying  in  spots,  and  on  each  side  of  stone  walls,  in  a 


1851.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


183 


pretty  broad  streak.  The  grass  is  brown  and  withered, 
and  yet,  scattered  all  amongst  it,  on  close  inspection, 
one  finds  a greenness,  — little  shrubs  that  have  kept 
green  under  all  the  severity  of  winter,  and  seem  to  need 
no  change  to  fit  them  for  midsummer.  In  the  woods 
we  see  stones  covered  with  moss  that  retains  likewise  a 
most  lively  green.  Where  the  trees  are  dense,  the 
snow  still  lies  under  them.  On  the  sides  of  the  moun- 
tains, some  miles  off,  the  black  pines  and  the  white 
snow  among  them  together  produce  a gray  effect.  The 
little  streams  are  the  most  interesting  objects  at  this 
time ; some  that  have  an  existence  only  at  this  season, 
— Mississippi  of  the  moment,  — yet  glide  and  tumble 
along  as  if  they  were  perennial.  The  familiar  ones 
seem  strange  by  their  breadth  and  volume ; their  little 
waterfalls  set  off  by  glaciers  on  a small  scale.  The  sun 
has  by  this  time  force  enough  to  make  sheltered  nooks 
in  the  angles  of  woods,  or  on  banks,  warm  and  comforta- 
ble. The  lake  is  still  of  adamantine  substance,  but  ali 
round  the  borders  there  is  a watery  margin,  altogether 
strewed  or  covered  with  thin  and  broken  ice,  so  that  I 
could  not  venture  on  it  with  the  children.  A chickadee 
was  calling  in  the  woods  yesterday,  — the  only  small  bird 
I have  taken  note  of  yet ; but  crows  have  been  cawing 
in  the  woods  for  a week  past,  though  not  in  very  great 
numbers. 

February  22df. — For  the  last  two  or  three  days 
there  has  been  a warm,  soaking,  southeasterly  rain, 
with  a spongy  moisture  diffused  through  the  atmosphere. 
T\  *3  snow  has  disappeared,  except  in  spots  which  are 
the  ruins  of  high  drifts,  and  patches  far  up  on  the  hilb 


184 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1851 


sides.  The  mists  rest  all  day  long  on  the  brows  of  the 
hills  that  shut  in  our  valley.  The  road  over  which  I 
walk  every  day  to  and  from  the  village  is  in  the  worst 
state  of  mud  and  mire,  soft,  slippery,  nasty  to  tread 
upon  ; while  the  grass  beside  it  is  scarcely  better,  being 
so  oozy  and  so  overflowed  with  little  streams,  and  some- 
times an  absolute  bog.  The  rivulets  race  along  the 
road,  adown  the  hills ; and  wherever  there  is  a perma- 
nent brooklet,  however  generally  insignificant,  it  is  now 
swollen  into  importance,  and  the  rumble  and  tumble  of 
its  waterfalls  may  be  heard  a long  way  off.  The 
general  effect  of  the  day  and  scenery  is  black,  black, 
black.  The  streams  are  all  as  turbid  as  mud-puddles. 

Imitators  of  original  authors  might  be  compared  to 
plaster  casts  of  marble  statues,  or  the  imitative  book  to 
a cast  of  the  original  marble. 

March  1 1th.  — After  the  ground  had  been  completely 
freed  of  snow,  there  has  been  a snow-storm  for  the  two 
days  preceding  yesterday,  which  made  the  earth  all 
white  again.  This  morning,  at  sunrise,  the  thermometer 
stood  at  about  18°  above  zero.  Monument  Mountain 
stands  out  in  great  prominence,  with  its  dark  forest- 
covered  sides,  and  here  and  there  a large,  white  patch, 
indicating  tillage  or  pasture  land ; but  making  a gener- 
ally dark  contrast  with  the  white  expanse  of  the  frozen 
and  snow-covered  lake  at  its  base,  and  the  more  undu- 
lating white  of  the  surrounding  country.  Yesterday, 
under  the  sunshine  of  midday,  and  with  many  volumi- 
nous clouds  hanging  over  it,  and  a mist  of  wintry 
warmth  in  the  air,  it  had  a kind  of  visionary  aspect* 


1851.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  135 

although  still  it  was  brought  out  in  striking  relief.  But 
though  one  could  see  all  its  bulgings,  round  swells,  and 
precipitous  abruptnesses,  it  looked  as  much  akin  to  the 
clouds  as  to  solid  earth  and  rock  substance.  In  the 
early  sunshine  of  the  morning,  the  atmosphere  being 
very  clear,  I saw  the  dome  of  Taconic  with  more  dis- 
tinctness than  ever  before,  the  snow-patches  and  brown, 
uncovered  soil  on  its  round  head  being  fully  visible. 
Generally  it  is  but  a dark  blue  unvaried  mountain-top. 
All  the  ruggedness  of  the  intervening  hill-country  was 
likewise  effectively  brought  out.  There  seems  to  be  a 
sort  of  illuminating  quality  in  new  snow,  which  it  loses 
after  being  exposed  for  a day  or  two  to  the  sun  and 
atmosphere. 

For  a child’s  story,  — the  voyage  of  a little  boat, 
made  of  a chip,  with  a birch-bark  sail,  down  a river. 

March  31s£.  — A walk  with  the  children  yesterday 
forenoon.  We  went  through  the  wood,  where  we  found 
partridge-berries,  half  hidden  among  the  dry,  fallen 
leaves ; thence  down  to  the  brook.  This  little  brook 
has  not  cleansed  itself  from  the  disarray  of  the  past 
autumn  and  winter,  and  is  much  embarrassed  and 
choked  up  with  brown  leaves,  twigs,  and  bits  of  branches. 
It  rushes  along  merrily  and  rapidly,  gurgling  cheerfully, 
and  tumbling  over  the  impediments  of  stones  with 
which  the  children  and  I made  little  waterfalls  last  year. 
At  many  spots,  there  are  small  basins  or  pools  of  calmer 
and  smoother  depth,  — three  feet,  perhaps,  in  diameter, 
and  a foot  or  two  deep,  — in  which  little  fish  are 
already  sporting  about;  all  elsewhere  is  tumble  and 


186  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1851 

gurgle  and  mimic  turbulence  I °at  on  the  withered 
leaves  at  the  foot  of  a tree,  while  the  children  played,  a 
little  brook  being  the  most  fascinating  plaything  that  a 
child  can  have.  Una  jumped  to  and  fro  across  it; 
Julian  stood  beside  a pool,  fishing  with  a stick,  without 
hook  or  line,  and  wondering  that  he  caught  nothing. 
Then  he  made  new  waterfalls  with  mighty  labor,  pulling 
big  stones  out  of  the  earth,  and  flinging  them  into  the 
current.  Then  they  sent  branches  of  trees,  or  the  outer 
shells  of  walnuts,  sailing  down  the  stream,  and  watched 
their  passages  through  the  intricacies  of  the  way,  — how 
they  were  hurried  over  in  a cascade,  hurried  dizzily 
round  in  a whirlpool,  or  brought  quite  to  a stand-still 
amongst  the  collected  rubbish.  At  last  Julian  tumbled 
into  the  brook,  and  was  wetted  through  and  through  so 
that  we  were  obliged  to  come  home ; he  squelching 
along  all  the  way,  with  his  india-rubber  shoes  full  of 
water. 

There  are  still  patches  of  snow  on  the  hills  ; also  in 
the  woods,  especially  on  the  northern  margins.  The 
lake  is  not  yet  what  we  may  call  thawed  out,  although 
there  is  a large  space  of  blue  water,  and  the  ice  is 
separated  from  the  shore  everywhere,  and  is  soft,  water- 
soaked,  and  crumbly.  On  favorable  slopes  and  expos- 
ures, the  earth  begins  to  look  green  ; and  almost  any- 
where, if  one  looks  closely,  one  sees  the  greenness  oi 
the  grass,  or  of  little  herbage,  amidst  the  brown.  Un- 
der the  nut-trees  are  scattered  some  of  the  nuts  of  last 
year ; the  walnuts  have  lost  their  virtue,  the  chestnuts 
do  not  seem  to  have  much  taste,  but  the  butternuts  are 
in  no  manner  deteriorated.  The  warmth  of  these  days 
has  a mistiness,  and  in  many  respects  resembles  the 


IKH.]  AMKidCAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  187 

Indian  summer,  and  is  not  at  all  provocative  of  physical 
exertion.  Nevertheless,  the  general  impression  is  of 
life,  not  death.  One  feels  that  a new  season  has  begun. 

Wednesday , April  9 th.  — There  was  a great  rain  yes- 
terday, — wind  from  the  southeast,  and  the  last  visible 
vestige  of  snow  disappeared.  It  was  a small  patch 
near  the  summit  of  Bald  Mountain,  just  on  the  upper 
verge  of  a grove  of  trees.  I saw  a slight  remnant  of  it 
yesterday  afternoon,  but  to-day  it  is  quite  gone.  The 
grass  comes  up  along  the  roadside  and  on  favorable 
exposures,  with  a sort  of  green  blush.  F rogs  have  been 
melodious  for  a fortnight,  and  the  birds  sing  pleasantly. 

April  20 th,  — The  children  found  Houstonias  more 
than  a week  ago.  There  have  been  easterly  wind,  con- 
tinual cloudiness,  and  occasional  rain  for  a week.  This 
morning  opened  with  a great  snow-storm  from  the 
northeast,  one  of  the  most  earnest  snow-storms  of  the 
year,  though  rather  more  moist  than  in  midwinter.  The 
earth  is  entirely  covered.  Now,  as  the  day  advances 
towards  noon,  it  shows  some  symptoms  of  turning  to 
rain. 

April  2 8^A.  — For  a week  we  have  found  the  trailing 
arbutus  pretty  abundant  in  the  woods.  A day  or  two 
since,  Una  found  a few  purple  violets,  and  yesterday  a 
dandelion  in  bloom.  The  fragrance  of  the  arbutus  is 
spicy  and  exquisite. 

May  1 §th.  — In  our  walks  now,  the  children  and  1 
find  blue,  white,  and  golden  violets,  the  former,  especial- 
ly, of  great  size  and  richness  .Houstonias  are  very 


188  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l8f'\ 

abundant,  blue-whitening  some  of  the  pastures.  They 
are  a very  sociable  little  flower,  and  dwell  close  together 
in  communities,  — sometimes  covering  a spac  3 no  larger 
than  the  palm  of  the  hand,  but  keeping  one  another  in 
cheerful  heart  and  life,  — sometimes  they  occupy  a 
much  larger  space.  Lobelia,  a pink  flower,  growing  in 
the  woods.  Columbines,  of  a pale  red,  because  they 
have  lacked  sun,  growing  in  rough  and  rocky  places  on 
banks  in  the  copses,  precipitating  towards  the  lake. 
The  leaves  of  the  trees  are  not  yet  out,  but  are  so 
apparent  that  the  woods  are  getting  a very  decided 
shadow.  Water- weeds  on  the  edge  of  the  lake,  of  a 
deep  green,  with  roots  that  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  earth,  but  with  water  only. 

May  23 d.  — I think  the  face  of  nature  can  never 
look  more  beautiful  than  now,  with  this  so  fresh  and 
youthful  green,  — the  trees  not  being  fully  in  leaf,  yet 
enough  so  to  give  airy  shade  to  the  woods.  The  sun- 
shine fills  them  with  green  light.  Monument  Mountain 
and  its  brethren  are  green,  and  the  lightness  of  the  tint 
takes  away  something  from  their  massiveness  and  ponder- 
osity, and  they  respond  with  livelier  effect  to  the  shine 
and  shade  of  the  sky.  Each  tree  now  within  sight 
stands  out  in  its  own  individuality  of  hue.  This  is  a 
very  windy  day,  and  the  light  shifts  with  magical 
alternation.  In  a walk  to  the  lake  just  now  with  the 
children,  we  found  abundance  of  flowers,  — wild  gera- 
nium, violets  of  all  families,  red  columbines,  and  many 
others  known  and  unknown,  besides  innumerable  blos- 
soms of  the  wild  strawberry,  which  has  been  in 
blopm  for  the  past  fortnight.  The  Houstonias  seem 


1851.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


189 


quite  to  overspread  some  pastures,  when  viewed  from 
a distance.  Not  merely  the  flowers,  but  the  various 
shrubs  which  one  sees,  — seated,  for  instance,  on  the 
decayed  trunk  of  a tree,  — are  well  worth  looking  at, 
such  a variety  and  such  enjoyment  they  have  of  their 
new  growth.  Amid  these  fresh  creations,  we  see  others 
that  have  already  run  their  course,  and  have  done 
with  warmth  and  sunshine,  — the  hoary  periwigs,  I 
mean,  of  dandelions  gone  to  seed. 

August  7th . — Fourier  states  that,  in  the  progress  of 
the  world,  the  ocean  is  to  lose  its  saltness,  and  acquire 
the  taste  of  a peculiarly  flavored  lemonade. 

October  13th.  — How  pleasant  it  is  to  see  a human 
countenance  which  cannot  be  insincere,  — in  reference 
to  baby’s  smile. 

The  best  of  us  being  unfit  to  die,  what  an  inexpressi- 
ble absurdity  to  put  the  worst  to  death ! 

“Is  that  a burden  of  sunshine  on  Apollo’s  back?” 
asked  one  of  the  children,  — of  the  chlamys  on  our 
Apollo  Belvedere. 

October  21  si. — Going  to  the  village  yesterday  after- 
noon, I saw  the  face  of  a beautiful  woman,  gazing  at  me 
from  a cloud.  It  was  the  full  face,  not  the  bust.  It 
had  a sort  of  mantle  on  the  head,  and  a pleasant  expres- 
sion of  countenance.  The  vision  lasted  while  I took  a 
few  steps,  and  then  vanished.  I never  before  saw  nearly 
so  distinct  a cloud-picture,  or  rather  sculpture  •,  for  it 
' ame  out  in  alto-rilievo  on  the  body  of  the  cloud 


190 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1851 


October  21th.  — The  ground  this  morning  is  white 
with  a thin  covering  of  snow.  The  foliage  has  still 
some  variety  of  hue.  The  dome  of  Taconic  looks  dark, 
and  seems  to  have  no  snow  on  it,  though  I don’t  under- 
stand how  that  can  be.  I saw,  a moment  ago,  on  the 
lake,  a very  singular  spectacle.  There  is  a high  north- 
west wind  ruffling  the  lake’s  surface,  and  making  it  blue, 
lead-colored,  or  bright,  in  stripes  or  at  intervals ; but 
what  I saw  was  a boiling  up  of  foam,  which  began 
at  the  right  bank  of  the  lake,  and  passed  quite  across 
. it ; and  the  mist  flew  before  it,  like  the  cloud  out  of  a 
steam-engine.  A fierce  and  narrow  blast  of  wind  must 
have  ploughed  the  water  in  a straight  line,  from  side  to 
side  of  the  lake.  As  fast  as  it  went  on,  the  foam  sub- 
sided behind  it,  so  that  it  looked  somewhat  like  a sea- 
serpent,  or  other  monster,  swimming  very  rapidly. 

October  23th.  — On  a walk  to  Scott’s  pond,  with 
Ellery  Channing,  we  found  a wild  strawberry  in  the 
woods,  not  quite  ripe,  but  beginning  to  redden.  For  a 
week  or  two,  the  cider-mills  have  been  grinding  apples. 
Immense  heaps  of  apples  lie  piled  near  them,  and  the 
creaking  of  the  press  is  heard  as  the  horse  treads  on. 
Farmers  are  repairing  cider-barrels ; and  the  wayside 
brook  is  made  to  pour  itself  into  the  bunghole  of  a bar- 
rel, in  order  to  cleanse  it  for  the  new  cider. 

November  3d.  — The  face  of  the  country  is  dreary 
now  in  a cloudy  day  like  the  present.  The  woods  on 
the  hillsides  look  almost  black,  and  the  cleared  spaces  a 
kind  of  gray  brown. 

Taconic,  this  morning  (4th),  was  a black  purple,  as 


1862.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


191 


dense  and  distinct  as  Monument  Mountain  itself.  I 
hear  the  creaking  of  the  cider-press ; the  patient  horse 
going  round  and  round,  perhaps  thirsty,  to  make  tho 
liquor  which  he  never  can  enjoy. 

We  left  Lenox  Friday  morning,  November  21,  1851, 
in  a storm  of  snow  and  sleet,  and  took  the  cars  at  Pitts- 
field, and  arrived  at  West  Newton  that  evening. 

Happiness  in  this  world,  when  it  comes,  comes  inci- 
dentally. Make  it  the  object  of  pursuit,  and  it  leads  us 
a wild-goose  chase,  and  is  never  attained.  Follow  some 
other  object,  and  very  possibly  we  may  find  that  we 
have  caught  happiness,  without  dreaming  of  it ; but 
likely  enough  it  is  gone  the  moment  we  say  to  ourselves, 
“ Here  it  is  ! ” like  the  chest  of  gold  that  treasure-seek- 
ers find. 

West  Newton , April  13 th,  1852.  — One  of  the  severest 
snow-storms  of  the  winter. 

April  30 th.  — Wrote  the  last  page  (199th  MS.)  of 
the  Blithedale  Romance. 

May  1st.  — Wrote  Preface.  Afterwards  modified  the 
conclusion,  and  lengthened  it  to  201  pages.  First  proof- 
sheets,  May  14. 

Concord , Mass .,  August  20 th.  — A piece  of  land  con- 
tiguous to  and  connected  with  a handsome  estate,  to  the 
adornment  and  good  appearance  of  which  it  was  essen- 
tial, But  the  owner  of  the  strip  of  land  was  at  van 


3 92 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853- 


ance  with  the  owner  of  the  estate,  so  he  always  refused 
to  sell  it  at  any  price,  but  let  it  lie  there,  wild  and  rag- 
ged, in  front  of  and  near  the  mansion-house.  When  he 
dies,  the  owner  of  the  estate,  who  has  rejoiced  at  the 
approach  of  the  event  all  through  his  enemy’s  illness, 
hopes  at  last  to  buy  it ; but,  to  his  infinite  discomfiture, 
the  enemy  enjoined  in  his  will  that  his  body  should  be 
buried  in  the  centre  of  this  strip  of  land.  All  sorts  of 
ugly  weeds  grow  most  luxuriantly  out  of  the  grave  in 
poisonous  rankness. 

The  Isles  of  Shoals , Monday , August  80 th.  — Left 
Concord  at  a quarter  of  nine  A.  m.  Friday,  September 
3,  set  sail  at  about  half  past  ten  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 
The  passengers  were  an  old  master  of  a vessel ; a 
young,  rather  genteel  man  from  Greenland,  N.  H.  ; two 
Yankees  from  Hamilton  and  Danvers  ; and  a country 
trader  (I  should  judge)  from  some  inland  town  of  New 
Hampshire.  The  old  sea-captain,  preparatory  to  sail- 
ing, bought  a bunch  of  cigars  (they  cost  ten  cents),  and 
occasionally  puffed  one.  The  two  Yankees  had  brought 
guns  on  board,  and  asked  questions  about  the  fishing  of 
the  Shoals.  They  were  young  men,  brothers,  the 
youngest  a shopkeeper  in  Danvers,  the  other  a farmer, 
I imagine,  at  Hamilton,  and  both  specimens  of  the  least 
polished  kind  of  Yankee,  and  therefore  proper  to  those 
localities.  They  were  at  first  full  of  questions,  and 
greatly  interested  in  whatever  was  going  forward ; but 
anon  the  shopkeeper  began  to  grow,  first  a httle,  then 
very  sick,  till  he  lay  along  the  boat,  longing,  as  he  after- 
wards said,  for  a little  fresh  water  to  be  drowned  in 
His  brother  attended  him  in  a very  kindly  way,  but 


*653.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  i93 

became  sick  himself  before  he  reached  the  end  of  the 
voyage. 

The  young  Greenlander  talked  politics,  or  rather  dis- 
cussed the  personal  character  of  Pierce.  The  New 
Hampshire  trader  said  not  a word,  or  hardly  one,  all 
the  way.  A Portsmouth  youth  (whom  I forgot  to  men- 
tion) sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  looking  very  white. 
The  skipper  of  the  boat  is  a Norwegian,  a good- 
natured  fellow,  not  particularly  intelligent,  and  speak- 
ing in  a dialect  somewhat  like  Irish.  He  had  a man 
with  him,  a silent  and  rather  sulky  fellow,  who,  at  the 
captain’s  bidding,  grimly  made  himself  useful. 

The  wind  not  being  favorable,  we  had  to  make  sev- 
eral tacks  before  reaching  the  islands,  where  we  arrived 
at  about  two  o’clock.  We  landed  at  Appledore,  on 
which  is  Laighton’s  Hotel,  — a large  building  with  a 
piazza  or  promenade  before  it,  about  an  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  in  length,  or  more, — yes,  it  must  be  more. 
It  is  an  edifice  with  a centre  and  two  wings,  the  central 
part  upwards  of  seventy  feet.  At  one  end  of  the  prom- 
enade is  a covered  veranda,  thirty  or  forty  feet  square, 
so  situated  that  the  breeze  draws  across  it  from  the  sea 
on  one  side  of  the  island  to  the  sea  on  the  other,  and  it 
is  the  breeziest  and  comfortablest  place  in  the  world  on 
a hot  day.  There  are  two  swings  beneath  it,  and  here 
one  may  sit  or  walk,  and  enjoy  life,  while  all  other 
mortals  are  suffering. 

As  I entered  the  door  of  the  hotel,  there  met  me  a 
short,  corpulent,  round,  and  full-faced  man,  rather  elder- 
ly, if  not  old.  He  was  a little  lame.  He  addressed  me 
in  a hearty,  hospitable  tone,  and,  judging  that  it  must 
be  my  landlord,  I delivered  a letter  of  introduction  from 
9 


VOL.  II. 


M 


194 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOCKS. 


[1852. 


Pierce.  Of  course  it  was  fully  efficient  in  obtaining  the 
best  accommodations  that  were  to  be  had.  I found  that 
we  were  expected,  a man  having  brought  the  news  of 
our  intention  the  day  before.  Here  ensued  great  in- 
quiries after  the  General,  and  wherefore  he  had  not 
come.  I was  looked  at  with  considerable  curiosity  on 
my  own  account,  especially  by  the  ladies,  of  whom  there 
were  several,  agreeable  and  pretty  enough.  There  were 
four  or  five  gentlemen,  most  of  whom  had  not  much  that 
was  noteworthy. 

After  dinner,  which  was  good  and  abundant,  though 
somewhat  rude  in  its  style,  I was  introduced  by  Mr. 
Laighton  to  Mr.  Thaxter,  his  son-in-law,  and  Mr.  Weiss, 
a clergyman  of  New  Bedford,  who  is  staying  here  for 
his  health.  They  showed  me  some  of  the  remarkable 
features  of  the  island,  such  as  a deep  chasm  in  the  cliffs 
of  the  shore,  towards  the  southwest  ; also  a monument 
of  rude  stones,  on  the  highest  point  of  the  island,  said  to 
have  been  erected  by  Captain  John  Smith  before  the 
settlement  at  Plymouth.  The  tradition  is  just  as  good 
as  truth.  Also,  some  ancient  cellars,  with  thistles  and 
other  weeds  growing  in  them,  and  old  fragmentary 
bricks  scattered  about.  The  date  of  these  habitations  is 
not  known  ; but  they  may  well  be  the  remains  of  the 
settlement  that  Cotton  Mather  speaks  about;  or  per- 
haps one  of  them  was  the  house  where  Sir  William 
Pepperell  was  born,  and  where  he  went  when  he  and 
somebody  else  set  up  a stick,  and  travelled  to  seek  their 
fortunes  in  the  direction  in  which  it  fell. 

In  the  evening,  the  company  at  the  hotel  made  up  two 
whist  parties^  at  one  of  which  I sat  down,  — my  partner 
being  an  agreeable  young  lady  from  Portsmouth.  We 


1852.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.'  195 

played  till  I,  at  least,  was  quite  weary.  It  had  been 
the  beautifullest  of  weather  all  day,  very  hot  on  the 
main-land,  but  a delicious  climate  under  our  veranda. 

Saturday , September  4th.  — Another  beautiful  day, 
/ather  cooler  than  the  preceding,  but  not  too  cool.  I 
can  bear  this  coolness  better  than  teat  of  the  interior. 
In  the  forenoon,  I took  passage  foi  Star  Island,  in  a 
boat  that  crosses  daily  whenever  tnere  are  passengers. 
My  companions  were  the  two  Yan&ees,  who  had  quite 
recovered  from  yesterday’s  sickness,  and  were  in  the 
best  of  spirits  and  the  utmost  activity  of  mind  of  which 
they  were  capable.  Never  was  tnere  such  a string  of 
questions  as  they  directed  to  the  boatman,  — questions 
that  seemed  to  have  no  gist,  so  far  as  related  to  any  use 
that  could  be  made  of  the  answers.  They  appear  to  be 
very  good  young  men,  however,  well-meaning,  and  with 
manners  not  disagreeable,  because  their  hearts  are  not 
amiss.  Star  Island  is  less  than  a mile  from  Apple- 
dore.  It  is  the  most  populous  island  of  the  group,  — 
has  been,  for  three  or  four  years,  an  incorporated  town- 
ship, and  sends  a representative  to  the  New  Hampshire 
legislature.  The  number  of  voters  is  variously  repre- 
sented as  from  eighteen  to  twenty-eight.  The  inhabitants 
are  all,  I presume,  fishermen.  Their  houses  stand  in 
pretty  close  neighborhood  to  one  another,  scattered  about 
•without  the  slightest  regularity  or  pretence  of  a street, 
there  being  no  wheel-carriages  on  the  island.  Some  of 
the  houses  are  very  comfortable  two-story  dwellings.  I 
saw  two  or  three,  I think,  with  flowers.  There  are  also 
cne  or  two  trees  on  the  island.  There  is  a strong  odor 

fishiness,  and  the  little  cove  is  full  of  mackerel-boats. 


196 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOORS. 


[1852. 


and  other  small  craft  for  fishing,  in  some  of  which  little 
boys  of  no  growth  at  all  were  paddling  about.  Nearly 
in  the  centre  of  this  insular  metropolis  is  a two-story 
house,  with  a flag-staff  in  the  yard.  This  is  the  hotel. 

On  the  highest  point  of  Star  Island  stands  the  church, 
— a small,  wooden  structure  ; and,  sitting  in  its  shadow,  I 
found  a red-baize-shirted  fisherman,  who  seemed  quite 
willing  to  converse.  He  said  that  there  was  a minister 
here,  who  was  also  the  schoolmaster ; but  that  he  did  not 
keep  school  just  now,  because  his  wife  was  very  much 
out  of  health.  The  school-house  stood  but  a little  way 
from  the  meeting-house,  and  near  it  was  the  minister’s 
dwelling  ; and  by  and  by  I had  a glimpse  of  the  good 
man  himself,  in  his  suit  of  black,  which  looked  in  very 
decent  condition  at  the  distance  from  which  I viewed 
it.  His  clerical  air  was  quite  distinguishable,  and  it  was 
rather  curious  to  see  it,  when  everybody  else  wore  red- 
baize  shirts  and  fishing-boots,  and  looked  of  the  scaly 
genus.  He  did  not  approach  me,  and  I saw  him  no 
nearer.  I soon  grew  weary  of  Gosport,  and  was  glad 
to  re-embark,  although  I intend  to  revisit  the  island  with 
Mr.  Thaxter,  and  see  more  of  its  peculiarities  and  in- 
habitants. I saw  one  old  witch-looking  woman  creep- 
ing about  with  a cane,  and  stooping  down,  seemingly  to 
gather  herbs.  On  mentioning  her  to  Mr.  Thaxter,  after 
my  return,  he  said  that  it  was  probably  “ the  bearded 
woman.”  I did  not  observe  her  beard  ; but  very  likely 
Bhe  may  have  had  one. 

The  larger  part  of  the  company  at  the  hotel  returned 
to  the  main-land  to-day.  There  remained  behind,  how 

ever,  a Mr.  T from  Newbury  port,  — a man  ol 

natural  refinement,  and  a taste  for  reading  that  seems  to 


1852.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


197 


point  towards  the  writings  of  Emerson,  Thoreau,  and 
men  of  that  class. . I have  had  a good  deal  of  talk  with 
him,  and  at  first  doubted  whether  he  might  not  be  a 
clergyman  ; but  Mr.  Thaxter  tells  me  that  he  has  made 
his  own  way  in  the  world,  — was  once  a sailor  before  the 
mast,  and  is  now  engaged  in  mercantile  pursuits.  He 
looks  like  nothing  of  this  kind,  being  tall  and  slender, 
with  very  quiet  manners,  not  beautiful,  though  pleasing 
from  the  refinement  that  they  indicate.  He  has  rather 
h precise  and  careful  pronunciation,  but  yet  a natural 
way  of  talking. 

In  the  afternoon  I walked  round  a portion  of  the  isl- 
ind  that  I had  not  previously  visited,  and  in  the  even- 
ing went  with  Mr.  Titcomb  to  Mr.  Thaxter’s  to  drink 
ipple-toddy.  We  found  Mrs.  Thaxter  sitting  in  a neat 
little  parlor,  very  simply  furnished,  but  in  good  taste. 
She  is  not  now,  I believe,  more  than  eighteen  years  old, 
/ery  pretty,  and  with  the  manners  of  a lady,  — not 
>rim  and  precise,  but  with  enough  of  freedom  and  ease. 
The  books  on  the  table  were  “ Pre-Raphaelitism,”  a 
tract  on  spiritual  mediums,  &c.  There  were  several 
shelves  of  books  on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  engravings 
on  the  walls.  Mr.  Weiss  was  there,  and  I do  not  know 
but  he  is  an  inmate  of  Mr.  Thaxter’s.  By  and  by  came 
Jn  Mr.  Thaxter’s  brother,  with  a young  lady  whose 
position  I do  not  know,  — either  a sister  or  the  brother’s 
wife.  Anon,  too,  came  in  the  apple-toddy,  a very  rich 
md  spicy  compound ; after  which  we  had  some  glees 
tnd  negro  melodies,  in  which  Mr.  Thaxter  sang  a noble 
bass,  and  Mrs.  Thaxter  sang  like  a bird,  and  Mr.  Weiss 
♦ang,  I suppose,  tenor,  and  the  brother  took  soive  other 


198  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1852. 

part,  and  all  were  very  mirthful  and  jolly.  At  about 
ten  o’clock  Mr.  Titcomb  and  myself  took  leave,  and 
emerging  into  the  open  air,  out  of  that  room  of  song, 
and  pretty  youthfulness  of  woman,  and  gay  young  men, 
there  was  the  sky,  and  the  three-quarters  waning  moon, 
and  the  old  sea  moaning  all  round  about  the  island. 

Sunday , September  5th.  — To-day  I have  done  little  or 
nothing  except  to  roam  along  the  shore  of  the  island,  and 
to  sit  under  the  piazza,  talking  with  Mr.  Laighton  or  .some 
of  his  half-dozen  guests  ; and  about  an  hour  before 
dinner  I came  up  to  my  room,  and  took  a brief  nap. 
Since  dinner  I have  been  writing  the  foregoing  journal. 
I observe  that  the  Fanny  Ellsler,  our  passenger  and 
mail  boat,  has  arrived  from  Portsmouth,  and  now  lies  in 
a little  cove,  moored  to  the  rocky  shore,  with  a flag 
flying  at  her  main-mast.  We  have  been  watching  her 
for  some  hours,  but  she  stopped  to  fish,  and  then  went 
to  some  other  island,  before  putting  in  here.  I must  go 
and  see  what  news  she  has  brought. 

“ What  did  you  fire  at  ? ” asked  one  of  the  Yankees  just 
now  of  a boy  who  had  been  firing  a gun.  “ Nothing,” 
said  the  boy.  “ Did  you  hit  it  ? ” rejoined  the  Yankee. 

The  farmer  is  of  a much  ruder  and  rougher  mould 
than  his  brother,  — heavier  in  frame  and  mind,  and  far 
less  cultivated.  It  was  on  this  account,  probably,  that 
he  labored  as  a farmer,  instead  of  setting  up  a shop. 
When  it  is  warm,  as  yesterday,  he  takes  off  his  coat,  and, 
not  minding  whether  or  no  his  shirt-sleeves  be  soiled, 
goes  in  this  guise  to  meals  or  wherever  else,  — not 
resuming  his  coat  as  long  as  he  is  more  comfortable 
without  it.  His  shoulders  have  a sloop,  and  altogether 


1 852.  J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


19? 


his  air  is  that  of  a farmer  in  repose.  His  brother  is 
handsome,  and  might  have  quite  the  aspect  of  a smart, 
comely  young  man,  if  well  dressed. 

This  island  is  said  to  be  haunted  by  a spectre  called 
u Old  Bab.”  He  was  one  of  Captain  Kidd’s  men,  and 
was  slain  for  the  protection  of  the  treasure.  Mr. 
Laighton  said  that,  before  he  built  his  house,  nothing 
would  have  induced  the  inhabitant  of  another  island  to 
come  to  this  after  nightfall.  The  ghost  especially 
haunts  the  space  between  the  hotel  and  the  cove  in 
front.  There  has,  in  times  past,  been  great  search  for 
the  treasure. 

Mr.  Thaxter  tells  me  that  the  women  on  the  island 
are  very  timid  as  to  venturing  on  the  sea,  — more  so 
than  the  women  of  the  main-land,  — and  that  they  are 
easily  frightened  about  their  husbands.  Very  few  acci- 
dents happen  to  the  boats  or  men,  — none,  I think,  since 
Mr.  Thaxter  has  been  here.  They  are  not  an  enter- 
prising set  of  people,  never  liking  to  make  long  voyages. 
Sometimes  one  of  them  will  ship  on  a voyage  to  the 
West  Indies,  but  generally  only  on  coastwise  trips,  or 
fishing  or  mackerel  voyages.  They  have  a very  strong 
local  attachment,  and  return  to  die.  They  are  now 
generally  temperate,  formerly  very  much  the  contrary. 

September  bth.  — A large  part  of  the  guests  took 
their  departure  after  an  early  breakfast  this  morning, 
including  Mr.  Titcomb,  Mr.  Weiss,  the  two  Yankees,  and 
Mr.  Thaxter,  — who,  however,  went  as  skipper  or  super- 
cargo, and  will  return  with  the  boat.  I have  been  fish- 
ing for  cunners  off  the  rocks,  but  with  intolerably  poor 
success.  There  is  nothing  so  dispiriting  as  poor  fishing, 


200  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [185$. 

and  I spend  most  of  the  time  with  my  head  on  my 
hands,  looking  at  the  sea  breaking  against  the  rocks, 
shagged  around  the  bases  with  sea- weed.  It  is  a suntiy 
forenoon,  with  a cool  breeze  from  the  southwest.  The 
mackerel  craft  are  in  the  offing.  Mr.  Lai gh  ton  says 
that  the  Spy  (the  boat  which  went  to  the  main-land  this 
morning)  is  now  on  her  return  with  all  her  colors  set ; 
and  he  thinks  that  Pierce  is  on  board,  he  having  sent 
Mr.  Thaxter  to  invite  him  to  come  in  this  boat. 

Pierce  arrived  before  dinner  in  the  Spy,  accompanied 
by  Judge  Upham  and  his  brother  and  their  wives,  his 
own  wife,  Mr.  F urness,  and  three  young  ladies.  After 
dinner  some  of  the  gentlemen  crossed  over  to  Gosport, 
where  we  visited  the  old  graveyard,  in  which  were 
monuments  to  Rev.  Mr.  Tucke  (died  1773,  after  forty 
years’  settlement)  and  to  another  and  later  minister  of 
the  island.  They  were  of  red  freestone,  lying  horizon- 
tally on  piles  of  the  granite  fragments,  such  as  are 
scattered  all  about.  There  were  other  graves,  marked 
by  the  rudest  shapes  of  stones  at  head  and  foot.  And 
so  many  stones  protruded  from  the  ground,  that  it  was 
wonderful  how  space  and  depth  enough  was  found 
between  them  to  cover  the  dead.  We  went  to  the  house 
of  the  town  clerk  of  Gosport  (a  drunken  fisherman,  Joe 
Caswell  by  name)  and  there  found  the  town  records, 
commencing  in  1732  in  a beautiful  style  of  penmanship. 
They  are  imperfect,  the  township  having  been  broken 
up,  probably  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution.  Caswell, 
being  very  drunk,  immediately  put  in  a petition  ts 
Pierce  to  build  a sea-mole  for  the  protection  of  the 
navigation  of  the  island  when  he  should  be  President. 
He  was  dressed  in  the  ordinary  fisherman’-;  style,  — red- 


1852.]  AMERICAN  NOtE-fcOOKS.  201 

baize  shirt,  trousers  tucked  into  large  boots,  which,  as 
he  had  just  come  ashore,  were  wet  with  salt  water. 

He  led  us  down  to  the  shore  of  the  island,  towards 
the  east,  and  showed  us  Betty  Moody’s  Hole.  This 
Betty  Moody  was  a woman  of  the  island  in  old  times. 
The  Indians  came  off  on  a depredating  excursion,  and 
she  fled  from  them  with  a child,  and  hid  herself  in  this 
hole,  which  is  formed  by  several  great  rocks  being 
lodged  so  as  to  cover  one  of  the  fissures  which  are  com- 
mon along  these  shores.  I crept  into  the  hole,  which  is 
somewhat  difficult  of  access,  long,  low,  and  narrow,  and 
might  well  enough  be  a hiding-place.  The  child,  or 
children,  began  to  cry  ; and  Betty,  fearful  of  discovery, 
murdered  them,  to  save  herself.  Joe  Caswell  did  not 
tell  the  latter  part  of  the  story,  but  Mr.  Thaxter  did. 

Not  far  from  the  spot  there  is  a point  of  rocks  ex- 
tending out  farther  into  the  ocean  than  the  rest  of  the 
island.  Some  four  or  five  years  ago  there  was  a young 
woman  residing  at  Gosport  in  the  capacity  of  school- 
teacher. She  was  of  a romantic  turn,  and  used  to  go 
and  sit  on  this  point  of  rock  to  view  the  waves.  One 
day,  when  the  wind  was  high,  and  the  surf  raging 
against  the  rocks,  a great  wave  struck  her,  as  she  sat  on 
the  edge,  and  seemed  to  deprive  her  of  sense ; another 
wave,  or  the  reflex  of  the  same  one,  carried  her  off  into 
the  sea,  and  she  was  seen  no  more.  This  happened,  I 
think,  in  1846. 

Passing  a rock  near  the  centre  of  the  island,  which 
rose  from  the  soil  about  breast-high,  and  appeared  to 
have  been  split  asunder,  with  an  incalculably  aged  and 
moss-grown  fissure,  the  surfaces  of  wdiich,  however,  pre- 
cisely suited  each  other,  Mr.  Hatch  mentioned  that 
9* 


202  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1852, 

there  was  an  idea  among  the  people,  with  regard  to 
rocks  thus  split,  that  they  were  rent  asunder  at  the 
time  of  the  Crucifixion.  Judge  Upham  observed  that 
this  superstition  was  common  in  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try. 

Mr.  Hatch  said  that  he  was  professionally  consulted, 
the  other  day,  by  a man  who  had  been  digging  for  bur- 
ied treasure  at  Dover  Point,  up  the  Piscataqua  River ; 
and,  While  he  and  his  companions  were  thus  engaged, 
the  owner  of  the  land  came  upon  them,  and  compelled 
Hatch’s  client  to  give  him  a note  for  a sum  of  money. 
The  object  was  to  inquire  whether  this  note  was  obliga- 
tory. Hatch  says  that  there  are  a hundred  people 
now  resident  in  Portsmouth,  who,  at' one  time  or  an- 
other, have  dug  for  treasure.  The  process  is,  in  the 
first  place,  to  find  out  the  site  of  the  treasure  by  the 
divining-rod.  A circle  is  then  described  with  the  steel 
rod  about  the  spot,  and  a man  walks  around  within  its 
verge,  reading  the  Bible  to  keep  off  the  evil  spirit 
while  his  companions  dig.  If  a word  is  spoken,  the 
whole  business  is  a failure.  Once  the  person  who  told 
him  the  story  reached  the  lid  of  the  chest,  so  that  the 
spades  plainly  scraped  upon  it,  when  one  of  the  men 
spoke,  and  the  chest  immediately  moved  sideways  into 
the  earth.  Another  time,  when  he  was  reading  the 
Bible  within  the  circle,  a creature  like  a white  horse, 
but  immoderately  large,  came  from  a distance  towards 
the  circle,  looked  at  him,  and  then  began  to  graze  about 
the  spot.  He  saw  the  motion  of  the  jaws,  but  heard  no 
sound  of  champing.  His  companions  saw  the  gigantic 
horse  precisely  as  he  did,  only  to  them  it  appeared  bay 
instead  of  white. 


I852.J  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  203 

The  islanders  stared  with  great  curiosity  at  Pierce. 
One  pretty  young  woman  appeared  inclined  to  engross 
him  entirely  to  herself. 

There  is  a bowling-alley  on  the  island,  at  which  some 
of  the  young  fishermen  were  rolling. 

September  1th.  — ....  I have  made  no  exploration 
to-day,  except  a walk  with  the  guests  in  the  morning, 
but  have  lounged  about  the  piazza  and  veranda.  It  has 
been  a calm,  warm,  sunny  day,  the  sea  slumbering 
against  the  shores,  and  now  and  then  breaking  into 
white  foam. 

The  surface  of  the  island  is  plentifully  overgrown 
with  whortleberry  and  bayberry  bushes.  The  sheep 
cut  down  the  former,  so  that  few  berries  are  produced ; 
the  latter  gives  a pleasant  fragrance  when  pressed  in 
the  hand.  The  island  is  one  great  ledge  of  rock,  four 
hundred  acres  in  extent,  with  a little  soil  thrown  scant- 
ily over  it;  but  the  bare  rock  everywhere  emerging,  not 
only  in  points,  but  still  more  in  flat  surfaces.  The  only 
trees,  I think,  are  two  that  Mr.  Laighton  has  been  try- 
ing to  . raise  in  front  of  the  hotel,  the  taller  of  which 
looks  scarcely  so  much  as  ten  feet  high.  It  is  now 
about  sunset,  and  the  Fanny,  with  the  mail,  is  just 
arrived  at  the  moorings.  So  still  is  it,  that  the  sounds 
on  board  (as  of  throwing  oars  into  a small  boat)  are 
distinctly  heard,  though  a quarter  of  a mile  off*.  She 
has  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flying  at  the  main-mast. 
There  appear  to  be  no  passengers. 

The  only  reptile  on  the  island  is  a very  vivid  and 
beautiful  green  snake,  which  is  exceedingly  abundant. 
Yesterday,  while  catching  grasshoppers  for  fish-bait,  I 


204 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1852. 


nearly  griped  ODe  in  my  hand  ; indeed,  I rather  think  I 
did  gripe  it.  The  snake  was  as  much  startled  as  my- 
self, and,  in  its  fright,  stood  an  instant  on  its  tail,  before 
it  recovered  presence  of  mind  to  glide  away.  These 
snakes  are  quite  harmless. 

September  8 th.  — Last  evening  we  could  hear  the 
roaring  of  the  beaches  at  Hampton  and  Rye,  nine  miles 
off.  The  surf  likewise  swelled  against  the  rocky 
shores  of  the  island,  though  there  was  little  or  no  wind, 
and,  except  for  the  swell,  the  surface  was  smooth.  The 
sheep  bleated  loudly  ; and  all  these  tokens,  according  to 
Mr.  Laighton,  foreboded  a storm  to  windward.  This 
morning,  nevertheless,  there  were  no  further  signs  of  it; 
it  is  sunny  and  calm,  or  only  the  slightest  breeze  from 
the  westward  ; a haze  sleeping  along  the  shore,  betoken- 
ing a warm  day ; the  surface  of  the  sea  streaked  with 
smoothness,  and  gentle  ruffles  of  wind.  It  has  been  the 
hottest  day  that  I have  known  here,  and  probably  one 
of  the  hottest  of  the  season  ashore  ; and  the  land  is  now 
imperceptible  in  the  haze. 

Smith  s monument  is  about  seven  feet  high,  and  prob- 
ably ten  or  twelve  in  diameter  at  its  base.  It  is  a 
cairn,  or  mere  heap  of  stones,  thrown  together  as  they 
came  to  hand,  though  with  some  selection  of  large  and 
flat  ones,  towards  the  base,  and  with  smaller  ones  thrown 
in.  At  the  foundation,  there  are  large  rocks,  naturally 
embedded  in  the  earth.  I see  no  reason  to  disbelieve 
that  a part  of  this  monument  may  have  been  erected  by 
Captain  Smith,  although  subsequent  visitors  may  have 
added  to  it.  Laighton  say  it  is  known  to  have  stood 
upwards  of  a hundred  years.  It  is  a work  of  eonsid 


1852.J 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


205 


erable  labor,  and  would  more  likely  have  been  erected 
by  one  who  supposed  himself  the  first  discoverer 
of  the  island  than  by  anybody  afterwards  for  mere 
amusement.  I observed  in  some  places,  towards  the 
base,  that  the  lichens  had  grown  from  one  stone  to  an- 
other ; and  there  is  nothing  in  the  appearance  of  the 
monument  that  controverts  the  supposition  of  its  an- 
tiquity. It  is  an  irregular  circle,  somewhat  decreasing 
towards  the  top.  Few  of  the  stones,  except  at  the  base, 
are  bigger  than  a man  could  easily  lift,  — many  of  them 
are  not  more  than  a foot  across.  It  stands  towards  the 
southern  part  of  the  island  ; and  all  the  other  islands 
are  visible  from  it,  — Smutty  Nose,  Star  Island,  and 
White  Island,  — on  which  is  the  light-house,  — much 
of  Laigh ton’s  island  (the  proper  name  of  which  is  Hog, 
though  latterly  called  Appledore),  and  Duck  Island, 
which  looks  like  a mere  reef  of  rocks,  and  about  a mile 
farther  into  the  ocean,  easterly  of  Hog  Island. 

Laighton’s  Hotel,  together  with  the  house  in  which  his 
son-in-law  resides,  which  was  likewise  built  by  Laigh- 
ton,  and  stands  about  fifty  yards  from  the  hotel,  occu- 
pies the  middle  of  a shallow  valley,  which  passes 
through  the  island  from  east  to  west.  Looking  from  the 
veranda,  you  have  the  ocean  opening  towards  the  east, 
and  the  bay  towards  Rye  Beach  and  Portsmouth  on  the 
west.  In  the  same  storm  that  overthrew  Minot’s  Light, 
a year  or  two  ago,  a great  wave  passed  entirely  through 
this  valley ; and  Laighton  describes  it,  when  it  came  in 
from  the  sea,  as  toppling  over  to  the  height  of  the 
cupola  of  his  hotel.  It  roared  and  whitened  through, 
from  sea  to  sea,  twenty  feet  abreast,  rolling  along  huge 
"ocks  in  its  passage.  It  passed  beneath  his  veranda, 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


206 


[1852. 


which  stands  on  posts,  and  probably  filled  the  valley 
completely.  Would  I had  been  here  to  see  ! 

The  day  has  been  exceedingly  hot.  Since  dinner, 
the  Spy  has  arrived  from  Portsmouth,  with  a party  of 
half  a dozen  or  more  men  and  women  and  children, 
apparently  from  the  interior  of  New  Hampshire.  I am 
rather  sorry  to  receive  these  strangers  into  the  quiet 
life  that  we  are  leading  here ; for  we  had  grown  quite 
to  feel  ourselves  at  home,  and  the  two  young  ladies, 
Mr.  Thaxter,  his  wife  and  sister,  and  myself,  met  at 
meal-times  like  one  family.  The  young  ladies  gathered 
shells,  arranged  them,  laughed  gently,  sang,  and  did 
other  pretty  things  in  a young-lady-like  way.  These 
new-comers  are  people  of  uncouth  voices  and  loud 
laughter,  and  behave  themselves  as  if  they  were  trying 
to  turn  their  expedition  to  as  much  account  as  possible 
in  the  way  of  enjoyment. 

John’s  boat,  the  regular  passenger-boat,  is  now  coming 
in,  and  probably  brings  the  mail. 

In  the  afternoon,  while  some  of  the  new-comers  were 
fishing  off  the  rocks,  west  of  the  hotel,  a shark  came 
close  in  shore.  Hearing  their  outcries,  I looked  out  of 
my  chamber  window,  and  saw  the  dorsal  fin  and  the 
fluke  of  his  tail  stuck  up  out  of  the  water,  as  he  moved 
to  and  fro.  He  must  have  been  eight  or  ten  feet  long. 
He  had  probably  followed  the  small  fish  into  the  bay, 
and  got  bewildered,  and,  at  one  time,  he  was  almost 
aground. 

Oscar,  Mr.  Laighton’s  son,  ran  down  with  a gun,  and 
fired  at  the  shark,  which  was  then  not  more  than  ten 
yards  from  the  shore.  He  aimed,  according  to  his  fa- 
ther’s directions,  just  below  the  junction  of  the  dorsal  fin 


AMEfcIC AN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


207 


1 852.  J 

with  the  body  ; but  the  gun  was  loaded  only  with  shot 
and  seemed  to  produce  no  effect.  Oscar  had  another 
shot  at  him  afterwards  ; the  shark  floundered  a little  in 
the  water,  but  finally  got  off  and  disappeared,  probably 
without  very  serious  damage.  He  came  so  near  the 
shore  that  he  might  have  been  touched  with  a boat- 
hook. 

September  9 tli.  — Mr.  Thaxter  rowed  me  this  morn- 
ing, in  his  dory,  to  White  Island,  on  which  is  the  light- 
house. There  was  scarcely  a breath  of  air,  and  a per 
fectly  calm  sea  ; an  intensely  hot  sunshine,  with  a little 
haze,  so  that  the  horizon  was  indistinct.  Here  and 
there  sail-boats  sleeping  on  the  water,  or  moving  almost 
imperceptibly  over  it.  The  light-house  island  would  be 
difficult  of  access  in  a rough  sea,  the  shore  being  so 
rocky.  On  landing,  we  found  the  keeper  peeling  his 
harvest  of  onions,  which  he  had  gathered  prematurely, 
because  the  insects  were  eating  them.  His  little  patch 
of  garden  seemed  to  be  a strange  kind  of  soil,  as  like 
marine  mud  as  anything ; but  he  had  a fair  crop  of 
marrow  squashes,  though  injured,  as  he  said,  by  the  last 
storm  ; and  there  were  cabbages  and  a few  turnips.  I 
recollect  no  other  garden  vegetables.  The  grass  grows 
pretty  luxuriantly,  and  looked  very  green  where  there 
was  any  soil ; but  he  kept  no  cow,  nor  even  a pig  nor  a 
hen.  His  house  stands  close  by  the  garden,  — a small 
etone  building,  with  peaked  roof,  and  whitewashed 
The  light-house  stands  on  a ledge  of  rock,  with  a gulley 
between,  and  there  is  a long  covered  way,  triangular  in 
shape,  connecting  his  residence  with  it.  We  ascended 
into  the  lantern,  which  is  eighty-seven  feet  high  It  is 


208 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1852 


a revolving  light,  with  several  great  illuminators  of  cop- 
per silvered,  and  colored  lamp-glasses.  Looking  down- 
ward, we  had  the  island  displayed  as  on  a chart,  with 
its  little  bays,  its  isthmus  of  shingly  beach  connecting 
two  parts  of  the  island,  and  overflowed  at  high  tide  ; its 
sunken  rocks  about  it,  indicated  by  the  swell,  or  slightly 
breaking  surf.  The  keeper  of  the  light-house  was  for- 
merly a writing-master.  He  has  a sneaking  kind  of 
look,  and  does  not  bear  a very  high  character  among  his 
neighbors.  Since  he  kept  the  light,  he  has  lost  two 
wives,  — the  first  a young  creature  whom  he  used  to 
leave  alone  upon  this  desolate  rock,  and  the  gloom  and 
terror  of  the  situation  were  probably  the  cause  of  her 
death.  The  second  wife,  experiencing  the  same  kind 
of  treatment,  ran  away  from  him,  and  returned  to  her 
friends.  He  pretends  to  be  religious,  but  drinks. 
About  a year  ago  he  attempted  to  row  out  alone  from 
Portsmouth.  There  was  a head  wind  and  head  tide, 
and  he  would  have  inevitably  drifted  out  to  sea,  if  Mr. 
Thaxter  had  not  saved  him. 

While  we  were  standing  in  his  garden-patch,  I heard 
a woman’s  voice  inside  the  dwelling,  but  know  not 
whose  it  was.  A light-house  nine  miles  from  shore 
would  be  a delightful  place  for  a new-married  couple  to 
spend  their  honeymoon,  or  their  whole  first  year. 

On  our  way  back  we  landed  at  another  island  called 
Londoner’s  Rock,  or  some  such  name.  It  has  but  little 
soil.  As  we  approached  it,  a large  bird  flew  away. 
Mr.  Thaxter  took  it  to  be  a gannet ; and,  while  walking 
over  the  island,  an  owl  started  up  from  among  the  rocks 
near  us,  and  flew  away,  apparently  uncertain  of  its  course. 
It  was  a brown  owl,  but  Mr.  Thaxter  says  that  there 


1852.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


209 


are  beautiful  white  owls,  which  spend  the  winter  here, 
and  feed  upon  rats.  These  are  very  abundant,  and  live 
amidst  the  rocks,  — probably  having  been  brought  hith- 
er by  vessels. 

The  water  to-day  was  not  so  transparent  as  some- 
times, but  had  a slight  haze  diffused  through  it,  some- 
what like  that  of  the  atmosphere. 

The  passengers  brought  by  the  Spy,  yesterday,  still 
remain  with  us.  They  consist  of  country  traders,  a 
country  doctor,  and  such  sorts  of  people,  rude,  shrewd, 
and  simple,  and  well-behaved  enough  ; wondering  at 
sharks,  and  equally  at  lobsters ; sitting  down  to  table 
with  their  coats  off ; helping  themselves  out  of  the  dish 
with  their  own  forks  ; taking  pudding  on  the  plates  off 
which  they  have  eaten  meat.  People  at  just  this  stage 
of  manners  are  more  disagreeable  than  at  any  other 
stage.  They  are  aware  of  some  decencies,  but  not  so 
deeply  aware  as  to  make  them  a matter  of  conscience. 
They  may  be  heard  talking  of  the  financial  affairs  of  the 
expedition,  reckoning  what  money  each  has  paid.  One 
offers  to  pay  another  three  or  four  cents,  which  the  latter 
has  overpaid.  “ It ’s  of  no  consequence,  sir,”  says  his 
friend,  with  a tone  of  conscious  liberality,  “ that ’s  near 
enough.”  This  is  a most  tremendously  hot  day. 

There  is  a young  lady  staying  at  the  hotel,  afflicted 
with  what  her  friends  call  erysipelas,  but  which  is  prob- 
ably scrofula.  She  seems  unable  to  walk,  or  sit  up  ; 
bat  every  pleasant  day,  about  the  middle  of  the  fore 
noon,  she  is  dragged  out  beneath  the  veranda,  on  a 
sofa.  To-day  she  has  been  there  until  late  in  the  de- 
cline of  the  afternoon.  It  is  a delightful  place,  where 
breezes  stir,  if  any  are  in  motion.  The  young  girls, 


N 


210 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1852. 


her  sisters  or  cousins,  and  Mr.  Thaxter’s  sister,  sat 
round  her,  babbling  cheerfully,  and  singing ; and  they 
were  so  merry  that  it  did  not  seem  as  if  there  could  be 
an  incurably  sick  one  in  the  midst  of  them. 

The  Spy  came  to-day,  with  more  passengers  of  no  par- 
ticular character.  She  still  remains  off  the  landing, 
moored,  with  her  sails  in  the  wind. 

The  mail  arrived  to-day,  but  nothing  for  me. 

Close  by  the  veranda,  at  the  end  of  the  hotel,  is 
drawn  up  a large  boat,  of  ten  or  twelve  tons,  which  got 
injured  in  some  gale,  and  probably  will  remain  there  for 
years  to  decay,  and  be  a picturesque  and  characteristic 
object. 

The  Spy  has  been  lying  in  the  broad  track  of  golden 
light,  thrown  by  the  sun,  far  down  towards  the  horizon, 
over  the  rippling  water,  her  sails  throwing  distinct,  dark 
shadows  over  the  brightness.  She  has  now  got  under 
way,  and  set  sail  on  a northwest  course  for  Portsmouth  ; 
carrying  off,  I believe,  all  the  passengers  she  brought 
to-day. 

September  10th,  — Here  is  another  beautiful  morning, 
with  the  sun  dimpling  in  the  early  sunshine.  Four  sail- 
boats are  in  sight,  motionless  on  the  sea,  with  the  white- 
ness of  their  sails  reflected  in  it.  The  heat-haze  sleeps 
along  the  shore,  though  not  so  as  quite  to  hide  it,  and 
there  is  the  promise  of  another  very  warm  day.  As 
yet,  however,  the  air  is  cool  and  refreshing.  Around 
.he  island,  there  is  the  little  ruffle  of  a breeze ; but 
where  the  sail-boats  are,  a mile  or  more  off,  the  sea  is 
perfectly  calm.  The  crickets  sing,  and  I hear  the  chirp 
ing  of  birds  besides. 


1852.1 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


211 


At  the  base  of  the  lighthouse  yesterday,  we  saw  the 
wings  and  feathers  of  a decayed  little  bird,  and  Mr. 
Thaxter  said  they  often  flew  against  the  lantern  with 
such  force  as  to  kill  themselves,  and  that  large  quantities 
of  them  might  be  picked  up.  How  came  these  little 
birds  out  of  their  nests  at  night?  Why  should  they 
meet  destruction  from  the  radiance  that  proves  the  sal- 
vation of  other  beings  ? 

Mr.  Thaxter  had  once  a man  living  with  him  who 
had  seen  “ Old  Bab,”  the  ghost.  He  met  him  between 
the  hotel  and  the  sea,  and  describes  him  as  dressed  in  a 
sort  of  frock,  and  with  a very  dreadful  countenance. 

Two  or  three  years  ago,  the  crew  of  a wrecked  vessel, 
a brigantine,  wrecked  near  Boon  Island,  landed  on  Hog 
Island  of  a winter  night,  and  found  shelter  in  the  hotel. 
It  was  from  the  eastward.  There  were  six  or  seven 
men,  with  the  mate  and  captain.  It  was  midnight  when 
they  got  ashore.  The  common  sailors,  as  soon  as  they 
were  physically  comfortable,  seemed  to  be  perfectly  at 
ease.  The  captain  walked  the  floor,  bemoaning  himself 
for  a silver  watch  which  he  had  lost ; the  mate,  being 
the  only  married  man,  talked  about  his  Eunice.  They 
all  told  their  dreams  of  the  preceding  night,  and  saw  in 
them  prognostics  of  the  misfortune. 

There  is  now  a breeze,  the  blue  ruffle  of  which  seems 
to  reach  almost  across  to  the  main-land,  yet  with  streaks 
of  calm  ; and,  in  one  place,  the  glassy  surface  of  a lake 
of  calmness,  amidst  the  surrounding  commotion. 

The  wind,  in  the  early  morning,  was  from  the  west, 
and  the  aspect  of  the  sky  seemed  to  promise  a warm 
and  sunny  day.  But  all  at  once,  soon  after  breakfast, 
the  wind  shifted  round  to  the  eastward  ; and  grea*  vol 


212 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


r 1852, 


umes  of  fog,  almost  as  dense  as  cannon-smoke,  came 
sweeping  from  the  eastern  ocean,  through  the  valley, 
and  past  the  house.  It  soon  covered  the  whole  sea,  and 
the  whole  island,  beyond  a verge  of  a few  hundred 
yards.  The  chilliness  was  not  so  great  as  accompanies 
a change  of  wind  on  the  main-land.  We  had  been 
watching  a large  ship  that  was  slowly  making  her  way 
between  us  and  the  land  towards  Portsmouth.  This 
was  now  hidden.  The  breeze  is  still  very  moderate; 
but  the  boat,  moored  near  the  shore,  rides  with  a con- 
siderable motion,  as  if  the  sea  were  getting  up. 

Mr.  Laighton  says  that  the  artist  who  adorned  Trin- 
ity Church  in  New  York  with  sculpture  wanted  some 
real  wings  from  which  to  imitate  the  wings  of  cherubim. 
Mr.  Thaxter  carried  him  the  wings  of  the  white  owl 
that  winters  here  at  the  Shoals,  together  with  those  of 
some  other  bird ; and  the  artist  gave  his  cherubim  the 
wings  of  an  owl. 

This  morning  there  have  been  two  boat-loads  of  visit- 
ors from  Rye.  They  merely  made  a flying  call,  and 
took  to  their  boats  again,  — a disagreeable  and  imperti- 
nent kind  of  people. 

The  Spy  arrived  before  dinner,  with  several  passen- 
gers. After  dinner  came  the  Fanny,  bringing,  among 
other  freight,  a large  basket  of  delicious  pears  to  me, 
together  with  a note  from  Mr.  B.  B.  Titcomb.  He  is 
certainly  a man  of  excellent  taste  and  admirable  be- 
havior. I sent  a plateful  of  pears  to  the  room  of  each 
guest  now  in  the  hotel,  kept  a dozen  for  myself,  and 
gave  the  balance  to  Mr.  Laighton. 

The  two  Portsmouth  young  ladies  returned  in  the 
Spy.  I had  grown  accustomed  to  their  presence,  and 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


213 


1852.  ] 


k*ather  liked  them ; one  of  them  being  gay  and  rather 
noisy,  and  the  other  qaiet  and  gentle.  As  to  new- 
comers, I feel  rather  a distaste  to  them ; and  so,  I find, 
does  Mr.  Laighton,  — a rather  singular  sentiment  for  a 
hotel-keeper  to  entertain  towards  his  guests.  However, 
he  treats  them  very  hospitably,  when  once  within  his 
doors. 

The  sky  is  overcast,  and,  about  the  time  the  Spy  and 
the  Fanny  sailed,  there  were  a few  drops  of  rain.  The 
wind,  at  that  time,  was  strong  enough  to  raise  white 
caps  to  the  eastward  of  the  island,  and  there  was  good 
hope  of  a storm.  Now,  however,  the  wind  has  subsided, 
and  the  weather-seers  know  not  what  to  forebode. 

September  11  th.  — The  wind  shifted  and  veered  about, 
towards  the  close  of  yesterday,  and  later  it  was  almost 
calm,  after  blowing  gently  from  the  northwest,  — not- 
withstanding which  it  rained.  There  being  a mistiness 
in  the  air,  we  could  see  the  gleam  of  the  light-house 
upon  the  mist  above  it,  although  the  light-house  itself 
was  hidden  by  the  highest  point  of  this  island,  or  by 
our  being  in  a valley.  As  we  sat  under  the  piazza  in 
the  evening,  we  saw  the  light  from  on  board  some  ves- 
sel move  slowly  through  the  distant  obscurity,  — so 
slowly  that  we  were  only  sensible  of  its  progress  by  for- 
getting it  and  looking  again.  The  plash  and  murmur 
of  the  waves  around  the  island  were  soothingly  audible. 
It  was  not  unpleasantly  cold,  and  Mr.  Laighton,  Mr. 
Thaxter,  and  myself  sat  under  the  piazza  till  long  after 
dark ; the  former  at  a litue  distance,  occasionally  smok- 
ing his  pipe,  and  Mr.  Thaxter  and  I talking  about  poets 
and  the  stage.  The  latter  is  .an  odd  subject  to  be  dig- 


214  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [I8b& 

cussed  in  this  stern  and  wild  scene,  which  has  precisely 
the  same  characteristics  now  as  two  hundred  years  ago. 
The  mosquitoes  were  very  abundant  last  night,  and 
they  are  certainly  a hardier  race  than  their  inland 
brethren. 

This  morning  there  is  a sullen  sky,  with  scarcely  any 
breeze.  The  clouds  throw  shadows  of  varied  darkness 
upon  the  sea.  I know  not  which  way  the  wind  is ; but 
the  aspect  of  things  seems  to  portend  a calm  drizzle  as 
much  as  anything  else. 

About  eleven  o’clock,  Mr.  Thaxter  took  me  over  to 
Smutty  Nose  in  his  dory.  A sloop  from  the  eastward, 
laden  with  laths,  bark,  and  other  lumber,  and  a few 
barrels  of  mackerel,  filled  yesterday,  and  was  left  by  her 
skipper  and  crew.  All  the  morning  we  have  seen 
boats  picking  up  her  deck-load,  which  was  scattered 
over  the  sea,  and  along  the  shores  of  the  islands.  The 
skipper  and  his  three  men  got  into  Smutty  Nose  in  the 
boat;  and  the  sloop  was  afterwards  boarded  by  the 
Smutty  Noses  and  brought  into  that  island.  We  saw 
her  lying  at  the  pier,  — a black,  ugly,  rotten  old  thing, 
with  the  water  half-way  over  her  decks.  The  wonder 
was,  how  she  swam  so  long.  The  skipper,  a man  of 
about  thirty-five  or  forty,  in  a blue  pilot-cloth  overcoat, 
and  a rusty,  high-crowned  hat  jammed  down  over  his 
brow,  looked  very  forlorn ; while  the  islanders  were 
grouped  about,  indolently  enjoying  the  matter. 

I walked  with  Mr.  Thaxter  over  the  island,  and  saw 
first  the  graves  of  the  Spaniards.  They  were  wrecked 
on  this  island  a hundred  years  ago,  and  lie  buried  in  a 
range  about  thirty  feet  in  length,  to  the  number  of  six- 
teen, with  rough,  moss-grown  pieces  of  granite  on  each 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1 JG2.J 


2i<j 


side  of  this  common  grave.  Near  this  spot,  yet  some- 
what removed,  so  as  not  to  be  confounded  with  it,  are 
other  individual  graves,  chiefly  of  the  Haley  family,  who 
were  once  possessors  of  the  island.  These  have  slate 
gravestones.  There  is  also,  within  a small  enclosure  of 
rough  pine  boards,  a white  marble  gravestone,  in  mem- 
ory of  a young  man  named  Bekker,  son  of  the  person 
who  now  keeps  the  hotel  on  Smutty  Nose.  He  was 
buried,  Mr.  Thaxter  says,  notwithstanding  his  marble 
monument,  in  a rude  pine  box,  which  he  himself  helped 
to  make. 

We  walked  to  the  farthest  point  of  the  island,  and  I 
have  never  seen  a more  dismal  place  than  it  was  on  this 
sunless  and  east-windy  day,  being  the  farthest  point  out 
into  the  melancholy  sea,  which  was  in  no  very  agreeable 
mood,  and  roared  sullenly  against  the  wilderness  of 
rocks.  One  mass  of  rock,  more  than  twelve  feet  square, 
was  thrown  up  out  of  the  sea  in  a storm,  not  many  years 
since,  and  now  lies  athwartwise,  never  to  be  moved  un- 
less another  omnipotent  wave  shall  give  it  another  toss. 
On  shore,  such  a rock  would  be  a landmark  for  centu- 
ries. It  is  inconceivable  how  a sufficient  mass  of  water 
could  be  brought  to  bear  on  this  ponderous  mass  ; but, 
not  improbably,  all  the  fragments  piled  upon  one  an- 
other round  these  islands  have  thus  been  flung  to  and 
fro  at  one  time  or  another. 

There  is  considerable  land  that  would  serve  toler- 
ably for  pasture  on  Smutty  Nose,  and  here  and  there  a 
little  enclosure  of  richer  grass,  built  round  with  a strong 
stone  wall.  The  same  kind  of  enclosure  is  prevalent  on 
Star  Island,  — each  small  proprietor  fencing  off  his 
little  bit  of  tillage  or  grass.  Wild-flowers  are  abundant 


216 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1 JS5* 


and  various  on  these  islands;  the  bayberry-bush  is 
plentiful  on  Smutty  Nose,  and  makes  the  hand  that 
crushes  it  fragrant. 

The  hotel  is  kept  by  a Prussian,  an  old  soldier,  who 
fought  at  the  Battle  of  Waterloo.  We  saw  him  in  the 
barn,  — a gray,  heavy,  round-skulled  old  fellow,  troubled 
with  deafness.  The  skipper  of  the  wrecked  sloop  had, 
apparently,  just  been  taking  a drop  of  comfort,  but  still 
seemed  downcast.  He  took  passage  in  a fishing-vessel, 
the  Wave,  of  Kittery,  for  Portsmouth  ; and  I know 
not  why,  but  there  was  something  that  made  me  smile 
in  his  grim  and  gloomy  look,  his  rusty,  jammed  hat,  his 
rough  and  grisly  beard,  and  in  his  mode  of  chewing 
tobacco,  with  much  action  of  the  jaws,  getting  out  the 
juice  as  largely  at  possible,  as  men  always  do  when  dis- 
turbed in  mind.  I looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  was 
conscious  of  something  that  marked  him  out  from  among 
the  careless  islanders  around  him.  Being  as  much  dis- 
composed as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be,  his  feelings 
individualized  the  man  and  magnetized  the  observer. 
When  he  got  aboard  the  fishing-vessel,  he  seemed  not 
entirely  at  his  ease,  being  accustomed  to  command  and 
work  amongst  his  own  little  crew,  and  now  having  noth- 
ing to  do.  Nevertheless,  unconsciously  perhaps,  he 
lent  a hand  to  whatever  was  going  on,  and  yet  had  a 
kind  of  strangeness  about  him.  As  the  Wave  set  sail, 
we  were  just  starting  in  our  dory,  and  a young  fellow, 
an  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Thaxter,  proposed  to  take  us  in 
tow  ; so  we  were  dragged  along  at  her  stern  very  rapidly 
and  with  a whitening  wake,  until  we  came  off  Hog  Isl- 
and. Then  the  dory  was  cast  loose,  and  Mr.  Thaxter 
rowed  ashore  against  a head  sea. 


1652.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  217 

The  day  is  still  overcast,  and  the  wind  is  from  the 
eastward ; but  it  does  not  increase,  and  the  sun  appears 
occasionally  on  the  point  of  shining  out.  A boat  — the 
Fanny,  I suppose,  from  Portsmouth  — has  just  come  to, 
her  moorings  in  front  of  the  hotel.  A sail-boat  has 
put  off  from  her,  with  a passenger  in  the  stern.  Pray 
God  she  bring  me  a letter  with  good  news  from  home ; 
for  I begin  to  feel  as  if  I had  been  long  enough  away. 

There  is  a bowling-alley  on  Smutty  Nose,  at  which 
some  of  the  Star-Islanders  were  playing,  when  we  were 
there.  I sawr  only  two  dwelling-houses  besides  the 
hotel.  Connected  with  Smutty  Nose  by  a stone  wall 
there  is  another  little  bit  of  island,  called  Malaga.  Both 
are  the  property  of  Mr.  Laighton. 

Mr.  Laighton  says  that  the  Spanish  wreck  occurred 
forty-seven  years  ago,  instead  of  a hundred.  Some  of 
the  dead  bodies  were  found  on  Malaga,  others  on  various 
parts  of  the  next  island.  One  or  two  had  crept  to  a 
stone  wall  that  traverses  Smutty  Nose,  but  were  unable 
to  get  over  it.  One  was  found  among  the  bushes  the 
next  summer.  Mr.  Haley  had  been  buried  at  his  own 
expense. 

The  skipper  of  the  wrecked  sloop,  yesterday,  was  un 
willing  to  go  to  Portsmouth  until  he  was  shaved,  — his 
beard  being  of  several  days’  growth.  It  seems  to  be 
the  impulse  of  people  under  misfortune  to  put  on  their 
best  clothes,  and  attend  to  the  decencies  of  life. 

The  Fanny  brought  a passenger,  — a thin,  stiff,  black- 
haired young  man,  who  enters  his  name  as  Mr.  Tufts, 
from  Charlestown.  lie,  and  a country  trader,  his  wife, 
sister,  and  two  children  (all  of  whom  have  been  here 
several  days),  are  now  the  only  guests  besides  myself. 

TOU  II.  10 


218  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1852 

September  12th . — The  night  set  in  sullen  and  gloomy 
and  morning  has  dawned  in  pretty  much  the  same  way. 
The  wind,  however,  seems  rising  somewhat,  and  grum- 
bles past  the  angle  of  the  house.  Perhaps  we  shall  see 
a storm  yet  from  the  eastward  and,  having  the  whole 
sweep  of  the  broad  Atlantic  between  here  and  Ireland, 
I do  not  see  why  it  should  not  be  fully  equal  to  a storm 
at  sea. 

It  has  been  raining  more  or  less  all  the  forenoon,  and 
now,  at  twelve  o’clock,  blows,  as  Mr.  Laighton  says, 
“ half  a gale  ” from  the  southeast.  Through  the  open- 
ing of  our  shallow  valley,  towards  the  east,  there  is  the 
prospect  of  a tumbling  sea,  with  hundreds  of  white-caps 
chasing  one  another  over  it.  In  front  of  the  hotel, 
being  to  leeward,  the  water  near  the  shore  is  but  slightly 
ruffled;  but  farther  the  sea  is  agitated,  and  the  surf 
breaks  over  Square  Pock.  All  round  the  horizon,  land- 
ward as  well  as  seaward,  the  view  is  shut  in  by  a mist. 
Sometimes  I have  a dim  sense  of  the  continent  beyond, 
but  no  more  distinct  than  the  thought  of  the  other  world 
to  the  unenlightened  soul.  The  sheep  bleat  in  their 
desolate  pasture.  The  wind  shakes  the  house.  A loon 
seeking,  I suppose,  some  quieter  resting-place  than  op 
the  troubled  waves,  was  seen  swimming  just  now  in  the 
cove  not  more  than  a hundred  yards  from  the  hotel 
Judging  by  the  pother  which  this  “ half  a gale  ” makes 
with  the  sea,  it  must  have  been  a terrific  time,  indeed 
when  that  great  wave  rushed  and  roared  across  the 
islands. 

Since  dinner,  I have  been  to  the  eastern  shore  to  look 
at  the  sea.  It  is  a wild  spectacle,  but  still,  I suppose, 
lacks  ar  infinite  deal  of  being  a storm.  Outside  of  thu 


gol  ] AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  219 

island  there  is  a long  and  low  one  (or  two  in  a line), 
looking  more  like  a reef  of  rocks  than  an  island,  and  at 
the  distance  of  a mile  or  more.  There  the  surf  and 
spray  break  gallantly,  — white-sheeted  forms  rising  up 
all  at  once,  and  hovering  a moment  in  the  air.  Spots 
which,  in  calm  times,  are  not  discernible  from  the  rest 
of  the  ocean,  now  are  converted  into  white,  foamy  break- 
ers. The  swell  of  the  waves  against  our  shore  makes 
a snowy  depth,  tinged  with  green,  for  many  feet  back 
from  the  shore.  The  longer  waves  swell,  overtop,  and 
rush  upon  the  rocks ; and,  when  they  return,  the  waters 
pour  back  in  a cascade.  Against  the  outer  points  of 
Smutty  Nose  and  Star  Island,  there  is  a higher  surf 
than  here  ; because,  the  wind  being  from  the  southeast, 
these  islands  receive  it  first,  and  form  a partial  bar- 
rier in  respect  to  this.  While  I looked,  there  was  mois- 
ture in  the  air,  and  occasional  spats  of  rain.  The 
uneven  places  in  the  rocks  were  full  of  the  fallen  rain. 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  these  rocky 
shores,  — how  confusedly  they  are  tossed  together,  lying 
in  all  directions  ; what  solid  ledges,  what  great  frag- 
ments thrown  out  from  the  rest.  Often  the  rocks  are 
broken,  square  and  angular,  so  as  to  form  a kind  of 
staircase ; though,  for  the  most  part,  such  as  would 
require  a giant  stride  to  ascend  them. 

Sometimes  a black  trap-rock  runs  through  the  bed  of 
granite ; sometimes  the  sea  has  eaten  this  away,  leaving 
a long,  irregular  fissure.  In  some  places,  owing  to  the 
same  cause  perhaps,  there  is  a great  hollow  place 
excavated  into  the  ledge,  and  forming  a harbor,  into 
which  the  sea  flows ; and,  while  there  is  foam  and  fury 
at  the  entrance,  it  is  comparatively  calm  within  Some 


220  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [185& 

parts  of  the  crag  are  as  much  as  fifty  feet  of  perpendic- 
ular height,  down  which  you  look  over  a bare  and 
smooth  descent,  at  the  base  of  which  is  a shaggy  margin 
of  sea-weed.  But  it  is  vain  to  try  to  express  this  confu- 
sion. As  much  as  anything  else,  it  seems  as  if  some  of 
the  massive  materials  of  the  world  remained  superflu- 
ous, after  the  Creator  had  finished,  and  were  carelessly 
thrown  down  here,  where  the  millionth  part  of  them 
emerge  from  the  sea,  and  in  the  course  of  thousands  of 
years  have  become  partially  bestrewn  with  a little  soil. 

The  wind  has  changed  to  southwest,  and  blows  pretty 
freshly.  The  sun  shone  before  it  set;  and  the  mist, 
which  all  day  has  overhung  the  land,  now  takes  the 
aspect  of  a cloud,  — drawing  a thin  veil  between  us  and 
the  shore,  and  rising  above  it.  In  our  own  atmosphere 
there  is  no  fog  nor  mist. 

September  13th,  — I spent  last  evening,  as  well  as 
part  of  the  evening  before,  at  Mr.  Thaxter’s.  It  is 
certainly  a romantic  incident  to  find  such  a young  man 
on  this  lonely  island  ; his  marriage  with  the  pretty 
Miranda  is  true  romance.  In  our  talk  we  have  glanced 
over  many  matters,  and,  among  the  rest,  that  of  the 
stage,  to  prepare  himself  for  which  was  his  first  motive 
in  coming  hither.  He  appears  quite  to  have  given  up 
any  dreams  of  that  kind  now.  What  he  will  do  on 
returning  to  the  world,  as  his  purpose  is,  I cannot  im- 
agine ; but,  no  doubt,  through  all  their  remaining  life, 
both  he  and  she  will  look  back  to  this  rocky  ledge,  with 
its  handful  of  soil,  as  to  a Paradise. 

Last  evening  we  (Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  Miss  Thaxter)  sat 
and  talked  of  ghosts  and  kindred  subjects  ; and  they 


1852.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-ROOKS. 


221 


told  me  of  the  appearance  of  a little  old  woman  in 
a striped  gown,  that  had  come  into  that  house  a few 
months  ago.  She  was  seen  by  nobody  but  an  Irish 
nurse,  who  spoke  to  her,  but  leceived  no  answer.  The 
little  woman  drew  her  chair  up  towards  the  fire,  and 
stretched  out  her  feet  to  warm  them.  By  and  by  the 
nurse,  who  suspected  nothing  of  her  ghostly  character, 
went  to  get  a pail  of  water ; and,  when  she  came  back, 
the  little  woman  was  not  there.  It  being  known  pre- 
cisely how  many  and  what  people  were  on  the  island, 
and  that  no  such  little  woman  was  among  them,  the  fact 
of  her  being  a ghost  is  incontestible.  I taught  them 
how  to  discover  the  hidden  sentiments  of  letters  by  sus- 
pending a gold  ring  over  them.  Ordinarily,  since  I 
have  been  here,  we  have  spent  the  evening  under  the 
piazza,  where  Mr.  Laighton  sits  to  take  the  air.  He 
seems  to  avoid  the  within-doors  whenever  he  can.  So 
there  he  sits  in  the  sea-breezes,  when  inland  people  are 
probably  drawing  their  chairs  to  the  fireside ; and  there 
I sit  with  him,  — not  keeping  up  a continual  flow  of 
talk,  but  each  speaking  as  any  wisdom  happens  to  come 
into  his  mind. 

The  wind,  this  morning,  is  from  the  northwestward, 
rather  brisk,  but  not  very  strong.  There  is  a scattering 
of  clouds  about  the  sky ; but  the  atmosphere  is  singular- 
ly clear,  and  we  can  see  several  hills  of  the  interior, 
the  cloud-like  White  Mountains,  and,  along  the  shore, 
the  long  white  beaches  and  the  dotted  dwellings,  with 
great  distinctness.  Many  small  vessels  spread  their 
wings,  and  go  seaward. 

I have  been  rambling  over  the  southern  part  of  the 
island,  and  looking  at  the  traces  ot  habitations  there 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


2/2 


[1852. 


There  are  several  enclosures,  — the  largest  perhaps  thirty 
yards  square,  — surrounded  with  a rough  stone  .vail  of 
very  mossy  antiquity,  built  originally  broad  and  strong, 
two  or  three  large  stones  in  width,  and  piled  up  breast- 
high  or  more,  and  taking  advantage  of  the  extending 
ledge  to  make  it  higher.  Within  this  enclosure  there  is 
almost  a clear  space  of  soil,  which  was  formerly,  no 
doubt,  cultivated  as  a garden,  but  is  now  close  cropt  by 
the  sheep  and  cattle,  except  where  it  produces  thistles, 
or  the  poisonous  weed  called  mercury,  which  seems  to 
love  these  old  walls,  and  to  root  itself  in  or  near  them. 
Th  ■'se  walls  are  truly  venerable,  gray,  and  mossy ; and 
you  see  at  once  that  the  hands  that  piled  the  stones 
must  have  been  long  ago  turned  to  dust.  Close  by  the 
enclosure  is  the  hollow  of  an  old  cellar,  with  rocks  tum- 
bled into  it,  but  the  layers  of  stone  at  the  side  still  to  be 
traced,  and  bricks,  broken  or  with  rounded  edges,  scat- 
tered about,  and  perhaps  pieces  of  lime  ; and  weeds  and 
grass  growing  about  the  whole.  Several  such  sites  of 
former  human  homes  may  be  seen  there,  none  of  which 
can  possibly  be  later  than  the  Revolution,  and  probably 
they  are  as  old  as  the  settlement  of  the  island.  The 
site  has  Smutty  Nose  and  Star  opposite,  with  a road  (that 
is,  a water-road)  between,  varying  from  half  a mile  to  a 
mile.  Duck  Island  is  also  seen  on  the  left ; and,  on  the 
right,  the  shore  of  the  main-land.  Behind,  the  rising 
ground  intercepts  the  view.  Smith’s  monument  is  visible. 
I do  not  see  where  the  inhabitants  could  have  kept  their 
boats,  unless  in  the  chasms  worn  by  the  sea  into  the 
rocks. 

One  of  these  chasms  has  a spring  of  fresh  water  in  the 
gravelly  base,  dcwn  to  which  the  sea  has  worn  out.  The 


1852.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


223 


chasm  has  perpendicular,  though  irregular,  sides,  which 
the  waves  have  chiselled  out  very  square.  Its  width 
varies  from  ten  t6  twenty  feet,  widest  towards  the  sea  ; 
and  on  the  shelves,  up  and  down  the  sides,  some  soil  has 
been  here  and  there  accumulated,  on  which  grow  grass 
and  wild-flowers,  — such  as  golden-rod,  now  in  bloom, 
and  raspberry -bushes,  the  fruit  of  which  I found  ripe,  — 
the  whole  making  large  parts  of  the  sides  of  the  chasm 
green,  its  verdure  overhanging  the  strip  of  sea  that 
dashes  and  foams  into  the  hollow.  Sea-weed,  besides 
what  grows  upon  and  shags  the  submerged  rocks,  is 
tossed  into  the  harbor,  together  with  stray  pieces  of  wood, 
chips,  barrel-staves,  or  (as  to-day)  an  entire  barrel,  or 
whatever  else  the  sea  happens  to  have  on  hand.  The 
water  rakes  to  and  fro  over  the  pebbles  at  the  bottom 
of  the  chasm,  drawing  back,  and  leaving  much  of  it  bare, 
then  rushing  up,  with  more  or  less  of  foam  and  fury, 
according  to  the  force  and  direction  of  the  wind ; though, 
owing  to  the  protection  of  the  adjacent  islands,  it  can 
never  have  a gale  blowing  right  into  its  mouth.  The 
spring  is  situated  so  far  down  the  chasm,  that,  at  half  or 
two  thirds  tide,  it  is  covered  by  the  sea.  Twenty  min- 
utes after  the  retiring  of  the  tide  suffices  to  restore  to 
it  its  wonted  freshness. 

In  another  chasm,  very  much  like  the  one  here  de^ 
scribed,  I saw  a niche  in  the  rock,  about  tall  enough  for 
a person  of  moderate  stature  to  stand  upright.  It  had 
a triangular  floor  and  a top,  and  was  just  the  place  to 
hold  the  rudest  statue  that  ever  a savage  made. 

Many  of  the  ledges  on  the  island  have  yellow  moss 
or  lichens  spread  on  them  in  large  patches.  The  mov 
of  those  stone  walls  does  really  look  very  old. 


224  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1852. 

“ Old  Bab,”  the  ghost,  has  a ring  round  his  neck,  and 
is  supposed  either  to  have  been  hung  or  to  have  had  his 
throat  cut,  but  he  steadfastly  declines  telling  the  mode 
of  his  death.  There  is  a luminous  appearance  about 
him  as  he  walks,  and  his  face  is  pale  and  very  dreadful. 

The  Fanny  arrived  this  forenoon,  and  sailed  again 
before  dinner.  She  brought,  as  passenger,  a Mr 
Balch,  brother  to  the  country  trader  who  has  been 
spending  a few  days  here.  On  her  return,  she  has 
swept  the  islands  of  all  the  non-residents  except  myself. 
The  wind  being  ahead,  and  pretty  strong,  she  will  have 
to  beat  up,  and  the  voyage  will  be  anything  but  agree- 
able. The  spray  flew  before  her  bows,  and  doubtless 
gave  the  passengers  all  a thorough  wetting  within  the 
first  half-hour. 

The  view  of  Star  Island  or  Gosport  from  the  north, 
is  picturesque,  — the  village,  or  group  of  houses,  being 
gathered  pretty  closely  together  in  the  centre  of  the  isl- 
and, with  some  green  about  them  ; and  above  all  the 
other  edifices,  wholly  displayed,  stands  the  little  stone 
church,  with  its  tower  and  belfry.  On  the  right  is  White 
Island,  with  the  light-house ; to  the  right  of  that,  and  a 
little  to  the  northward,  Londoner’s  Rock,  where,  per- 
haps, of  old,  some  London  ship  was  wrecked.  To  the 
left  of  Star  Island,  and  nearer  Hog,  or  Appledore,  is 
Smutty  Nose.  Pour  the  blue  sea  about  these  islets,  and 
let  the  surf  whiten  and  steal  up  from  their  points,  and 
from  the  reefs  about  them  (which  latter  whiten  for  an 
instant,  and  then  are  lost  in  the  whelming  and  eddying 
depths),  the  northwest  wind  the  while  raising  thousands 
of  white-caps,  and  the  evening  sun  shining  solemnly 
over  the  expanse,  — and  it  is  a stern  and  lovely  scene. 


1852.] 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


225 


The  valleys  that  intersect,  or  partially  intersect,  thb 
island,  are  a remarkable  feature.  They  appear  to  be 
of  the  same  formation  as  the  fissures  in  the  rocks,  but, 
as  they  extend  farther  from  the  sea,  they  accumulate  a 
little  soil  along  the  irregular  sides,  and  so  become  green 
and  shagged  with  bushes,  though  with  the  rock  every- 
where thrusting  itself  through.  The  old  people  of  the 
isles  say  that  their  fathers  could  remember  when  the  sea, 
at  high  tide,  flowed  quite  through  the  valley  in  which 
the  hotel  stands,  and  that  boats  used  to  pass.  After- 
wards it  was  a standing  pond ; then  a morass,  with  cat- 
tail flags  growing  in  it.  It  has  filled  up,  so  far  as  it  is 
filled,  by  the  soil  being  washed  down  from  the  higher 
ground  on  each  side.  The  storms,  meanwhile,  have 
tossed  up  the  shingle  and  paving-stones  at  each  end  of 
the  valley,  so  as  to  form  a barrier  against  the  passage 
of  any  but  such  mighty  waves  as  that  which  thundered 
through  a year  or  two  ago. 

The  old  inhabitants  lived  in  the  centre  or  towards 
the  south  of  the  island,  and  avoided  the  north  and  east 
because  the  latter  were  so  much  bleaker  in  winter. 
They  could  moor  their  boats  in  the  road,  between  Smut- 
ty Nose  and  Hog,  but  could  not  draw  them  up.  Mr. 
Laighton  found  traces  of  old  dwellings  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  hotel,  and  it  is  supposed  that  the  principal  part 
of  the  population  was  on  this  island.  I spent  the  even- 
ing at  Mr.  Thaxter’s,  and  we  drank  a glass  of  his  1820 
Scheidam,  The  northwest  wind  was  high  at  ten  o’clock, 
when  I came  home,  the  tide  full,  and  the  murmur  of 
the  waves  broad  and  deep. 

September  14 th.  — Another  of  the  brightest  of  sunny 
10*  o 


22G 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1852. 


mornings.  The  wind  is  not  nearly  so  high  as  last  night, 
but  it  is  apparently  still  from  the  northwest,  and  serves 
to  make  the  sea  look  very  blue  and  cold.  The  atmos- 
phere is  so  transparent  that  objects  seem  perfectly  dis- 
tinct along  the  main-land.  To-day  I must  be  in  Ports- 
mouth ; to-morrow,  at  home.  A brisk  west  or  northwest 
wind,  making  the  sea  so  blue,,  gives  a very  distinct  out- 
line in  its  junction  with  the  sky. 

September  1 6th. — On  Tuesday,  the  14th,  there  was  no 
opportunity  to  get  to  the  main-land.  Yesterday  morning 
opened  with  a southeast  rain,  which  continued  all  day. 
The  Fanny  arrived  in  the  forenoon,  with  some  coal  for 
Mr.  Laighton,  and  sailed  again  before  dinner,  taking 
two  of  the  maids  of  the  house ; but  as  it  rained  pouring, 
and  as  I could  not,  at  any  rate,  have  got  home  to-night, 
there  would  have  been  no  sense  in  my  going.  It  began 
to  clear  up  in  the  decline  of  the  day ; the  sun  shot  forth 
some  golden  arrows  a little  before  his  setting ; and  the 
sky  was  perfectly  clear  when  I went  to  bed,  after 
spending  the  evening  at  Mr.  Thaxter’s.  This  morning 
is  clear  and  bright ; but  the  wind  is  northwest,  making 
the  sea  look  blue  and  cold,  with  little  breaks  of  white 
foam.  It  is  unfavorable  for  a trip  to  the  main-land  ; but 
doubtless  I shall  find  an  opportunity  of  getting  ashore 
before  night. 

The  highest  part  of  Appledore  is  about  eighty  feet 
above  the  sea.  Mr.  Laighton  has  seen  whales  off  the 
island,  — both  on  the  eastern  side  and  between  it  and  the 
main-land;  once  a great  crowd  of  them,  as  many  as 
fifty.  They  were  drawn  in  by  pursuing  their  food,  — a 
small  fish  called  herring-bait,  which  came  ashore  in  such 


1853.]  AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS.  227 

abundance  that  Mr.  Laighton  dipped  up  baskets  full  of 
them.  No  attempt  was  made  to  take  the  whales. 

There  are  vague  traditions  of  trees  on  these  islands. 
One  of  them.  Cedar  Island,  is  said  to  have  been  named 
from  the  trees  that  grew  on  it.  The  matter  appears 
improbable,  though,  Mr.  Thaxter  says,  large  quantities 
of  soil  are  annually  washed  into  the  sea  ; so  that  the 
islands  may  have  been  better  clad  with  earth  and  its 
productions  than  now. 

Mrs.  Thaxter  tells  me  that  there  are  several  burial- 
places  on  this  island ; but  nobody  has  been  buried  here 
since  the  Revolution.  Her  own  marriage  was  the  first 
one  since  that  epoch,  and  her  little  Earl,  now  three 
months  old,  the  first-born  child  in  all  those  eighty  years. 

[Then  follow  extracts  from  the  Church  Records  of 
Gosport.’] 

This  book  of  the  Church  records  of  Gosport  is  a 
small  folio,  well  bound  in  dark  calf,  and  about  an  inch 
thick;  the  paper  very  stout,  with  a water-mark  of  an 

armed  man  in  a sitting  posture,  holding  a spear 

over  a lion,  who  brandishes  a sword ; on  alternate  pages 
the  Crown,  and  beneath  it  the  letters  G.  R.  The  motto 
of  the  former  device  Pro  Patria.  The  book  is  written 
in  a very  legible  hand,  probably  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tucke. 
The  ink  is  not  much  faded. 

Concord,  March  9 th,  1853.  — Finished,  this  day,  the 
last  story  of  Tangle  wood  Tales.  They  were  writ  ter.  in 
the  following  order. 

The  Pomegranate  Seeds. 

The  Minotaur. 

The  Golden  Fleece. 


228 


AMERICAN  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853 


The  Dragons’  Teeth. 

Circe’s  Palace. 

The  Pygmies. 

The  introduction  is  yet  to  be  written.  Wrote  it 
13th  March.  I went  to  Washington  (my  first  visit)  on 
14th  April. 

Caresses,  expressions  of  one  sort  or  another,  are 
necessary  to  the  life  of  the  affections,  as  leaves  are 
to  the  life  of  a tree.  If  they  are  wholly  restrained, 
love  will  die  at  the  roots. 

June  9 th.  — Cleaning  the  attic  to-day,  here  at  the 
Wayside,  the  woman  found  an  immense  snake,  flat  and 
outrageously  fierce,  thrusting  out  its  tongue.  Ellen,  the 
cook,  killed  it.  She  called  it  an  adder,  but  it  appears  to 
have  been  a striped  snake.  It  seems  a fiend,  haunting 
the  house.  On  further  inquiry,  the  snake  is  described 
as  plaided  with  brown  and  black. 

Cupid  in  these  latter  times  has  probably  laid  aside 
his  bow  and  arrows,  and  uses  fire-arms,  — a pistol,  — 
perhaps  a revolver. 

I burned  great  heaps  of  old  letters  and  other  papers, 
a little  while  ago,  preparatory  to  going  to  England. 

Among  them  were  hundreds  of  ’s  letters.  The 

world  has  no  more  such,  and  now  they  are  all  dust  and 
ashes.  What  a trustful  guardian  of  secret  matters  is 
fire ! What  should  we  do  without  fire  and  death  ? 


THE  END. 


At  Wordsworth’s  Grave.  See  page  208. 


PASSAGES 

FROM 

THE  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


VOL.  I. 


TO 

FRANCIS  BENNOCH,  ESQ., 

The  dear  and  valued  friend,  who,  by  his  generous  and 

- r 

genial  hospitality  and  unfailing  sympathy,  contributed  so 
largely  (as  is  attested  by  the  book  itself)  to  render  Mr. 
Hawthorne’s  residence  in  England  agreeable  and  home- 
like, these  English  Notes  are  dedicated,  with  sincere 
respect  and  regard,  by 

THE  EDITOR. 


PREFACE 


It  seems  justly  due  to  Mr.  Hawthorne  that  the 
occasion  of  any  portion  of  his  private  journals  being 
brought  before  the  Public  should  be  made  known,  since 
they  were  originally  designed  for  his  own  reference 
only. 

There  had  been  a constant  and  an  urgent  demand 
for  a life  or  memoir  of  Mr.  Hawthorne ; yet,  from  the 
extreme  delicacy  and  difficulty  of  the  subject,  the 
Editor  felt  obliged  to  refuse  compliance  with  this  de- 
mand. Moreover,  Mr.  Hawthorne  had  frequently  and 
emphatically  expressed  the  hope  that  no  one  would 
attempt  to  write  his  Biography ; and  the  Editor  per- 
ceived that  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  person,  out- 
side of  his  own  domestic  circle,  to  succeed  in  doing  it, 
on  account  of  his  extreme  reserve.  But  it  was  un- 
gracious to  do  nothing,  and  therefore  the  Editor,  be- 
lieving that  Mr.  Hawthorne  himself  was  alone  capable 
of  satisfactorily  answering  the  affectionate  call  for  some 
sketch  of  his  life,  concluded  to  publish  as  much  as  pos- 
sible of  his  private  records,  and  even  extracts  from  his 
private  letters,  in  order  to  gratify  the  desire  of  his 


Vi 


PREFACE. 


friends  and  of  literacy  artists  to  become  more  intimately 
acquainted  with  him.  The  Editor  has  been  severely 
blamed  and  wondered  at,  in  some  instances,  for  al- 
lowing many  things  now  published  to  see  the  light  $ 
but  it  has  been  a matter  both  of  conscience  and 
courtesy  to  withhold  nothing  that  could  be  given  up. 
Many  of  the  journals  were  doubtless  destroyed  ; for 
the  earliest  date  found  in  his  American  papers  was  that 
of  1835. 

The  Editor  has  transcribed  the  manuscripts  just  as 
they  were  left,  without  making  any  new  arrangement 
or  altering  any  sequence  — merely  omitting  some  pas- 
sages, and  being  especially  careful  to  preserve  what- 
ever could  throw  any  light  upon  his  character.  To 
persons  on  a quest  for  characteristics,  however,  each 
of  his  books  reveals  a great  many,  and  it  is  believed 
that  with  the  aid  of  the  Notes  (both  American  and 
English)  the  Tales  and  Romances  will  make  out  a 
very  complete  and  true  picture  of  his  individuality  ; 
and  the  Notes  are  often  an  open  sesame  to  the  artistic 
works. 

Several  thickly  written  pages  of  observations  — fine 
and  accurate  etchings  — have  been  omitted,  sometimes 
because  too  personal  with  regard  to  himself  or  others, 
and  sometimes  because  they  were  afterwards  absorbed 
into  one  or  another  of  the  Romances  or  papers  in  Our 
Old  Home.  It  seemed  a pity  not  to  give  these 


PREFACE. 


vii 

original  cartoons  fresh  from  his  mind,  because  they  are 
so  carefully  finished  at  the  first  stroke.  Yet,  as  Mr. 
Hawthorne  chose  his  own  way  of  presenting  them  to 
the  public,  it  was  thought  better  not  to  exhibit  what  he 
himself  withheld.  Besides,  to  any  other  than  a fellow- 
artist  they  might  seem  mere  repetitions. 

It  is  very  earnestly  hoped  that  these  volumes  of 
notes — American,  English,  and  presently  Italian  — will 
dispel  an  often  expressed  opinion  that  Mr.  Hawthorne 
was  gloomy  and  morbid.  He  had  the  inevitable  pen- 
siveness and  gravity  of  a person  who  possessed  what  a 
friend  of  his  called  “ the  awful  power  of  insight  ” ; but 
his  mood  was  always  cheerful  and  equal,  and  his  mind 
peculiarly  healthful,  and  the  airy  splendor  of  his  wit 
and  humor  was  the  light  of  his  home.  He  saw  too 
far  to  be  despondent,  though  his  vivid  sympathies  and 
shaping  imagination  often  made  him  sad  in  behalf  of 
others.  He  also  perceived  morbidness,  wherever  it 
existed,  instantly,  as  if  by  the  illumination  of  his  own 
steady  cheer.;  and  he  had  the  plastic  power  of  putting 
himself  into  each  person’s  situation,  and  of  looking  from 
every  point  of  view,  which  made  his  charity  most  com- 
prehensive. From  this  cause  he  necessarily  attracted 
confidences,  and  became  confessor  to  very  many  sinning 
and  suffering  souls,  to  whom  he  gave  tender  sympathy 
and  help,  while  resigning  judgment  to  the  Omniscient 
and  All-wise. 


viii  PREFACE. 

Throughout  his  journals,  it  will  be  seen  that  Mr. 
Hawthorne  is  entertaining , and  not  asserting , opinions 
and  ideas.  He  questions,  doubts,  and  reflects  with  his 
pen,  and,  as  it  were,  instructs  himself.  So  that  these 
Note-Books  should  be  read,  not  as  definitive  conclusions 
of  his  mind,  but  merely  as  passing  impressions  often. 
Whatever  conclusions  he  arrived  at  are  condensed  in 
the  works  given  to  the  world  by  his  own  hand,  in 
which  will  never  be  found  a careless  word.  He  was 
so  extremely  scrupulous  about  the  value  and  effect  of 
every  expression  that  the  Editor  has  felt  great  com- 
punction in  allowing  a single  sentence  to  be  printed 
unrevised  by  himself ; but,  with  the  consideration  of 
the  above  remarks  always  kept  in  mind,  these  volumes 
are  intrusted  to  the  generous  interpretation  of  the 
reader.  If  any  one  must  be  harshly  criticised,  it  ought 
certainly  to  be  the  Editor. 

When  a person  breaks  in,  unannounced,  upon  the 
morning  hours  of  an  artist,  and  finds  him  not  in  full 
dress,  the  intruder,  and  not  the  surprised  artist,  is  doubt- 
less at  fault. 

S.  H. 

Dresden,  April,  1870. 


PASSAGES 


FROM 

HAWTHORNE’S  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOORS. 


Liverpool,  August  \th,  1853.  — A month  lack- 
ing two  days  since  we  left  America,  — a fortnight  and 
some  odd  days  since  we  arrived  in  England.  I began 
my  services,  such  as  they  are,  on  Monday  last,  August 
1st,  and  here  I sit  in  my  private  room  at  the  Consulate, 
while  the  Vice-Consul  and  clerk  are  carrying  on  affairs 
in  the  outer  office. 

The  pleasantest  incident  of  the  morning  is  when  Mr. 
Pearce  (the  Vice-Consul)  makes  his  appearance  with 
the  account-books,  containing  the  receipts  and  expendi- 
tures of  the  preceding  day,  and  deposits  on  my  desk  a 
little  rouleau  of  the  Queen’s  coin,  wrapped  up  in  a piece 
of  paper.  This  morning  there  were  eight  sovereigns, 
four  half-crowns,  and  a shilling,  — a pretty  fair  day’s 
work,  though  not  more  than  the  average  ought  to  be. 
This  forenoon,  thus  far,  I have  had  two  calls,  not  of 
business,  — one  from  an  American  captain  and  his  son, 
another  from  Mr.  H B , whom  I met  in  Amer- 

ica, and  who  has  showed  us  great  attention  here.  He 
has  arranged  for  us  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  some  of 
his  family  this  evening. 


VOL.  i. 


1 


K 


2 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853 

Since  I have  been  in  Liverpool  we  have  hardly  had 
a day,  until  yesterday,  without  more  or  less  of  rain,  and 
so  cold  and  shivery  that  life  was  miserable.  I am  not 
warm  enough  even  now,  but  am  gradually  getting  ac- 
climated in  that  respect. 

Just  now  I have  been  fooled  out  of  half  a crown  by 
a young  woman,  who  represents  herself  as  an  Ameri- 
can and  destitute,  having  come  over  to  see  an  uncle 
whom  she  found  dead,  and  she  has  no  means  of  getting 
back  again.  Her  accent  is  not  that  of  an  American, 
and  her  appearance  is  not  particularly  prepossessing, 
though  not  decidedly  otherwise.  She  is  decently 
dressed  and  modest  in  deportment,  but  I do  not  quite 
trust  her  face.  She  has  been  separated  from  her  hus- 
band, as  I understand  her,  by  course  of  law,  has  had 
two  children,  both  now  dead.  What  she  wants  is  to 
get  back  to  America,  and  perhaps  arrangements  may 
be  made  with  some  shipmaster  to  take  her  as  steward- 
ess or  in  some  subordinate  capacity.  My  judgment, 
on  the  whole,  is  that  she  is  an  English  woman,  married 
to  and  separated  from  an  American  husband,  — of  no 
very  decided  virtue.  I might  as  well  have  kept  my 
half-crown,  and  yet  I might  have  bestowed  it  worse. 
She  is  very  decent  in  manner,  cheerful,  at  least  not 
despondent. 

At  two  o’clock  I went  over  to  the  Royal  Rock  Hotel, 
about  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes’  steaming  from  this  side 
of  the  river.  We  are  going  there  on  Saturday  to  re- 
side for  a while.  Returning,  I found  that  Mr.  B.,  from 
the  American  Chamber  of  Commerce,  had  called  to  ar- 
range the  time  and  place  of  a visit  to  the  Consul  from 
a delegation  of  that  'body.  Settled  for  to-morrow  at 
quarter  past  one  at  Mr.  Blodgett’s. 


LIVERPOOL. 


3 


1853.J 

August  5th . — An  invitation  this  morning  from  the 
Mayor  to  dine  at  the  Town  Hall  on  Friday  next. 
Heaven  knows  I had  rather  dine  at  the  humblest  inn  in 
the  city,  inasmuch  as  a speech  will  doubtless  be  expect- 
ed from  me.  However,  things  must  be  as  they  may. 

At  quarter  past  one  I was  duly  on  hand  at  Mr. 
Blodgett’s  to  receive  the  deputation  from  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce.  They  arrived  pretty  seasonably,  in  two 
or  three  carriages,  and  were  ushered  into  the  drawing- 
room, — seven  or  eight  gentlemen,  some  of  whom  I had 
met  before.  Hereupon  ensued  a speech  from  Mr.  B., 
the  Chairman  of  the  delegation,  short  and  sweet,  allud- 
ing to  my  literary  reputation  and  other  laudatory  mat- 
ters, and  occupying  only  a minute  or  two.  The  speaker 
was  rather  embarrassed,  which  encouraged  me  a little, 
and  yet  I felt  more  diffidence  on  this  occasion  than  in 
my  effort  at  Mr.  Crittenden’s  lunch,  where,  indeed,  I 
was  perfectly  self-possessed.  But  here,  there  being  less 
formality,  and  more  of  a conversational  character  in 
what  was  said,  my  usual  diffidence  could  not  so  well 
be  kept  in  abeyance.  However,  I did  not  break  down 
to  an  intolerable  extent,  and,  winding  up  my  eloquence 
as  briefly  as  possible,  we  had  a social  talk.  Their  whole 
stay  could  not  have  been  much  more  than  a quarter  of 
an  hour, 

A call,  this  morning,  at  the  Consulate,  from  Dr.  Bow- 
ring, who  is  British  minister,  or  something  of  the  kind, 
in  China,  and  now  absent  on  a twelvemonth’s  leave. 
The  Doctor  is  a brisk  person,  with  the  address  of  a man 
of  the  world,  — free,  quick  to  smile,  and  of  agreeable 
manners.  He  has  a good  face,  rather  American  than 


4 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

English  in  aspect,  and  does  not  look  much  above  fifty, 
though  he  says  he  is  between  sixty  and  seventy.  I 
should  take  him  rather  for  an  active  lawyer  or  a man 
of  business  than  for  a scholar  and  a literary  man.  He 
talked  in  a lively  way  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  and 
then  took  his  leave,  offering  me  any  service  in  his  power 
in  London,  — as,  for  instance,  to  introduce  me  to  the 
Athenasum  Club. 

August  8 th.  — Day  before  yesterday  I escorted  my 
family  to  Rock  Ferry,  two  miles  either  up  or  down  the 
Mersey  (and  I really  don’t  know  which)  by  steamer, 
which  runs  every  half-hour.  There  are  steamers  going 
continually  to  Birkenhead  and  other  landings,  and  al- 
most always  a great  many  passengers  on  the  transit. 
At  this  time  the  boat  was  crowded  so  as  to  afford 
scanty  standing-room ; it  being  Saturday,  and  therefore 
a kind  of  gala-day.  I think  I have  never  seen  a popu- 
lace before  coming  to  England ; but  this  crowd  afforded 
a specimen  of  one,  both  male  and  female.  The  women 
were  the  most  remarkable  ; though  they  seemed  not  dis- 
reputable, there  was  in  them  a coarseness,  a freedom, 
an  — I don’t  know  what,  that  was  purely  English.  In 
fact,  men  and  women  here  do  things  that  would  at  least 
make  them  ridiculous  in  America.  They  are  not  afraid 
to  enjoy  themselves  in  their  own  way,  and  have  no  pseu- 
do-gentility to  support.  Some  girls  danced  upon  the 
crowded  deck,  to  the  miserable  music  of  a little  frag- 
ment of  a band  which  goes  up  and  down  the  river  on 
each  trip  of  the  boat.  Just  before  the  termination  of 
the  voyage  a man  goes  round  with  a bugle  turned  up- 
wards to  receive  the  eleemosynary  pence  and  halfpence 


1653.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


5 


of  the  passengers.  I gave  one  of  them,  the  other  day, 
a silver  fourpence,  which  fell  into  the  vitals  of  the  in- 
strument, and  compelled  the  man  to  take  it  to  pieces. 

At  Rock  Ferry  there  was  a great  throng,  forming  a 
scene  not  unlike  one  of  our  muster-days  or  a Fourth  of 
July,  and  there  were  bands  of  music  and  banners,  and 
small  processions  after  them,  and  a school  of  charity 
children,  I believe,  enjoying  a festival.  And  there 
was  a club  of  respectable  persons,  playing  at  bowls  on 
the  bowling-green  of  the  hotel,  and  there  were  children, 
infants,  riding  on  donkeys  at  a penny  a ride,  while  their 
mothers  walked  alongside  to  prevent  a fall.  Yester- 
day, while  we  were  at  dinner,  Mr.  B.  came  in  his  car- 
riage to  take  us  to  his  residence,  Poulton  Hall.  He 
had  invited  us  to  dine ; but  I misunderstood  him,  and 
thought  he  only  intended  to  give  us  a drive.  Poulton 
Hall  is  about  three  miles  from  Rock  Ferry,  the  road 
passing  through  some  pleasant  rural  scenery,  and  one 
or  two  villages,  with  houses  standing  close  together,  and 
old  stone  or  brick  cottages,  with  thatched  roofs,  and 
now  and  then  a better  mansion,  apart  among  trees.  We 
passed  an  old  church,  with  a tower  and  spire,  and, 
half-way  up,  a patch  of  ivy,  dark-green,  and  some  yel- 
low wall-flowers,  in  full  bloom,  growing  out  of  the  crevi- 
ces of  the  stone.  Mr.  B.  told  us  that  the  tower  was 
formerly  quite  clothed  with  ivy  from  bottom  to  top,  but 
that  it  had  fallen  away  for  lack  of  the  nourishment  that 
it  used  to  find  in  the  lime  between  the  stones.  This 
old  church  answered  to  my  transatlantic  fancies  of  Eng- 
land better  than  anything  I have  yet  seen.  Not  far 
from  it  was  the  Rectory,  behind  a deep  grove  of  ancient 
trees ; and  there  lives  the  Rector,  enjoying  a thousand 


G 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


pounds  a year  and  his  nothing-to-do,  while  a curate  per- 
forms the  real  duty  on  a stipend  of  eighty  pounds. 

We  passed  through  a considerable  extent  of  private 
road,  and  finally  drove  over  a lawn,  studded  with  trees 
and  closely  shaven,  till  we  reached  the  door  of  Poulton 
Hall.  Part  of  the  mansion  is  three  or  four  hundred  years 
old  ; another  portion  is  about  a hundred  and  fifty,  and 
still  another  has  been  built  during  the  present  genera- 
tion. The  house  is  two  stories  high,  with  a sort  of  bee- 
tle-browed roof  in  front.  It  is  not  very  striking,  and 
does  not  look  older  than  many  wooden  houses  which  I 
have  seen  in  America.  There  is  a curious  stately  stair- 
case, with  a twisted  balustrade  much  like  that  of  the 
old  Province  House  in  Boston.  The  drawing-room  is  a 
handsome  modern  apartment,  being  beautifully  painted 
and  gilded  and  paper-hung,  with  a white  marble  fire- 
place and  rich  furniture,  so  that  the  impression  is  that 
of  newness,  not  of  age.  It  is  the  same  with  the  dining- 
room, and  all  the  rest  of  the  interior  so  far  as  I saw  it. 

Mr.  B.  did  not  inherit  this  old  hall,  nor,  indeed,  is  he 
the  owner,  but  only  the  tenant  of  it.  He  is  a mer- 
chant of  Liverpool,  a bachelor,  with  two  sisters  residing 
with  him.  In  the  entrance  hall,  there  was  a stuffed  fox 
with  glass  eyes,  which  I never  should  have  doubted  to 
be  an  actual  live  fox  except  for  his  keeping  so  quiet ; 
also  some  grouse  and  other  game.  Mr.  B.  seems  to  be 
a sportsman,  and  is  setting  out  this  week  on  an  excur- 
sion to  Scotland,  moor-fowl  shooting. 

While  the  family  and  two  or  three  guests  went  to 
dinner,  we  walked  out  to  see  the  place.  The  gardener, 
nn  Irishman,  showed  us  through  the  garden,  which  is 
large  and  well  cared  for.  They  certainly  get  every- 


LIVERPOOL. 


7 


1853.] 

thing  from  nature  which  she  can  possibly  be  persuaded 
to  give  them,  here  in  England.  There  were  peaches 
and  pears  growing  against  the  high  brick  southern 
walls,  — the  trunk  and  branches  of  the  trees  being 
spread  out  perfectly  flat  against  the  wall,  very  much 
like  the  skin  of  a dead  animal  nailed  up  to  dry,  and  not 
a single  branch  protruding.  Figs  were  growing  in  the 
same  way.  The  brick  wall,  very  probably,  was  heated 
within,  by  means  of  pipes,  in  order  to  re-enforce  the  in- 
sufficient heat  of  the  sun.  It  seems  as  if  there  must  be 
something  unreal  and  unsatisfactory  in  fruit  that  owes 
its  existence  to  such  artificial  methods.  Squashes  were 
growing  under  glass,  poor  tilings ! There  were  im- 
mensely large  gooseberries  in  the  garden  ; and  in  this 
particular  berry,  the  English,  I believe,  have  decidedly 
the  advantage  over  ourselves.  The  raspberries,  too, 
were  large  and  good.  I espied  one  gigantic  hog-weed 
in  the  garden  ; and,  really,  my  heart  warmed  to  it,  being 
strongly  reminded  of  the  principal  product  of  my  own 
garden  at  Concord.  After  viewing  the  garden  suffi- 
ciently, the  gardener  led  us  to  other  parts  of  the  estate, 
and  we  had  glimpses  of  a delightful  valley,  its  sides 
shady  with  beautiful  trees,  and  a rich,  grassy  meadow 
at  the  bottom.  By  means  of  a steam-engine  and  sub- 
terranean pipes  and  hydrants,  the  liquid  manure  from 
the  barn-yard  is  distributed  wherever  it  is  wanted  over 
the  estate,  being  spouted  in  rich  showers  from  the  hy- 
drants. Under  this  influence,  the  meadow  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley  had  already  been  made  to  produce 
three  crops  of  grass  during  the  present  season,  and 
would  produce  another. 


8 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853, 

The  lawn  around  Poulton  Hall,  like  thousands  of 
other  lawns  in  England,  is  very  beautiful,  but  re- 
quires great  care  to  keep  it  so,  being  shorn  every  three 
or  four  days.  No  other  country  will  ever  have  this 
charm,  nor  the  charm  of  lovely  verdure,  which  almost 
makes  up  for  the  absence  of  sunshine.  Without  the 
constant  rain  and  shadow  which  strikes  us  as  so  dismal, 
these  lawns  would  be  as  brown  as  an  autumn  leaf.  I 
have  not,  thus  far,  found  any  such  magnificent  trees  as 
I expected.  Mr.  B.  told  me  that  three  oaks,  standing 
in  a row  on  his  lawn,  were  the  largest  in  the  county. 
They  were  very  good  trees,  to  be  sure,  and  perhaps 
four  feet  in  diameter  near  the  ground,  but  with  no  very 
noble  spread  of  foliage.  In  Concord  there  are,  if  not 
oaks,  yet  certainly  elms,  a great  deal  more  stately  and 
beautiful.  But,  on  the  whole,  this  lawn,  and  the  old 
Hall  in  the  midst  of  it,  went  a good  way  towards  real- 
izing some  of  my  fancies  of  English  life. 

By  and  by  a footman,  looking  very  quaint  and  queer 
in  his  livery  coat,  drab  breeches,  and  white  stockings, 
came  to  invite  me  to  the  table,  where  I found  Mr.  B. 
and  his  sisters  and  guests  sitting  at  the  fruit  and  wine. 
There  were  port,  sherry,  madeira,  and  one  bottle  of 
claret,  all  very  good ; but  they  take  here  much  heavier 
wines  than  we  drink  now  in  America.  After  a tolerably 
Ion  z session  we  went  to  the  tea-room,  where  I drank 
some  coffee,  and  at  about  the  edge  of  dusk  the  carriage, 
drew  up  to  the  door  to  take  us  home.  Mr.  B.  and  his 
sisters  have  shown  us  genuine  kindness,  and  they  gave 
us  a hearty  invitation  to  come  and  ramble  over  the 
house  whenever  we  pleased,  during  their  absence  in 
Scotland.  They  say  that  there  are  many  legends  and 


/853.J 


LIVERPOOL. 


9 


ghost-stories  connected  with  the  house ; and  there  is  an 
attic  chamber,  with  a skylight,  which  is  called  the  Mar- 
tyr’s chamber,  from  the  fact  of  its  having,  in  old  times, 
been  tenanted  by  a lady,  who  was  imprisoned  there,  and 
persecuted  to  death  for  her  religion.  There  is  an  old 
black-letter  library,  but  the  room  containing  it  is  shut, 
barred,  and  padlocked,  — the  owner  of  the  house  refus- 
ing to  let  it  be  opened,  lest  some  of  the  books  should  be 
stolen.  Meanwhile  the  rats  are  devouring  them,  and 
the  damps  destroying  them. 

August  9th . — A pretty  comfortable  day,  as  to 
warmth,  and  I believe  there  is  sunshine  overhead  ; but 
a sea-cloud,  composed  of  fog  and  coal-smoke,  envelops 
Liverpool.  At  Rock  Ferry,  when  I left  it  at  half  past 
nine,  there  was  promise  of  a cheerful  day.  A good 
many  gentlemen  (or,  rather,  respectable  business  people) 
came  in  the  boat,  and  it  is  not  unpleasant,  on  these  fine 
mornings,  to  take  the  breezy  atmosphere  of  the  river. 
The  huge  steamer  Great  Britain,  bound  for  Australia, 
lies  right  off  the  Rock  Ferry  landing;  and  at  a little 
distance  are  two  old  hulks  of  ships  of  war,  dismantled, 
roofed  over,  and  anchored  in  the  river,  formerly  for 
quarantine  purposes,  but  now  used  chiefly  or  solely  as 
homes  for  old  seamen,  whose  light  labor  it  is  to  take 
care  of  these  condemned  ships.  There  are  a great  many 
steamers  plying  up  and  down  the  river  to  various  land- 
ings in  the  vicinity ; and  a good  many  steam-tugs ; also, 
many  boats,  most  of  which  have  dark-red  or  tan-colored 
sails,  being  oiled  to  resist  the  wet ; also,  here  and  there, 
a yacht  or  pleasure-boat,  and  a few  ships  riding  stately 
at  their  anchors,  probably  on  the  point  of  sailing.  The 
l* 


10  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 

river,  however,  is  by  no  means  crowded ; because  the 
immense  multitude  of  ships  are  ensconced  in  the  docks, 
where  their  masts  make  an  intricate  forest  for  miles  up 
and  down  the  Liverpool  shore.  The  small  black 
steamers,  whizzing  industriously  along,  many  of  them 
crowded  with  passengers,  make  up  the  chief  life  of  the 
scene.  The  Mersey  has  the  color  of  a mud-puddle,  and 
no  atmospheric  effect,  as  far  as  I have  seen,  ever  gives 
it  a more  agreeable  tinge. 

Visitors  to-day,  thus  far,  have  been  H.  A.  B.,  with 
whom  I have  arranged  to  dine  with  us  at  Bock  Ferry, 
and  then  he  is  to  take  us  on  board  the  Great  Britain,  of 
which  his  father  , is  owner  (in  great  part).  Secondly, 
Monsieur  H.,  the  French  Consul,  who  can  speak  hardly 
any  English,  and  who  was  more  powerfully  scented 
with  cigar-smoke  than  any  man  I ever  encountered  ; a 
polite,  gray-haired,  red-nosed  gentleman,  very  courteous 
and  formal.  Heaven  keep  him  from  me ! 

At  one  o’clock,  or  thereabouts,  I walked  into  the 
city,  down  through  Lord  Street,  Church  Street,  and 
back  to  the  Consulate  through  various  untraceable 
crookednesses.  Coming  to  Chapel  Street,  I crossed 
the  graveyard  of  the  old  Church  of  St.  Nicholas.  This 
is,  I suppose,  the  oldest  sacred  site  in  Liverpool,  a 
church  having  stood  here  ever  since  the  Conquest, 
though,  probably,  there  is  little  or  nothing  of  the  old 
edifice  in  the  present  one,  either  the  whole  of  the 
edifice  or  else  the  steeple,  being  thereto  shaken  by  a 
chime  of  bells,  — or  perhaps  both,  at  different  times,  — 
has  tumbled  down  ; but  the  present  church  is  what  we 
Americans  should  call  venerable.  When  the  first 
church  was  built,  and  long  afterwards,  it  must  have 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


11 


stood  on  the  grassy  verge  of  the  Mersey  ; but  now  there 
are  pavements  and  warehouses,  and  the  thronged 
Prince’s  and  George’s  Docks,  between  it  and  the 
river;  and  all  around  it  is  the  very  busiest  bustle 
of  commerce,  rumbling  wheels,  hurrying  men,  porter- 
shops,  everything  that  pertains  to  the  grossest  and  most 
practical  life.  And,  notwithstanding,  there  is  the  broad 
churchyard  extending  on  three  sides  of  it,  just  as  it 
used  to  be  a thousand  years  ago.  It  is  absolutely  paved 
from  border  to  border  with  flat  tombstones,  on  a level 
with  the  soil  and  with  each  other,  so  that  it  is  one  floor 
of  stone  over  the  whole  space,  with  grass  here  and  there 
sprouting  between  the  crevices.  All  these  stones,  no 
doubt,  formerly  had  inscriptions;  but  as  many  people 
continually  pass,  in  various  directions,  across  the  church- 
yard, and  as  the  tombstones  are  not  of  a very  hard 
material,  the  records  on  many  of  them  are  effaced.  I 


saw  none  very  old.  A quarter  of  a century  is  suffi- 
cient to  obliterate  the  letters,  and  make  all  smooth, 
where  the  direct  pathway  from  gate  to  gate  lies  over 
the  stones.  The  climate  and  casual  footsteps  rub  out 
any  inscription  in  less  than  a hundred  years.  Some  of 
the  monuments  are  cracked.  On  many  is  merely  cut 
“The  burial  place  of”  so  and  so;  on  others  there  is  a 
long  list  of  half-readable  names ; on  some  few  a lau- 
datory epitaph,  out  of  which,  however,  it  were  far  too 
tedious  to  pick  the  meaning.  But  it  really  is  interest- 
ing and  suggestive  to  think  of  this  old  church,  first 
built  when  Liverpool  was  a small  village,  and  remain- 
ing, with  its  successive  dead  of  ten  centuries  around  it, 
now  that  the  greatest  commercial  city  in  the  world  has 
jts  busiest  centre  there,  I suppose  people  still  con- 


12 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853. 

tinue  to  be  buried  in  the  cemetery.  The  greatest  up- 
holders of  burials  in  cities  are  those  whose  progenitors 
have  been  deposited  around  or  within  the  city  churches. 
If  this  spacious  churchyard  stood  in  a similar  position 
in  one  of  our  American  cities,  I rather  suspect  that  long 
ere  now  it  would  have  run  the  risk  of  being  laid  out  in 
building-lots,  and  covered  with  warehouses ; even  if  the 
church  itself  escaped,  — but  it  would  not  escape  longer 
than  till  its  disrepair  afforded  excuse  for  tearing  it  down. 
And  why  should  it,  when  its  purposes  might  be  better 
served  in  another  spot? 

We  went  on  board  the  Great  Britain  before  din- 
ner, between  five  and  six  o’clock,  — a great  struct- 
ure, as  to  convenient  arrangement  and  adaptation, 
but  giving  me  a strong  impression  of  the  tedium  and 
misery  of  the  long  voyage  to  Australia.  By  way  of 
amusement,  she  takes  over  fifty  pounds’  worth  of  play- 
ing-cards, at  two  shillings  per  pack,  for  the  use  of  pas- 
sengers ; also,  a small,  well-selected  library.  After  a 
considerable  time  spent  on  board,  we  returned  to  the 
hotel  and  dined,  and  Mr.  B.  took  his  leave  at  nine 
o’clock. 

August  1(M.  — I left  Rock  Ferry  for  the  city  at 
half  past  nine.  In  the  boat  which  arrived  thence,  there 
were  several  men  and  women  with  baskets  on  their 
heads,  for  this  is  a favorite  way  of  carrying  burdens ; 
and  they  trudge  onward  beneath  them,  without  any 
apparent  fear  of  an  overturn,  and  seldom  putting  up  a 
hand  to  steady  them.  One  woman,  this  morning,  had  a 
heavy  load  of  crockery ; another,  an  immense  basket 


1 853.  J 


LIVERPOOL 


13 


of  turnips,  freshly  gathered,  that  seemed  to  me  as  much 
as  a man  could  well  carry  on  his  back.  These  must  be 
a stiff-necked  people.  The  women  step  sturdily  and 
freely,  and  with  not  ungraceful  strength.  The  trip 
over  to  town  was  pleasant,  it  being  a fair  morning,  only 
with  a low-hanging  fog.  Had  it  been  in  America,  I 
should  have  anticipated  a day  of  burning  heat. 

Visitors  this  morning.  Mr.  Ogden  of  Chicago,  or 
somewhere  in  the  Western  States,  who  arrived  in  Eng- 
land a fortnight  ago,  and  who  called  on  me  at  that  time. 
He  has  since  been  in  Scotland,  and  is  now  going  to 
London  and  the  Continent;  secondly,  the  Captain  of 
the  Collins’s  steamer  Pacific,  which  sails  to-day  ; thirdly, 
an  American  shipmaster,  who  complained  that  he  had 
never,  in  his  heretofore  voyages,  been  able  to  get  sight 
of  the  American  Consul. 

Mr.  Pearce’s  customary  matutinal  visit  was  unusually 
agreeable  to-day,  inasmuch  as  he  laid  on  my  desk  nine- 
teen golden  sovereigns  and  thirteen  shillings.  It  being 
the  day  of  the  steamer’s  departure,  an  unusual  number 
of  invoice  certificates  had  been  required,  — my  signa- 
ture to  each  of  which  brings  me  two  dollars. 

The  autograph  of  a living  author  has  seldom  been  so 
much  in  request  at  so  respectable  a price.  Colonel 
Crittenden  told  me  that  he  had  received  as  much  as 
fifty  pounds  on  a single  day.  Heaven  prosper  the  trade 
between  America  and  Liverpool ! 

August  15^. — Many  scenes  which  I should  have 
liked  to  record  have  occurred ; but  the  pressure  of  busi- 
ness has  prevented  me  from  recording  them  from  day 
to  day. 


14 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


On  Thursday  I went,  on  invitation  from  Mr.  B.,  to 
the  prodigious  steamer  Great  Britain,  down  the  harbor, 
and  some  miles  into  the  sea,  to  escort  her  off  a little 
way  on  her  voyage  to  Australia.  There  is  an  immense 
enthusiasm  among  the  English  people  about  this  ship? 
on  account  of  its  being  the  largest  in  the  world.  The 
shores  were  lined  with  people  to  see  her  sail,  and  there 
were  innumerable  small  steamers,  crowded  with  men, 
all  the  way  out  into  the  ocean.  Nothing  seems  to 
touch  the  English  nearer  than  this  question  of  nautical 
superiority ; and  if  we  wish  to  hit  them  to  the  quick, 
we  must  hit  them  there. 

On  Friday,  at  7 p.  m.,  I went  to  dine  with  the 
Mayor.  It  was  a dinner  given  to  the  Judges  and  the 
Grand  Jury.  The  Judges  of  England,  during  the  time 
of  holding  an  Assize,  are  the  persons  first  in  rank  in 
the  kingdom.  They  take  precedence  of  everybody 
else,  — of  the  highest  military  officers,  of  the  Lord 
Lieutenants,  of  the  Archbishops,  — of  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  — of  all  except  the  Sovereign,  whose  authority 
and  dignity  they  represent.  In  case  of  a royal  dinner, 
the  Judge  would  lead  the  Queen  to  the  table. 

The  dinner  was  at  the  Town  Hall,  and  the  rooms 
and  the  whole  affair  were  all  in  the  most  splendid  style. 
Nothing  struck  me  more  than  the  footmen  in  the  city 
livery.  They  really  looked  more  magnificent  in  theii 
gold  lace  and  breeches  and  white  silk  stockings  than 
any  officers  of  state.  The  rooms  were  beautiful ; gor- 
geously painted  and  gilded,  gorgeously  lighted,  gor- 
geously hung  with  paintings,  — the  plate  was  gorgeous, 
and  the  dinner  gorgeous  in  the  English  fashion. 

After  the  removal  of  the  cloth  the  Mayor  gave  vari 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL, 


15 


ous  toasts,  prefacing  each  with  some  remarks,  — the 
first,  of  Course,  the  Sovereign,  after  which  “ God  save 
the  Queen  ” was  sung,  the  company  standing  up  and 
joining  in  the  chorus,  their  ample  faces  glowing  with 
wine,  enthusiasm,  and  loyalty.  Afterwards  the  Bar,  and 
various  other  dignities  and  institutions,  were  toasted  ; 
and  by  and  by  came  the  toast  to  the  United  States,  and 
to  me,  as  their  Representative.  Hereupon  either  “ Hail 
Columbia  ” or  “ Yankee  Doodle,”  or  some  other  of  our 
national  tunes  (but  Heaven  knows  which),  was  played  ; 
and  at  the  conclusion,  being  at  bay,  and  with  no  alter- 
native, T got  upon  my  legs,  and  made  a response.  They 
received  me  and  listened  to  my  nonsense  with  a good 
deal  of  rapping,  and  my  speech  seemed  to  give  great 
satisfaction  ; my  chief  difficulty  being  in  not  knowing 
how  to  pitch  my  voice  to  the  size  of  the  room.  As  for 
the  matter,  it  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence.  Any- 
body may  make  an  after-dinner  speech  who  will  be 
content  to  talk  onward  without  saying  anything.  My 
speech  was  not  more  than  two  or  three  inches  long; 
and,  considering  that  I did  not  know  a soul  there,  ex- 
cept the  Mayor  himself,  and  that  I am  wholly  unprac- 
tised in  all  sorts  of  oratory,  and  that  I had  nothing  to 
say,  it  was  quite  successful.  I hardly  thought  it  was  in 
me,  but,  being  once  started,  I felt  no  embarrassment, 
and  went  through  it  as  coolly  as  if  I were  going  to  be 
hanged. 

Yesterday,  after  dinner,  I took  a walk  with  my  family. 
We  went  through  by-ways  and  private  roads,  and  saw 
more  of  rural  England,  with  its  hedge-rows,  its  grassy 
fields,  and  its  whitewashed  old  stone  cottages,  than  we 
have  before  seen  since  our  arrival. 


16 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1853 


August  20 th.  — This  being  Saturday,  there  early  com- 
menced a throng  of  visitants  to  Rock  Ferry.  The  boat 
in  which  I came  over  brought  from  the  city  a multitude 
of  factory-people.  They  had  bands  of  music,  and  ban- 
ners inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  mills  they  belong 
to,  and  other  devices ; pale-looking  people,  but  not  look- 
ing exactly  as  if  they  were  underfed.  They  are  brought 
on  reduced  terms  by  the  railways  and  steamers,  and 
come  from  great  distances  in  the  interior.  These,  I 
believe,  were  from  Preston.  I have  not  yet  had  an 
opportunity  of  observing  how  they  amuse  themselves 
during  these  excursions. 

At  the  dock,  the  other  day,  the  steamer  arrived  from 
Rock  Ferry  with  a countless  multitude  of  little  girls,  in 
coarse  blue  gowns,  who,  as  they  landed,  formed  in  proces- 
sion, and  walked  up  the  dock.  These  girls  had  been 
taken  from  the  work-houses  and  educated  at  a charity 
school,  and  would  by  and  by  be  apprenticed  as  servants. 
I should  not  have  conceived  it  possible  that  so  many 
children  could  have  been  collected  together,  without  a 
single  trace  of  beauty  or  scarcely  of  intelligence  in  so 
much  as  one  individual ; such  mean,  coarse,  vulgar 
features  and  figures  betraying  unmistakably  a low 
origin,  and  ignorant  and  brutal  parents.  They  did  not 
appear  wicked,  but  only  stupid,  animal,  and  soulless. 
It  must  require  many  generations  of  better  life  to  wake 
the  soul  in  them.  All  America  could  not  show  the 
like. 

August  22 d.  — A Captain  Auld,  an  American,  having 
died  here  yesterday,  I went  with  my  clerk  and  an 
American  shipmaster  to  take  the  inventory  of  big 


LIVERPOOL. 


17 


1853.] 

effects.  His  boarding-house  was  in  a mean  street,  an 
old,  dingy  house,  with  narrow  entrance,  — the  class  of 
boarding-house  frequented  by  mates  of  vessels,  and  in- 
ferior to  those  generally  patronized  by  masters.  A fat 
elderly  landlady,  of  respectable  and  honest  aspect,  and 
her  daughter,  a pleasing  young  woman  enough,  received 
us,  and  ushered  us  into  the  deceased’s  bedchamber.  It, 
was  a dusky  back  room,  plastered  and  painted  yellow ; 
its  one  window  looking  into  the  very  narrowest  of  back 
yards  or  courts,  and  out  on  a confused  multitude  of  back 
buildings,  appertaining  to  other  houses,  most  of  them 
old,  with  rude  chimneys  of  wash-rooms  and  kitchens, 
the  bricks  of  which  seemed  half  loose. 

The  chattels  of  the  dead  man  were  contained  in  two 
trunks,  a chest,  a sail-cloth  bag,  and  a barrel,  and  con- 
sisted of  clothing,  suggesting  a thickset,  middle-sized 
man  ; papers  relative  to  ships  and  business,  a spyglass, 
a loaded  iron  pistol,  some  books  of  navigation,  some 
charts,  several  great  pieces  of  tobacco,  and  a few  cigars  ; 
some  little  plaster  images,  that  he  had  probably  bought 
for  his  children,  a cotton  umbrella,  and  other  trumpery 
of  no  great  value.  In  one  of  the  trunks  we  found  about 
twenty  pounds’  worth  of  English  and  American  gold 
and  silver,  and  some  notes  of  hand,  due  in  America. 
Of  all  these  things  the  clerk  made  an  inventory  ; after 
which  we  took  possession  of  the  money  and  affixed  the 
consular  seal  to  the  trunks,  bag,  and  chest. 

While  this  was  going  on,  we  heard  a great  noise  of 
men  quarrelling  in  an  adjoining  court ; and,  altogether, 
it  seemed  a squalid  and  ugly  place  to  live  in,  and  a 
most  undesirable  one  to  die  in.  At  the  conclusion  of 
our  labors,  the  young  woman  asked  us  if  we  would  not 


18 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


go  into  another  chamber,  and  look  at  the  corpse,  and 
appeared  to  think  that  we  should  be  rather  glad  than 
otherwise  of  the  privilege.  But,  never  having  seen  the 
man  during  his  lifetime,  I declined  to  commence  his  ac* 
quaintance  now. 

His  bills  for  board  and  nursing  amount  to  about  the 
sum  which  we  found  in  his  trunk ; his  funeral  expenses 
will  be  ten  pounds  more ; the  surgeon  has  sent  in  a bill 
of  eight  pounds,  odd  shillings;  and  the  account  of  another 
medical  man  is  still  to  be  rendered.  As  his  executor,  1 
shall  pay  his  landlady  and  nurse  ; and  for  the  rest  of  the 
expenses,  a subscription  must  be  made  (according  to  the 
custom  in  such  cases)  among  the  shipmasters,  headed 
by  myself.  The  funeral  pomp  will  consist  of  a hearse, 
one  coach,  four  men,  with  crape  hat-bands,  and  a few 
other  items,  together  with  a grave  at  five  pounds,  over 
which  his  friends  will  be  entitled  to  place  a stone,  if 
they  choose  to  do  so,  within  twelve  months. 

As  we  left  the  house,  we  looked  into  the  dark  and 
squalid  dining-room,  where  a lunch  of  cold  meat  was  set 
out;  but  having  no  associations  with  the  house  except 
through  this  one  dead  man,  it  seemed  as  if  his  presence 
and  attributes  pervaded  it  wholly.  He  appears  to  have 
been  a man  of  reprehensible  habits,  though  well  ad- 
vanced in  years.  I ought  not  to  forget  a brandy-flask 
(empty)  among  his  other  effects.  The  landlady  and 
daughter  made  a good  impression  on  me,  as  honest  and 
respectable  persons. 

August  %ith.  — Yesterday,  in  the  forenoon,  I received 
a note,  and  shortly  afterwards  a call  at  the  Consulate 
from  Miss  H — — , whom  I apprehend  to  be  a lady  of  lit' 


LIVERPOOL. 


n 


1853.] 

erary  tendencies.  She  said  that  Miss  L.  had  promised 
her  an  introduction,  but  that,  happening  to  pass  through 
Liverpool,  she  had  snatched  the  opportunity  to  make 
my  acquaintance.  She  seems  to  be  a mature  lady, 
rather  plain,  but  with  an  honest  and  intelligent  face. 
It  was  rather  a singular  freedom,  methinks,  to  come 
down  upon  a perfect  stranger  in  this  way,  — to  sit  with 
him  in  his  private  office  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  walk 
about  the  streets  with  him,  as  she  did ; for  I did  the 
honors  of  Liverpool,  and  showed  her  the  public  build- 
ings. Her  talk  was  sensible,  but  not  particularly  bril- 
liant nor  interesting  ; a good,  solid  personage,  physically 
and  intellectually.  She  is  an  English  woman. 

In  the  afternoon,  at  three  o’clock,  I attended  the  fune-  . 
ral  of  Captain  Auld.  Being  ushered  into  the  dining- 
room of  his  boarding-house,  I found  brandy,  gin,  and 
wine  set  out  on  a tray,  together  with  some  little  spice- 
cakes.  By  and  by  came  in  a woman,  who  asked  if  I 
were  going  to  the  funeral ; and  then  proceeded  to  put  a 
mourning  band  on  my  hat,  — a black-silk  band,  covering 
the  whole  hat,  and  streaming  nearly  a yard  behind. 
After  Avaiting  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  nobody  else 
appeared,  although  several  shipmasters  had  promised  to 
attend.  Hereupon,  the  undertaker  was  anxious  to  set 
forth ; but  the  landlady,  who  was  arrayed  in  shining 
black  silk,  thought  it  a shame  that  the  poor  man  should 
be  buried  with  such  small  attendance.  So  we  waited  a 
little  longer,  during  which  interval  I heard  the  land- 
lady’s daughter  sobbing  and  wailing  in  the  entry ; and 
but  for  this  tender-heartedness  there  would  have  been 
no  tears  at  all.  Finally  we  set  forth,  — the  undertaker, 
a friend  of  his,  and  a young  man,  perhaps  the  landlady’s 


20 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853c 

son,  and  myself,  in  the  black-plumed  coaoh,  and  the 
landlady,  her  daughter,  and  a female  friend,  in  the  coach 
behind.  Previous  to  this,  however,  everybody  had 
taken  some  wine  or  spirits ; for  it  seemed  to  be  consid- 
ered disrespectful  not  to  do  so. 

Before  us  went  the  plumed  hearse,  a stately  affair, 
with  a bas-relief  of  funereal  figures  upon  its  sides.  We 
proceeded  quite  across  the  city  to  the  Necropolis,  where 
the  coffin  was  carried  into  a chapel,  in  which  we  found 
already  another  coffin,  and  another  set  of  mourners, 
awaiting  the  clergyman.  Anon  he  appeared,  — a stern, 
broad-framed,  large,  and  bald-headed  man,  in  a black- 
silk  gown.  He  mounted  his  desk,  and  read  the  service 
in  quite  a feeble  and  unimpressive  way,  though  with  no 
lack  of  solemnity.  This  done,  our  four  bearers  took  up 
the  coffin,  and  carried  it  out  of  the  chapel ; but.  descend- 
ing the  steps,  and,  perhaps,  having  taken  a little  toe? 
much  brandy,  one  of  them  stumbled,  and  down  came  the 
coffin,  — not  quite  to  the  ground,  however;  for  they 
grappled  with  it,  and  contrived,  with  a great  struggle- 
to  prevent  the  misadventure.  But  I really  expected  to 
see  poor  Captain  Auld  burst  forth  among  us  in  hi* 
grave-clothes. 

The  Necropolis  is  quite  a handsome  burial-place,  shut 
in  by  high  walls,  so  overrun  with  shrubbery  that  no 
part  of  the  brick  or  stone  is  visible.  Part  of  the  space 
within  is  an  ornamental  garden,  with  flowers  and  green 
turf ; the  rest  is  strewn  with  flat  gravestones,  and  a few 
raised  monuments ; and  straight  avenues  run  to  and  fro 
between.  Captain  Auld’s  grave  was  dug  nine  feet 
deep.  It  is  his  own  for  twelve  months  ; but,  if  his  friends 
do  not  choose  to  give  him  a stone,  it  will  become  a com- 


1853] 


LIVERPOOL. 


21 


mon  grave  at  the  end  of  that  time ; and  four  or  five 
more  bodies  may  then  be  piled  upon  his.  Every  one 
seemed  greatly  to  admire  the  grave ; the  undertaker 
praised  it,  and  also  the  dryness  of  its  site,  which  he  took 
credit  to  himself  for  having  chosen.  The  grave-digger, 
too,  was  very  proud  of  its  depth,  and  the  neatness  of  his 
handiwork.  The  clergyman,  who  had  marched  in  ad- 
vance of  us  from  the  chapel,  now  took  his  stand  at  the 
head  of  the  grave,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  proceeded  with 
what  remained  of  the  service,  while  we  stood  bareheaded 
around.  When  he  came  to  a particular  part,  “ ashes 
to  ashes,  dust  to  dust,”  the  undertaker  lifted  a handful 
of  earth,  and  threw  it  rattling  on  the  coffin,  — so  did  the 
landlady’s  son,  and  so  did  I.  After  the  funeral  the  un- 
dertaker’s friend,  an  elderly,  coarsedooking  man,  looked 
round  him,  and  remarked  that  “ the  grass  had  never 
grown  on  the  parties  who  died  in  the  cholera  year  ” ; 
but  at  this  the  undertaker  laughed  in  scorn. 

As  we  returned  to  the  gate  of  the  cemetery,  the  sex- 
ton met  us,  and  pointed  to  a small  office,  on  entering 
which  we  found  the  clergyman,  who  was  waiting  for 
his  burial-fees.  There  was  now  a dispute  between  the 
clergyman  and  the  undertaker ; the  former  wishing  to 
receive  the  whole  amount  for  the  gravestone,  which  the 
undertaker,  of  course,  refused  to  pay.  I explained  how 
the  matter  stood ; on  which  the  clergyman  acquiesced, 
civilly  enough;  but  it  was  very  strange  to  see  the 
worldly,  business-like  way  in  which  he  entered  into 
this  squabble,  so  soon  after  burying  poor  Captain 
Auld. 

During  our  drive  back  in  the  mourning-coach,  the 
undertaker,  his  friend,  and  the  landlady’s  son  still  kept 


22  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

descanting  on  the  excellence  of  the  grave,  — “ Such  a 
fine  grave,”  — “ Such  a nice  grave,”  — “ Such  a splendid 
grave,”  — and,  really,  they  seemed  almost  to  think  it 
worth  while  to  die,  for  the  sake  of  being  buried  there. 
They  deemed  it  an  especial  pity  that  such  a grave  should 
ever  become  a common  grave.  “ Why,”  said  they  to 
me,  “ by  paying  the  extra  price  you  may  have  it  for 
your  own  grave,  or  for  your  family ! ” meaning  that  we 
should  have  a right  to  pile  ourselves  over  the  defunct 
Captain.  I wonder  how  the  English  ever  attain  to  any 
conception  of  a future  existence,  since  they  so  overbur- 
den themselves  with  earth  and  mortality  in  their  ideas 
of  funerals.  A drive  with  an  undertaker,  in  a sable- 
plumed  coach  ! — talking  about  graves  ! — - and  yet  he 
was  a jolly  old  fellow,  wonderfully  corpulent,  with  a 
smile  breaking  out  easily  all  over  his  face,  — although, 
once  in  a while,  he  looked  professionally  lugubrious. 

All  the  time  the  scent  of  that  horrible  mourning-coach 
is  in  my  nostrils,  and  I breathe  nothing  but  a funeral 
atmosphere. 

Saturday,  August  27th.  — This  being  the  gala-day  of 
the  manufacturing  people  about  Liverpool,  the  steam- 
boats to  Rock  Ferry  were  seasonably  crowded  with 
large  parties  of  both  sexes.  They  were  accompanied 
with  two  bands  of  music,  in  uniform  ; and  these  bands, 
before  I left  the  Hotel,  were  playing,  in  competition  and 
rivalry  with  each  other  in  the  coach-yard,  loud  mar- 
tial strains  from  shining  brass  instruments.  A prize  is 
to  be  assigned  to  one  or  to  the  other  of  these  bands,  and 
I suppose  this  was  a part  of  the  competition.  Mean- 


LIVERPOOL. 


23 


1353.] 


while  the  mefry-making  people  who  thronged  the  court- 
yard were  quaffing  coffee  from  blue  earthen  mugs, 
which  they  brought  with  them,  — as  likewise  they 
brought  the  coffee,  and  had  it  made  in  the  hotel. 

It  had  poured  with  rain  about  the  time  of  their  ar 
rival,  notwithstanding  which  they  did  not  seem  dis- 
heartened ; for,  of  course,  in  this  climate,  it  enters  into 
all  their  calculations  to  be  drenched  through  and  through. 
By  and  by  the  sun  shone  out,  and  it  has  continued  to 
shine  and  shade  every  ten  minutes  ever  since.  All 
these  people  were  decently  dressed ; the  men  generally 
in  dark  clothes,  not  so  smartly  as  Americans  on  a festal 
day,  but  so  as  not  to  be  greatly  different  as  regards  dress. 
They  were  paler,  smaller,  less  wholesome-looking  and 
less  intelligent,  and,  I think,  less  noisy,  than  so  many 
Yankees  would  have  been.  The  women  and  girls  dif- 
fered much  more  from  what  American  girls  and  women 
would  be  on  a pleasure-excursion,  being  so  shabbily 
dressed,  with  no  kind  of  smartness,  no  silks,  nothing 
but  cotton  gowns,  I believe,  and  ill-looking  bonnets,  — 
which,  however,  was  the  only  part  of  their  attire  that 
they  seemed  to  care  about  guarding  from  the  rain.  As 
to  their  persons,  they  generally  looked  better  developed 
and  healthier  than  the  men  ; but  there  was  a woful 
lack  ot  beauty  and  grace,  not  a pretty  girl  among  them, 
all  coarse  and  vulgar.  Their  bodies,  it  seems  to  me, 
are  apt  to  be  very  long  in  proportion  to  their  limbs, — 
in  truth,  this  kind  of  make  is  rather  characteristic  of 
both  sexes  in  England.  The  speech  of  these  folks, 
in  some  instances,  .was  so  broad  Lancashire  that  I 
could  not  well  understand  it. 


24 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


A WALK  TO  BEBBINGTON. 

Rock  Ferry , August  29th.  — Yesterday  we  ali  took 
a walk  into  the  country.  It  was  a fine  afternoon,  with 
clouds,  of  course,  in  different  parts  of  the  sky,  but  a 
clear  atmosphere,  bright  sunshine,  and  altogether  a 
Septembrish  feeling.  The  ramble  was  very  pleasant 
along  the  hedge-lined  roads  in  which  there  were  flowers 
blooming,  and  the  varnished  holly,  certainly  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  shrubs  in  the  world,  so  far  as  foliage  goes. 
We  saw  one  cottage  which  I suppose  was  several  hun- 
dred years  old.  It  was  of  stone,  filled  into  a wooden 
frame,  the  black  oak  of  which  was  visible  like  an  ex- 
ternal skeleton  ; it  had  a thatched  roof,  and  was  white- 
washed. We  passed  through  a village,  — Higher  Beb- 
bington,  I believe,  — with  narrow  streets  and  mean 
houses,  all  of  brick  or  stone,  and  not  standing  wide  apart 
from  each  other  as  in  American  country  villages,  but  con- 
joined. There  was  an  immense  almshouse  in  the  midst ; 
at  least,  I took  it  to  be  so.  In  the  centre  of  the  village, 
too,  we  saw  a moderate-sized  brick  house,  built  in  imita- 
tion of  a castle  with  a tower  and  turret,  in  which  an  up- 
per and  an  under  row  of  small  cannon  were  mounted, — 
now  green  with  moss.  There  were  also  battlements 
along  the  roof  of  the  house,  which  looked  as  if  it 
might  have  been  built  eighty  or  a hundred  years  ago. 
In  the  centre  of  it  there  was  the  dial  of  a clock,  but 
the  inner  machinery  had  been  removed,  and  the  hands, 
hanging  listlessly,  moved  to  and  fro  in  the  wind.  It 
was  quite  a novel  symbol  of  decay  and  neglect.  On 
the  wall,  close  to  the  street,  there  were  certain  eccen- 
tric inscriptions  cut  into  slabs  of  stone,  but  I could  make 


J 853.] 


A WALK  TO  BEBBINGTON. 


25 


no  sense  of  them.  At  the  end  of  the  house  opposite 
the  turret,  we  peeped  through  the  bars  of  an  iron  gate 
and  beheld  a little  paved  court-yard,  and  at  the  further 
side  of  it  a small  piazza,  beneath  which  seemed  to  stand 
the  figure  of  a man.  He  appeared  well  advanced  in 
years,  and  was  dressed  in  a blue  coat  and  buff  breeches, 
with  a white  or  straw  hat  on  his  head.  Behold,  too,  in 
a kennel  beside  the  porch,  a large  dog  sitting  on  his 
hind  legs,  chained  ! Also,  close  beside  the  gateway, 
another  man,  seated  in  a kind  of  arbor ! All  these 
were  wooden  images  ; and  the  whole  castellated,  small, 
village  dwelling,  with  the  inscriptions  and  the  queer 
statuary,  was  probably  the  whim  of  some  half-crazy 
person,  who  has  now,  no  doubt,  been  long  asleep  in 
Bebbington  churchyard. 

The  bell  of  the  old  church  was  ringing  as  we  went 
along,  and  many  respectable-looking  people  and  cleanly 
dressed  children  were  moving  towards  the  sound.  Soon 
we  reached  the  church,  and  I have  seen  nothing  yet  in 
England  that  so  completely  answered  my  idea  of  what 
such  a thing  was,  as  this  old  village  church  of  Bebbington. 

It  is  quite  a large  edifice,  built  in  the  form  of  a cross, 
a low  peaked  porch  in  the  side,  over  which,  rudely  cut 
in  stone,  is  the  date  1300  and  something.  The  steeple 
has  ivy  on  it,  and  looks  old,  old,  old  ; so  does  the  whole 
church,  though  portions  of  it  have  been  renewed,  but  not 
so  as  to  impair  the  aspect  of  heavy,  substantial  endur- 
ance, and  long,  long,  decay,  which  may  go  on  hundreds 
of  years  longer  before  the  church  is  a ruin.  There  it 
stands,  among  the  surrounding  graves,  looking  just  the 
same  as  it  did  in  Bloody  Mary’s  days ; just  as  it  did  in 
Cromwell’s  time.  A bird  (and  perhaps  many  birds) 

VOL.  i.  s 


26 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


had  its  nest  in  the  steeple,  and  dew  in  and  out  of  the 
loop-holes  that  were  opened  into  it.  The  stone  frame- 
work of  the  windows  looked  particularly  old. 

There  were  monuments  about  the  church,  some  lying 
flat  on  the  ground,  others  elevated  on  low  pillars,  or  on 
cross  slabs  of  stone,  and  almost  all  looking  dark,  moss- 
grown,  and  very  antique.  But  on  reading  some  of  the 
inscriptions,  I was  surprised  to  find  them  very  recent ; 
for,  in  fact,  twenty  years  of  this  climate  suffices  to  give 
as  much  or  more  antiquity  of  aspect,  whether  to  grave- 
stone or  edifice,  than  a hundred  years  of  our  own,  — so 
soon  do  lichens  creep  over  the  surface,  so  soon  does  it 
blacken,  so  soon  do  the  edges  lose  their  sharpness,  so 
soon  does  Time  gnaw  away  the  records.  The  only  really 
old  monuments  (and  those  not  very  old)  were  two, 
standing  close  together,  and  raised  on  low  rude  arches, 
the  dates  on  which  were  1684  and  1686.  On  one 
a cross  was  rudely  cut  into  the  stone.  But  there 
may  have  been  hundreds  older  than  this,  the  records  on 
which  had  been  quite  obliterated,  and  the  stones  re- 
moved, and  the  graves  dug  over  anew.  None  of  the 
monuments  commemorate  people  of  rank  ; on  only  one 
the  buried  person  was  recorded  as  “ Gent.” 

While  we  sat  on  the  flat  slabs  resting  ourselves, 
several  little  girls,  healthy-looking  and  prettily  dressed 
enough,  came  into  the  churchyard,  and  began  to  talk  and 
laugh,  and  to  skip  merrily  from  one  tombstone  to  another. 
They  stared  very  broadly  at  us,  and  one  of  them,  by 
and  by,  ran  up  to  U.  and  J.,  and  gave  each  of  them 
a green  apple,  then  they  skipped  upon  the  tombstones 
again,  while,  within  the  church,  we  heard  the  singing, 

- — sounding  pretty  much  as  I haye  heard  it  in  our  pine* 


A WALK  TO  BEB BINOTON. 


27 


1863.] 

built  New  England  meeting-houses.  Meantime  the 
rector  had  detected  the  voices  of  these  naughty  little 
girls,  and  perhaps  had  caught  glimpses  of  them  through 
the  windows ; for,  anon,  out  came  the  sexton,  and,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  us,  asked  whether  there  had  been  any 
noise  or  disturbance  in  the  churchyard.  I should  not  have 
borne  testimony  against  these  little  villagers,  but  S.  was 
so  anxious  to  exonerate  our  own  children  that  she  pointed 
out  these  poor  little  sinners  to  the  sexton,  who  forth- 
with turned  them  out.  He  would  have  done  the  same 
to  us,  no  doubt,  had  my  coat  been  worse  than  it  was  ; 
but,  as  the  matter  stood,  his  demeanor  was  rather 
apologetic  than  menacing,  when  he  informed  us  that  the 
rector  had  sent  him. 

We  stayed  a little  longer,  looking  at  the  graves, 
some  of  which  were  between  the  buttresses  of  the 
church  and  quite  close  to  the  wall,  as  if  the  sleepers  an- 
ticipated greater  comfort  and  security  the  nearer  they 
could  get  to  the  sacred  edifice. 

As  we  went  out  of  the  churchyard,  we  passed  the 
aforesaid  little  girls,  who  were  sitting  behind  the  mound 
of  a tomb,  and  busily  babbling  together.  They  called 
after  us,  expressing  their  discontent  that  we  had  be- 
trayed them  to  the  sexton,  and  saying  that  it  was  not 
they  who  made  the  noise.  Going  homeward,  we  went 
astray  in  a green  lane,  that  terminated  in  the  midst  of  a 
field,  without  outlet,  so  that  we  had  to  retrace  a good 
many  of  our  footsteps. 

Close  to  the  wall  of  the  church,  beside  the  door, 
there  was  an  ancient  baptismal  font  of  stone.  In  fact, 
it  was  a pile  of  roughly  hewn  stone  steps,  five  or  six 


28 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


feet  high,  with  a block  of  stone  at  the  summit,  in  which 
was  a hollow  about  as  big  as  a wash-bowl.  It  was  full 
of  rain-water. 

The  church  seems  to  be  St.  Andrew’s  Church,  Lower 
Bebbington,  built  in  1100. 


September  1st.  — To-day  we  leave  the  Rock  Ferry 
Hotel,  where  we  have  spent  nearly  four  weeks.  It  is 
a comfortable  place,  and  we  have  had  a good  table  and 
have  been  kindly  treated.  We  occupied  a large  parlor, 
extending  through  the  whole  breadth  of  the  house,  with 
a bow-window,  looking  towards  Liverpool,  and  adown 
the  intervening  river,  and  to  Birkenhead,  on  the  hither 
side.  The  river  would  be  a pleasanter  object,  if  it  were 
blue  and  transparent,  instead  of  such  a mud-puddly 
hue ; also,  if  it  were  always  full  to  its  brim  ; whereas 
it  generally  presents  a margin,  and  sometimes  a very 
broad  one,  of  glistening  mud,  with  here  and  there  a 
small  vessel  aground  on  it. 

Nevertheless,  the  parlor  window  has  given  us  a 
pretty  good  idea  of  the  nautical  business  of  Liverpool ; 
the  constant  objects  being  the  little  black  steamers 
puffing  unquietly  along,  sometimes  to  our  own  ferry, 
sometimes  beyond  it  to  Eastham,  and  sometimes  towing 
a long  string  of  boats  from  Runcorn  or  otherwhere  up 
the  river,  laden  with  goods,  and  sometimes  gallanting  a 
tall  ship  in  or  out.  Some  of  these  ships  lie  for  days 
together  in  the  river,  very  majestic  and  stately  objects, 
often  with  the  flag  of  the  stars  and  stripes  waving  over 
them.  Now  and  then,  after  a gale  at  sea,  a vessel 
comes  in  with  her  masts  broken  short  off  in  the  midst, 
and  with  marks  of  rough  handling  about  the  hull.  Once 


THE  MERSEY. 


29 


'J853.] 

a week  comes  a Cunard  steamer,  with  its  red  funnel 
pipe  whitened  by  the  salt  spray;  and,  firing  off  cannon 
to  announce  her  arrival,  she  moors  to  a large  iron  buoy 
in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  a few  hundred  yards 
from  the  stone  pier  of  our  ferry.  Immediately  comes 
puffing  towards  her  a little  mail-steamer,  to  take  away 
her  mail-bags  and  such  of  the  passengers  as  choose  to 
land ; and  for  several  hours  afterwards  the  Cunard  lies 
with  the  smoke  and  steam  coming  out  of  her,  as  if  she 
were  smoking  her  pipe  after  her  toilsome  passage 
across  the  Atlantic.  Once  a fortnight  comes  an  Amer- 
ican steamer  of  the  Collins  line ; and  then  the  Cunard 
salutes  her  with  cannon,  to  which  the  Collins  responds, 
and  moors  herself  to  another  iron  buoy,  not  far  from 
the  Cunard.  When  they  go  to  sea,  it  is  with  similar 
salutes  ; the  two  vessels  paying  each  other  the  more 
ceremonious  respect,  because  they  are  inimical  and 
jealous  of  each  other. 

Besides  these,  there  are  other  steamers  of  all  sorts 
and  sizes,  for  pleasure-excursions,  for  regular  trips  to 
Dublin,  the  Isle  of  Man,  and  elsewhither ; and  vessels 
which  are  stationary,  as  floating  lights,  but  which  seem 
to  relieve  one  another  at  intervals  ; and  small  vessels, 
with  sails  looking  as  if  made  of  tanned  leather  ; and 
schooners,  and  yachts,  and  all  manner  of  odd-looking 
craft,  but  none  so  odd  as  the  Chinese  junk.  This 
junk  lies  by  our  own  pier,  and  looks  as  if  it  were  copied 
from  some  picture  on  an  old  teacup.  Beyond  all  these 
objects  we  see  the  other  side  of  the  Mersey,  with  the 
delectably  green  fields  opposite  to  us,  while  the  shore 
becomes  more  and  more  thickly  populated,  until  about 
two  miles  off  we  see  the  dense  centre  of  the  city,  with 


30 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

the  dome  of  the  Custom-House,  and  steeples  and  towers  ; 
and,  close  to  the  water,  the  spire  of  Saint  Nicholas; 
and  above,  and  intermingled  with  the  whole  city  scene, 
the  duskiness  of  the  coal-smoke  gushing  upward.  Along 
the  bank  we  perceive  the  warehouses  of  the  Albert 
dock,  and  the  Queen’s  tobacco  warehouses,  and  other 
docks,  and,  nigher,  to  us,  a shipyard  or  two.  In  the 
evening  all  this  sombre  picture  gradually  darkens  out 
of  sight,  and  in  its  place  appear  only  the  lights  of  the 
city,  kindling  into  a galaxy  of  earthly  stars,  for  a long 
distance,  up  and  down  the  shore  ; and,  in  one  or  two 
spots,  the  bright  red  gleam  of  a furnace,  like  the  “ red 
planet  Mars  ” ; and  once  in  a while  a bright*  wandering 
beam  gliding  along  the  river,  as  a steamer  comes  or 
goes  between  us  and  Liverpool. 

BOCK  PABK. 

September  2 d. — We  got  into  our  new  house  in  Rock 
Park  yesterday.  It  is  quite  a good  house,  with  three 
apartments,  beside  kitchen  and  pantry  on  the  lower 
floor ; and  it  is  three  stories  high,  with  four  good 
chambers  in  each  story.  It  is  a stone  edifice,  like  al- 
most all  the  English  houses,  and  handsome  in  its  design. 
The  rent,  without  furniture,  would  probably  have  been 
one  hundred  pounds ; furnished,  it  is  one  hundred  and 
sixty  pounds.  Rock  Park,  as  the  locality  is  called,  is 
private  property,  and  is  now  nearly  covered  with  resi- 
dences for  professional  people,  merchants,  and  others  of 
the  upper  middling  class  ; the  houses  being  mostly  built, 
I suppose,  on  speculation,  and  let  to  those  who  occupy 
them.  It  is  the  quietest  place  imaginable,  there  being 
a police  station  at  the  entrance,  and  the  officer  on  duty 


1853.] 


ROCK  PARK. 


31 


allows  no  ragged  or  ill-looking  person  to  pass.  There 
being  a toll,  it  precludes  all  unnecessary  passage  of 
carriages ; and  never  were  there  more  noiseless  streets 
than  those  that  give  access  to  these  pretty  residences. 
On  either  side  there  is  thick  shrubbery,  with  glimpses 
through  it  of  the  ornamented  portals,  or  into  the  trim 
gardens  with  smooth-shaven  lawns,  of  no  large  extent, 
but  still  affording  reasonable  breathing-space.  They 
are  really  an  improvement  on  anything,  save  what  the 
very  rich  can  enjoy,  in  America.  The  former  occupants 
of  our  house  (Mrs.  Campbell  and  family)  having  been 
fond  of  flowers,  there  are  many  rare  varieties  in  the 
garden,  and  we  are  told  that  there  is  scarcely  a month 
in  the  year  when  a flower  will  not  be  found  there. 

The  house  is  respectably,  though  not  very  elegantly, 
furnished.  It  was  a dismal,  rainy  day  yesterday,  and 
we  had  a coal  fire  in  the  sitting-room,  beside  which  I 
sat  last  evening  as  twilight  came  on,  and  thought,  rather 
sadly,  how  many  times  we  have  changed  our  home  since 
we  were  married.  In  the  first  place,  our  three  years  at 
the  Old  Manse ; then  a brief  residence  at  Salem,  then  at 
Boston,  then  two  or  three  years  at  Salem  again  ; then 
at  Lenox,  then  at  West  Newton,  and  then  again  at  Con- 
cord, where  we  imagined  that  we  were  fixed  for  life,  but 
spent  only  a year.  Then  this  farther  flight  to  England, 
where  we  expect  to  spend  four  years,  and  afterwards 
another  year  or  two  in  Italy,  during  all  which  time  we 
shall  have  no  real  home.  For,  as  I sat  in  this  English 
house,  with  the  chill,  rainy  English  twilight  brooding 
over  the  lawn,  and  a coal  fire  to  keep  me  comfortable 
on  the  first  evening  of  September,  and  the  picture  of 
a stranger  — the  dead  husband  of  Mrs.  Campbell  — 


32 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

gazing  down  at  me  from  above  the  mantel-piece, — I felt 
that  I never  should  be  quite  at  home  here.  Neverthe- 
less, the  fire  was  very  comfortable  to  look  at,  and  the 
shape  of  the  fireplace  — an  arch,  with  a deep  cavity  — 
was  an  improvement  on  the  square,  shallow  opening  of 
an  American  coal-grate. 

September  1th.  — It  appears  by  the  annals  of  Liver- 
pool, contained  in  Gore’s  Directory,  that  in  1076  there 
was  a baronial  castle  built  by  Roger  de  Poictiers  on  the 
site  of  the  present  St.  George’s  Church.  It  was  taken 
down  in  1721.  The  church  now  stands  at  one  of  the 
busiest  points  of  the  principal  street  of  the  city.  The 
old  Church  of  St.  Nicholas,  founded  about  the  time  of 
the  Conquest,  and  more  recently  rebuilt,  stood  within 
a quarter  of  a mile  of  the  castle. 

In  1150,  Birkenhead  Priory  was  founded  on  the 
Cheshire  side  of  the  Mersey.  The  monks  used  to 
ferry  passengers  across  to  Liverpool  until  1282,  when 
Woodside  Ferry  was  established,  — twopence  for  a 
horseman,  and  a farthing  for  a foot-passenger.  Steam 
ferry-boats  now  cross  to  Birkenhead,  Monk’s  Ferry,  and 
Woodside  every  ten  minutes  ; and  I believe  there  are 
large  hotels  at  all  these  places,  and  many  of  the  busi- 
ness men  of  Liverpool  have  residences  in  them. 

In  1252  a tower  was  built  by  Sir  John  Stanley, 
which  continued  to  be  a castle  of  defence  to  the  Stan- 
ley family  for  many  hundred  years,  and  was  not  finally 
taken  down  till  1820,  when  its  site  had  become  the 
present  Water  Street,  in  the  densest  commercial  centre 
of  the  city. 

There  appear  to  have  been  other  baronial  castles  and 


LIVERPOOL. 


33 


1853.] 

residences  in  different  parts  of  the  city,  as  a hall  in  old 
Hall  Street,  built  by  Sir  John  de  la  More,  on  the  site 
of  which  a counting-house  now  stands.  This  knightly 
family  of  De  la  More  sometimes  supplied  mayors  to  the 
city,  as  did  the  family  of  the  Earls  of  Derby. 

About  1582,  Edward,  Earl  of  Derby,  maintained  two 
hundred  and  fifty  citizens  of  Liverpool,  fed  sixty  aged 
persons  twice  a day,  and  provided  twenty-seven  hun- 
dred persons  with  meat,  drink,  and  money  every  Good 
Friday. 

In  1644,  Prince  Rupert  besieged  the  town  for  twenty- 
four  days,  and  finally  took  it  by  storm.  This  was  June 
26th,  and  the  Parliamentarians,  under  Sir  John  Mel- 
drum,  repossessed  it  the  following  October. 

In  1669  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool  kept  an  inn. 

In  1730  there  was  only  one  carriage  in  town,  and  no 
stage-coach  came  nearer  than  Warrington,  the  roads 
being  impassable. 

In  1734  the  Earl  of  Derby  gave  a great  entertain- 
ment in  the  tower. 

In  1737  the  Mayor  was  George  Norton,  a saddler, 
who  frequently  took  the  chair  with  his  leather  apron  on. 
His  immediate  predecessor  seems  to  have  been  the  Earl 
of  Derby,  who  gave  the  above-mentioned  entertainment 
during  his  mayoralty.  Where  George’s  Dock  now  is, 
there  used  to  be  a battery  of  fourteen  eighteen-pound- 
ers for  the  defence  of  the  town,  and  the  old  sport  of 
bull-baiting  was  carried  on  in  that  vicinity,  close  to  the 
Church  of  St.  Nicholas. 

September  12th.  — On  Saturday  a young  man  was 
found  wandering  about  in  West  Derby,  a suburb  of 
2*  € 


34 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


Liverpool,  in  a state  of  insanity,  and,  being  taken  before 
a magistrate,  he  proved  to  be  an  American.  As  he 
seemed  to  be  in  a respectable  station  of  life,  the  magis- 
trate sent  the  master  of  the  workhouse  to  me,  in  order 
to  find  out  whether  I would  take  the  responsibility  of 
his  expenses,  rather  than  have  him  put  in  the  work- 
house.  My  clerk  went  to  investigate  the  matter,  and 

brought  me  his  papers.  His  name  proves  to  be - 

— , belonging  to  — , twenty-fiv^  years  of  age. 

One  of  the  papers  was  a passport  from  our  legation 
in  Naples ; likewise  there  was  a power  of  attorney  from 
his  mother  (who  seems  to  have  been  married  a second 
time)  to  dispose  of  some  property  of  hers  abroad  ; a hotel 
bill,  also,  of  some  length,  in  which  were  various  charges 
for  wine  ; and,  among  other  evidences  of  low  funds,  a 
pawnbroker’s  receipt  for  a watch,  which  he  had  pledged 
at  five  pounds.  There  was  also  a ticket  for  his  passage 
to  America,  by  the  screw  steamer  Andes,  Avhich  sailed 
on  Wednesday  last.  The  clerk  found  him  to  the  last 
degree  incommunicative ; and  nothing  could  be  dis- 
covered from  him  but  what  the  papers  disclosed.  There 
were  about  a dozen  utterly  unintelligible  notes  among 
the  papers,  written  by  himself  since  his  derangement. 

I decided  to  put  him  into  the  insane  hospital,  where 
he  now  accordingly  is,  and  to-morrow  (by  which  time 
he  may  be  in  a more  conversable  mood)  I mean  to  pay 
him  a visit. 

The  clerk  tells  me  that  there  is  now,  and  has  been 
for  three  years,  an  American  lady  in  the  Liverpool 
almshouse,  in  a state  of  insanity.  She  is  very  accom- 
plished, especially  in  music ; but  in  all  this  time  it  has 
been  impossible  to  find  out  who  she  is,  or  anything 


LIVERPOOL. 


1853.] 


35 


about  her  connections  or  previous  life.  She  calls  her- 
self Jenny  Lind,  and  as  for  any  other  name  or  identity 
she  keeps  her  own  secret. 


September  14 th.  — It  appears  that  Mr.  — — (the 
insane  young  gentleman)  being  unable  to  pay  his  bill 
at  the  inn  where  he  was  latterly  staying,  the  landlord 
had  taken  possession  of  his  luggage,  and  satisfied  him- 
self in  that  way.  My  clerk,  at  my  -request,  has  taken 
his  watch  out  of  pawn.  It  proves  to  be  not  a very  good 
one,  though  doubtless  worth  more  than  five  pounds,  for 
which  it  was  pledged.  The  governor  of  the  Lunatic 
Asylum  wrote  me  yesterday,  stating  that  the  patient 
was  in  want  of  a change  of  clothes,  and  that,  according 
to  his  own  account,  he  had  left  his  luggage  at  the 
American  Hotel.  After  office-hours,  I took  a cab,  and 
set  out,  with  my  clerk,  to  pay  a visit  to  the  Asylum, 
taking  the  American  Hotel  in  our  way. 

The  American  Hotel  is  a small  house,  not  at  all  such 
a one  as  American  travellers  of  any  pretension  would 
think  of  stopping  at,  but  still  very  respectable,  cleanly, 
and  with  a neat  sitting-room,  where  the  guests  might 
assemble,  after  the  American  fashion.  We  asked  for 
the  landlady,  and  anon  down  she  came,  a round,  rosy, 
comfortable-looking  English  dame  of  fifty  or  thereabouts. 
On  being  asked  whether  she  knew  a Mr. , she  read- 

ily responded  that  he  had  been  there,  but  had  left  no 
luggage,  having  taken  it  away  before  paying  his  bill ; 
and  that  she  had  suspected  him  of  meaning  to  take  his 
departure  without  paying  her  at  all.  Hereupon  she  had 
traced  him  to  the  hotel  before  mentioned,  where  she  had 
found  that  he  had  stayed  two  nights,  — but  was  then, 


36 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

I think,  gone  from  thence.  Afterwards  she  encoun- 
tered him  again,  and,  demanding  her  due,  went  with 
him  to  a pawnbroker’s,  where  he  pledged  his  watch  and 
paid  her.  This  was  about  the  extent  of  the  landlady’s 
knowledge  of  the  matter.  I liked  the  woman  very  well, 
with  her  shrewd,  good-humored,  worldly,  kindly  dispo- 
sition. 

Then  we  proceeded  to  the  Lunatic  Asylum,  to  which 
we  were  admitted  by  a porter  at  the  gate.  Within 
doors  we  found  some  neat  and  comely  servant-women, 
one  of  whom  showed  us  into  a handsome  parlor,  and 
took  my  card  to  the  Governor.  There  was  a large  book- 
case, with  a glass  front,  containing  handsomely  bound 
books,  many  of  which,  I observed,  were  of  a religious 
character.  In  a few  minutes  the  Governor  came  in,  a 
middle-aged  man,  tall,  and  thin  for  an  Englishman, 
kindly  and  agreeable  enough  in  aspect,  but  not  with  the 
marked  look  of  a man  of  force  and  ability.  I should 
not  judge  from  his  conversation  that  he  was  an  educated 
man,  or  that  he  had  any  scientific  acquaintance  with  the 
subject  of  insanity. 

He  said  that  Mr. was  still  quite  incommunica- 

tive, and  not  in  a very  promising  state  ; that  I had  per- 
haps better  defer,  seeing  him  for  a few  days  ; that  it 
would  not  be  safe,  at  present,  to  send  him  home  to 
America  without  an  attendant,  and  this  was  about  all. 
But  on  returning  home  I learned  from  my  wife,  who 
had  had  a call  from  Mrs.  Blodgett,  that  Mrs.  Blodgett 

knew  Mr. and  his  mother,  who  has  recently  been 

remarried  to  a young  husband,  and  is  now  somewhere  in 
Italy.  They  seemed  to  have  boarded  at  Mrs.  Blodgett’s 
house  on  their  way  to  the  Continent,  and  within  a week 


LIVERPOOL. 


87 


1858.] 

or  two,  an  acquaintance  and  pastor  of  Mr. , the 

Rev.  Dr. , has  sailed  for  America.  If  I could  only 

have  caught  him,  I could  have  transferred  the  care, 
expense,  and  responsibility  of  the  patient  to  him.  The 
Governor  of  the  Asylum  mentioned,  by  the  way,  that 

Mr. describes  himself  as  having  been  formerly  a 

midshipman  in  the  navy. 

I walked  through  the  St.  James’s  cemetery  yester- 
day. It  is  a very  pretty  place,  dug  out  of  the  rock, 
having  formerly,  I believe,  been  a stone  quarry.  It  is 
now  a deep  and  spacious  valley,  with  graves  and  monu- 
ments on  its  level  and  grassy  floor,  through  which  run 
gravel  paths,  and  where  grows  luxuriant  shrubbery. 
On  one  of  the  steep  sides  of  the  valley,  hewn  out  of 
the  rock,  are  tombs,  rising  in  tiers,  to  the  height  of  fifty 
feet  or  more ; some  of  them  cut  directly  into  the  rock 
with  arched  portals,  and  others  built  with  stone.  On 
the  other  side  the  bank  is  of  earth,  and  rises  abruptly, 
quite  covered  with  trees,  and  looking  very  pleasant  with 
their  green  shades.  It  was  a warm  and  sunny  day,  and 
the  cemetery  really  had  a most  agreeable  aspect.  I saw 
several  gravestones  of  Americans  ; but  what  struck  me 
most  was  one  line  of  an  epitaph  on  an  English  woman, 
“ Here  rests  in  pease  a virtuous  wife.”  The  statue  of 
Huskisson  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  valley,  in  a kind  of 
mausoleum,  with  a door  of  plate  glass,  through  which 
you  look  at  the  dead  statesman’s  effigy. 

September  22 d. — ....  Some  days  ago  an  American 
captain  came  to  the  office,  and  said  he  had  shot  one  of 
his  men,  shortly  after  sailing  from  New  Orleans,  and 


38 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

while  the  ship  was  still  in  the  river.  As  he  described 
the  event,  he  was  in  peril  of  his  life  from  this  man,  who 
was  an  Irishman  ; and  he  fired  his  pistol  only  when  the 
man  was  coming  upon  him,  with  a knife  in  one  hand, 
and  some  other  v7eapon  of  offence  in  the  other,  while  he 
himself  was  struggling  with  one  or  two  more  of  the  crew. 
He  was  weak  at  the  time,  having  just  recovered  from  the 
yellow  fever.  The  shots  struck  the  man  in  the  pit  of 
the  stomach,  and  he  lived  only  about  a quarter  of  an 
hour.  No  magistrate  in  England  has  a right  to  ar- 
rest or  examine  the  captain,  unless  by  a warrant  from 
the  Secretary  of  State,  on  the  charge  of  murder.  After 
his  statement  to  me,  the  mother  of  the  slain  man  went 
to  the  police  officer,  and  accused  him  of  killing  her  son. 
Two  or  three  days  since,  moreover,  two  of  the  sailors 
came  before  me,  and  gave  their  account  of  the  matter ; 
and  it  looked  very  differently  from  that  of  the  captain. 
According  to  them,  the  man  had  no  idea  of  attacking 
the  captain,  and  was  so  drunk  that  he  could  not  keep 
himself  upright  without  assistance.  One  of  these  two 
men  was  actually  holding  him  up  when  the  captain 
fired  two  barrels  of  his  pistol,  one  immediately  after  the 
other,  and  lodged  two  balls  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 
The  man  sank  down  at  once,  saying,  “ Jack,  I am 
killed, ” — and  died  very  shortly.  Meanwhile  the  cap- 
tain drove  this  man  away,  under  threats  of  shooting 
him  likewise.  Both  the  seamen  described  the  captain’s 
conduct,  both  then  and  during  the  whole  voyage,  as  out- 
rageous, and  I do  not  much  doubt  that  it  was  so.  They 
gave  their  evidence  like  men  who  wished  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  were  moved  by  no  more  than  a natural  in- 
dignation at  the  captain’s  wrong. 


LIVERPOOL. 


39 


1853.] 

I did  not  much  like  the  captain  from  the  first,  — a 
hard,  rough  man,  with  little  education,  and  nothing  of  the 
gentleman  about  him,  a red  face  and  a loud  voice.  He 
seemed  a good  deal  excited,  and  talked  fast  and  much 
about  the  event,  but  yet  not  as  if  it  had  sunk  deeply 
into  him.  He  observed  that  he  “ would  not  have  had  it 
happen  for  a thousand  dollars,”  that  being  the  amount 
of  detriment  which  he  conceives  himself  to  suffer  by  the 
ineffaceable  blood-stain  on  his  hand.  In  my  opinion  it  is 
little  short  of  murder,  if  at  all  j but  what  would  be  mur- 
der on  shore  is  almost  a natural  occurrence  when  done 
in  such  a hell  on  earth  as  one  of  these  ships,  in  the  first 
hours  of  the  voyage.  The  men  are  then  all  drunk,  — 
some  of  them  often  in  delirium  tremens ; and  the  cap- 
tain feels  no  safety  for  his  life  except  in  making  him- 
self as  terrible  as  a fiend.  It  is  the  universal  testimony 
that  there  is  a worse  set  of  sailors  in  these  short  voy- 
ages between  Liverpool  and  America  than  in  any  other 
trade  whatever. 

There  is  no  probability  that  the  captain  will  ever  be 
called  to  account  for  this  deed.  He  gave,  at  the  time, 
his  own  version  of  the  affair  in  his  log-book ; and  this 
was  signed  by  the  entire  crew,  with  the  exception  of 
one  man,  who  had  hidden  himself  in  the  hold  in  terror 
of  the  captain.  His  mates  will  sustain  his  side  of  the 
question ; and  none  of  the  sailors  would  be  within 
reach  of  the  American  courts,  even*  should  they  be 
sought  for. 

October  IsL  — On  Thursday  I went  with  Mr.  Ticknor 
to  Chester  by  railway.  It  is  quite  an  indescribable  old 
town,  a^d  I feel  at  last  as  if  I had  had  a glimpse  of  old 


40 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

England.  The  wall  encloses  a large  space  within  the 
town,  but  there  are  numerous  houses  and  streets  not  in- 
cluded within  its  precincts.  Some  of  the  principal  streets 
pass  under  the  ancient  gateways ; and  at  the  side  there 
are  flights  of  steps,  giving  access  to  the  summit.  Around 
the  top  of  the  whole  wall,  a circuit  of  about  two  miles, 
there  runs  a walk,  well  paved  with  flagstones,  and 
broad  enough  for  three  persons  to  walk  abreast.  On 
one  side  — that  towards  the  country  — there  is  a parapet 
of  yed  freestone,  three  or  four  feet  high.  On  the  other 
side  there  are  houses,  rising  up  immediately  from  the 
wall,  so  that  they  seem  a part  of  it.  The  height  of  it,  I 
suppose,  may  be  thirty  or  forty  feet,  and,  in  some  parts, 
you  look  down  from  the  parapet  into  orchards,  where 
there  are  tall  apple-trees,  and  men  on  the  branches, 
gathering  fruit,  and  women  and  children  among  the 
grass,  filling  bags  or  baskets.  There  are  prospects  of 
the  surrounding  country  among  the  buildings  outside  the 
wall ; at  one  point,  a view  of  the  river  Dee,  with  an  old 
bridge  of  arches.  It  is  all  very  strange,  very  quaint, 
very  curious  to  see  how  the  town  has  overflowed  its 
barrier,  and  how,  like  many  institutions  here,  the  am 
cient  wall  still  exists,  but  is  turned  to  quite  another  pur, 
pose  than  what  it  was  meant  for,  — so  far  as  it  serves 
any  purpose  at  all.  There  are  three  or  four  towers  in 
the  course  of  the  circuit ; the  most  interesting  being  one 
from  the  top  of  which  King  Charles  the  First  is  said  to 
have  seen  the  rout  of  his  army  by  the  Parliamentarians. 
We  ascended  the  short  flight  of  steps  that  led  up  into 
the  tower,  where  an  old  man  pointed  out  the  site  of  the 
battle-field,  now  thickly  studded  with  buildings,  and  told 
us  what  we  had  already  learned  from  the  guide-book. 


1853.] 


CHESTER. 


41 


After  this  we  went  into  the  cathedral,  which  I will  per- 
haps describe  on  some  other  occasion,  when  I shall 
have  seen  more  of  it,  and  to  better  advantage.  The 
cloisters  gave  us  the  strongest  impression  of  antiquity ; 
the  stone  arches  being  so  worn  and  blackened  by  time. 
Still  an  American  must  always  have  imagined  a better 
cathedral  than  this.  There  were  some  immense  win- 
dows of  painted  glass,  but  all  modern.  In  the  chapter- 
house  we  found  a coal  fire  burning  in  a grate,  and  a 
large  heap  of  old  books  — the  library  of  the  cathedral 
— in  a discreditable  state  of  decay,  — mildewed,  rotten, 
neglected  for  years.  The  sexton  told  us  that  they  were 
to  be  arranged  and  better  ordered.  Over  the  door, 
inside,  hung  two  faded  and  tattered  banners,  being  those 
of  the  Cheshire  regiment. 

The  most  utterly  indescribable  feature  of  Chester  is 
the  Rows,  which  every  traveller  has  attempted  to  de- 
scribe. At  the  height  of  several  feet  above  some  of  the 
oldest  streets,  a walk  runs  through  the  front  of  the 
houses,  which  project  over  it.  Back  of  the  walk  there 
are  shops ; on  the  outer  side  is  a space  of  two  or  three 
yards,  where  the  shopmen  place  their  tables,  and  stands, 
and  show-cases  ; overhead,  just  high  enough  for  persons 
to  stand  erect,  a ceiling.  At  frequent  intervals  little 
narrow  passages  go  winding  in  among  the  houses,  which 
all  along  are  closely  conjoined,  and  seem  to  have  no  ac- 
cess or  exit,  except  through  the  shops,  or  into  these 
narrow  passages,  where  you  can  touch  each  side  with 
your  elbows,  and  the  top  with  your  hand.  We  pene- 
trated into  one  or  two  of  them,  and  they  smelt  ancient- 
ly and  disagreeably.  At  one  of  the  doors  stood  a pale- 
looking, but  cheerful  and  good-natured  woman,  who  told 


42 


ENGLISH  NOTE  BOOKS. 


[1853. 


us  that  she  had  come  to  that  house  when  first  married, 
twenty-one  years  before,  and  had  lived  there  ever  since  ; 
and  that  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  buried  through  the 
best  years  of  her  life.  She  allowed  us  to  peep  into  her 
kitchen  and  parlor,  — small,  dingy,  dismal,  but  yet  not 
wholly  destitute  of  a home  look.  She  said  that  she  had 
seen  two  or  three  coffins  in  a day,  during  cholera  times, 
carried  out  of  that  narrow  passage  into  which  her  door 
opened.  These  avenues  put  me  in  mind  of  those  which 
run  through  ant-hills,  or  those  which  a mole  makes  un- 
derground. This  fashion  of  Rows  does  not  appear  to  be 
going  out ; and,  for  aught  I can  see,  it  may  last  hundreds 
of  years  longer.  When  a house  becomes  so  old  as  to 
be  untenantable,  it  is  rebuilt,  and  the  new  one  is  fash- 
ioned like  the  old,  so  far  as  regards  the  walk  running 
through  its  front.  Many  of  the  shops  are  very  good, 
and  even  elegant,  and  these  Rows  are  the  favorite 
places  of  business  in  Chester.  Indeed,  they  have  many 
advantages,  the  passengers  being  sheltered  from  the  rain 
and  there  being  within  the  shops  that  dimmer  light  by 
which  tradesmen  like  to  exhibit  their  wares. 

A large  proportion  of  the  edifices  in  the  Rows  must 
be  comparatively  modern ; but  there  are  some  very 
ancient  ones,  with  oaken  frames  visible  on  the  exterior. 
The  Row,  passing  through  these  houses,  is  railed  with 
oak,  so  old  that  it  has  turned  black,  and  grown  to  be  as 
hard  as  stone,  which  it  might  be  mistaken  for,  if  one 
did  not  see  where  names  and  initials  have  been  cut  into 
it  with  knives  at  some  bygone  period.  Overhead,  cross- 
beams project  through  the  ceiling  so  low  as  almost  to 
hit  the  head.  On  the  front  of  one  of  these  buildings 
was  the  inscription,  “ GOD’S  Providence  is  mine 


CHESTER. 


43 


1853.] 

Inheritance,”  said  to  have  been  put  there  by  the  oc- 
cupant of  the  house  two  hundred  years  ago,  when  the 
plague  spared  this  one  house  only  in  the  whole  city. 
Not  improbably  the  inscription  has  operated  as  a safe- 
guard to  prevent  the  demolition  of  the  house  hitherto ; 
but  a shopman  of  an  adjacent  dwelling  told  us  that  it 
was  soon  to  be  taken  down. 

Here  and  there,  about  some  of  the  streets  through 
which  the  Rows  do  not  run,  we  saw  houses  of  very  aged 
aspect,  with  steep,  peaked  gables.  The  front  gable-end 
was  supported  on  stone  pillars,  and  the  sidewalk  passed 
beneath.  Most  of  these  old  houses  seemed  to  be  tav- 
erns, — the  Black  Bear,  the  Green  Dragon,  and  such 
names.  We  thought  of  dining  at  one  of  them,  but,  on 
inspection,  they  looked  rather  too  dingy  and  close,  and 
of  questionable  neatness.  So  we  went  to  the  Royal 
Hotel,  where  we  probably  fared  just  as  badly  at  much 
more  expense,  and  where  there  was  a particularly  gruff 
and  crabbed  old  waiter,  who,  I suppose,  thought  himself 
free  to  display  his  surliness  because  we  arrived  at  the 
hotel  on  foot.  For  my  part,  I love  to  see  John  Bull 
show  himself.  I must  go  again  and  again  and  again  to 
Chester,  for  I suppose  there  is  not  a more  curious  place 
in  the  world. 

Mr.  Ticknor,  who  has  been  staying  at  Rock  Park 
with  us  since  Tuesday,  has  steamed  away  in  the  Canada 
this  morning.  His  departure  seems  to  make  me  feel 
more  abroad,  more  dissevered  from  my  native  country, 
than  before. 

October  3d. — Saturday  evening,  at  six,  I went  to 
dine  with  Mr.  Aiken,  a wealthy  merchant  here,  to 


44 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


meet  two  of  the  sons  of  Burns.  There  was  a party  of 
ten  or  twelve,  Mr.  Aiken  and  his  two  daughters  in- 
cluded. The  two  sons  of  Burns  have  both  been  in  the 
Indian  army,  and  have  attained  the  ranks  of  Colonel 
and  Major ; one  having  spent  thirty,  and  the  other 
twenty-seven,  years  in  India.  They  are  now  old  gentle- 
men of  sixty  and  upwards,  the  elder  with  a gray  head, 
the  younger  with  a perfectly  white  one,  — rather  under 
than  above  the  middle  stature,  and  with  a British  round- 
ness  of  figure,  — plain,  respectable,  intelligent-looking 
persons,  with  quiet  manners.  I saw  no  resemblance  in 
either  of  them  to  any  portrait  of  their  father.  After  the 
ladies  left  the  table,  I sat  next  to  the  Major,  the  younger 
of  the  two,  and  had  a good  deal  of  talk  with  him.  He 
seemed  a very  kindly  and  social  man,  and  was  quite 
ready  to  speak  about  his  father,  nor  was  he  at  all  reluctant 
to  let  it  be  seen  how  much  he  valued  the  glory  of  being 
descended  from  the  poet.  By  and  by,  at  Mr.  Aiken’s 
instance,  he  sang  one  of  Burns’s  songs,  — the  one  about 
“ Annie  ” and  the  “ rigs  of  barley.”  He  sings  in  a 
perfectly  simple  style,  so  that  it  is  little  more  than  a 
recitative,  and  yet  the  effect  is  very  good  as  to  humor, 
sense,  and  pathos.  After  rejoining  the  ladies,  he  sang 
another,  “ A posie  for  my  ain  dear  May,”  and  likewise 
“ A man ’s  a man  for  a’  that.”  My  admiration  of  his 
father,  and  partly,  perhaps,  my  being  an  American, 
gained  me  some  favor  with  him,  and  he  promised  to 
give  me  what  he  considered  the  best  engraving  of 
Burns,  and  some  other  remembrance  of  him.  The  Ma- 
jor is  that  son  of  Burns  who  spent  an  evening  at  Ab- 
botsford with  Sir  Walter  Scott,  when,  as  Lockhart 
writes,  “the  children  sang  the  ballads  of  their  sires.” 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


45 


He  spoke  with  vast  indignation  of  a recent  edition  of 
his  father’s  works  by  Robert  Chambers,  in  which  the 
latter  appears  to  have  wronged  the  poet  by  some  mis- 
statements  I liked  them  both  and  they  liked 

me,  and  asked  me  to  go  and  see  them  at  Cheltenham, 
where  they  reside.  We  broke  up  at  about  midnight. 

The  members  of  this  dinner-party  were  of  the  more 
liberal  tone  of  thinking  here  in  Liverpool.  The  Colo- 
nel and  Major  seemed  to  be  of  similar  principles  ; and 
the  eyes  of  the  latter  glowed,  when  he  sang  his  father’s 
noble  verse,  “ The  rank  is  but  the  guinea’s  stamp,”  &c. 
It  would  have  been  too  pitiable  if  Burns  had  left  a son 
who  could  not  feel  the  spirit  of  that  verse. 

October  8^.  — Coming  to  my  office,  two  or  three 

mornings  ago,  I found  Mrs.  , the  mother  of  Mr. 

, the  insane  young  man  of  whom  I had  taken 

charge.  She  is  a lady  of  fifty  or  thereabouts,  and  not 
very  remarkable  anyway,  nor  particularly  ladylike. 
However,  she  was  just  come  off  a rapid  journey,  having 
travelled  from  Naples,  with  three  small  children,  with- 
out taking  rest,  since  my  letter  reached  her.  A son* 
of  about  twenty  had  come  with  her  to  the  Consulate. 
She  was,  of  course,  infinitely  grieved  about  the  young 
man’s  insanity,  and  had  two  or  three  bursts  of  tears 
while  we  talked  the  matter  over.  She  said  he  was  the 
hope  of  her  life,  — the  best,  purest,  most  innocent  child 
that  ever  was,  and  wholly  free  from  every  kind  of  vice. 
. . . . But  it  appears  that  he  had  a previous  attack  of 
insanity,  lasting  three  months,  about  three  years  ago. 

After  I had  told  her  all  I knew  about  him,  including 

* .This  proved  to  be  her  new  husband. 


46 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


my  personal  observations  at  a visit  a week  or  two  since, 
we  drove  in  a cab  to  the  Asylum.  It  must  have  been 
a dismal  moment  to  the  poor  lady,  as  we  entered 
the  gateway  through  a tall,  prison-like  wall.  Being 
ushered  into  the  . parlor,  the  Governor  soon  appeared, 

and  informed  us  that  Mr.  had  had  a relapse 

within  a few  days,  and  was  not  now  so  well  as  when  I 
saw  him.  He  complains  of  unjust  confinement,  and 
seems  to  consider  himself,  if  I rightly  understand,  under 
persecution  for  political  reasons.  The  Governor,  how- 
ever, proposed  to  call  him  down,  and  I took  my  leave, 
feeling  that  it  would  be  indelicate  to  be  present  at  his 
first  interview  with  his  mother.  So  here  ended  my 
guardianship  of  the  poor  young  fellow. 

In  the  afternoon  I called  at  the  Waterloo  Hotel, 

where  Mrs.  was  staying,  and  found  her  in  the 

coffee-room  with  the  children.  She  had  determined  to 
take  a lodging  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Asylum,  and  was 
going  to  remove  thither  as  soon  as  the  children  had 
had  something  to  eat.  They  seemed  to  be  pleasant 
and  well-behaved  children,  and  impressed  me  more 
favorably  than  the  mother,  whom  I suspect  to  be  rather 
a foolish  woman,  although  her  present  grief  makes  her 
appear  in  a more  respectable  light  than  at  other  times. 
She  seemed  anxious  to  impress  me  with  the  respecta- 
bility and  distinction  of  her  connections  in  America, 
and  I had  observed  the  same  tendency  in  the  insane 
patient,  at  my  interview  with  him.  However,  she  has 
undoubtedly  a mother’s  love  for  this  poor  shatterbrain, 
and  this  may  weigh  against  the  folly  of  her  marrying 
an  incongruously  youthful  second  husband,  and  many 
other  follies* 


LIVERPOOL. 


47 


1*5:3.] 

This  was  day  before  yesterday,  and  I have  heard 
nothing  of  her  since.  The  same  day  I had  applications 
for  assistance  in  two  other  domestic  affairs ; one  from 
an  Irishman,  naturalized  in  America,  who  wished  me 
to  get  him  a passage  thither,  and  to  take  charge  of  his 
wife  and  family  here,  at  my  own  private  expense,  until 
he  could  remit  funds  to  carry  them  across.  Another 
was  from  an  Irishman,  who  had  a power  of  attorney 
from  a countrywoman  of  his  in  America,  to  find  and  take 
charge  of  an  infant  whom  she  had  left  in  the  Liverpool 
workhouse  two  years  ago.  I have  a great  mind  to 
keep  a list  of  all  the  business  I am  consulted  about  and 
employed  in.  It  would  be  very  curious.  Among  other 
things,  all  penniless  Americans,  or  pretenders  to  Amer- 
icanism, look  upon  me  as  their  banker ; and  I could 
ruin  myself  any  week,  if  I had  not  laid  down  a rule  to 
consider  every  applicant  for  assistance  an  impostor  until 
he  prove  himself  a true  and  responsible  man,  — which  it 
is  very  difficult  to  do.  Yesterday  there  limped  in  a very 
respectable-looking  old  man,  who  described  himself  as  a 
citizen  of  Baltimore,  who  had  been  on  a trip  to  England 
and  elsewhere,  and,  being  detained  longer  than  he  ex* 
pected,  and  having  had  an  attack  of  rheumatism,  was  now 
short  of  funds  to  pay  his  passage  home,  and  hoped  that 
I would  supply  the  deficiency.  He  had  quite  a plain, 
homely,  though  respectable  manner,  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  was  the  very  honestest  man  aljve  ; but  as  he 
could  produce  no  kind  of  proof  of  his  character  and 
responsibility,  I very  quietly  explained  the  impossibility 
of  my  helping  him.  I advised  him  to  try  to  obtain  a 
passage  on  board  of  some  Baltimore  ship,  the  master  of 
which  might  be  acquainted  with  him,  or,  at  all  events, 


48 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

take  his  word  for  payment,  after  arrival.  This  he 
seemed  inclined  to  do,  and  took  his  leave.  There  was 
a decided  aspect  of  simplicity  about  this  old  man,  and 
yet  I rather  judge  him  to  be  an  impostor. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  refuse  money  to  strangers  and 
unknown  people,  or  whenever  there  may  be  any  ques- 
tion about  identity ; but  it  will  not  be  so  easy  when  I 
am  asked  for  money  by  persons  whom  I know,  but  do 
not  like  to  trust.  They  shall  meet  the  eternal  “ No/’ 
however. 

October  13 th.  — In  Ormerod’s  history  of  Chester  it 
is  mentioned  that  Randal,  Earl  of  Chester,  having 
made  an  inroad  into  Wales  about  1225,  the  Welshmen 
gathered  in  mass  against  him,  and  drove  him  into  the 
castle  of  Nothelert  in  Flintshire.  The  Earl  sent  for 
succor  to  the  Constable  of  Chester,  Roger  Lacy,  sur- 
named  “ Hell,”  on  account  of  his  fierceness.  It  was 
then  fair-time  at  Chester,  and  the  constable  collected 
a miscellaneous  rabble  of  fiddlers,  players,  cobblers, 
tailors,  and  all  manner  of  debauched  people,  and  led 
them  to  the  relief  of  the  Earl.  At  sight  of  this  strange 
army  the  Welshmen  fled  ; and  forever  after  the  Earl 
assigned  to  the  constable  of  Chester  power  over  all 
fiddlers,  shoemakers,  &c.  within  the  bounds  of  Cheshire. 
The  constable  retained  for  himself  and  his  heirs  the 
control  of  the  shoemakers ; and  made  over  to  his  own 
steward,  Dutton,  that  of  the  fiddlers  and  players,  and 
for  many  hundreds  of  years  afterwards  the  Duttons  of 
Dutton  retained  the  power.  On  midsummer-day,  they 
used  to  ride  through  Chester,  attended  by  all  the  min- 
strels playing  on  their  several  instruments,  to  the  Church 


LIVERPOOL. 


49 


1 883.  ] 

of  St.  John,  and  there  renew  their  licenses.  It  is  a 
good  theme  for  a legend.  Sir  Peter  Leycester,  writing 
in  Charles  the  Second’s  time,  copies  the  Latin  deed 
from  the  constable  to  Dutton ; rightly  translated,  it 
seems  to  mean  “ the  magisterial  power  over  all  the  lewd 
people  ....  in  the  whole  of  Cheshire,5’  but  the  cus- 
tom grew  into  what  is  above  stated.  In  the  time  of 
Henry  VII.,  the  Duttons  claimed,  by  prescriptive  right, 
that  the  Cheshire  minstrels  should  deliver  them,  at  the 
feast  of  St.  John,  four  bottles  of  wine  and  a lance,  and 
that  each  separate  minstrel  should  pay  fourpence  half- 
penny  

Another  account  says  Ralph  Dutton  was  the  consta- 
ble’s son-in-law,  and  “ a lusty  youth.” 

October  1 9 th.  — Coming  to  the  ferry  this  morning  a 
few  minutes  before  the  boat  arrived  from  town,  I went 
into  the  ferry-house,  a small  stone  edifice,  and  found 
there  an  Irishman,  his  wife  and  three  children,  the 
oldest  eight  or  nine  years  old,  and  all  girls.  There  was 
a good  fire  burning  in  the  room,  and  the  family  was 
clustered  round  it,  apparently  enjoying  the  warmth  very- 
much  ; but  when  I went  in  both  husband  and  wife  very 
hospitably  asked  me  to  come  to  the  fire,  although  there 
was  not  more  than  room  at  it  for  their  own  party.  I 
declined  on  the  plea  that  I was  warm  enough,  and  then 
the  woman  said  that  they  were  very  cold,  having  been 
long  on  the  road.  The  man  was  gray-haired  and  gray- 
bearded,  clad  in  an  old  drab  overcoat,  and  laden  with 
a huge  bag,  which  seemed  to  contain  bedclothing  or 
something  of  the  kind.  The  woman  was  pale,  with  a 
thin,  anxious,  wrinkled  face,  but  with  a good  and  kind 
VOL.  i.  3 s> 


50 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


expression.  The  children  were  quite  pretty,  with  deli-/ 
cate  faces,  and  a look  of  patience  and  endurance  in 
them,  but  yet  as  if  they  had  suffered  as  little  as  they 
possibly  could.  The  two  elder  were  cuddled  up  close 
to  the  father,  the  youngest,  about  four  years  old,  sat  in 
its  mother’s  lap,  and  she  had  taken  off  its  small  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  was  warming  its  feet  at  the  fire. 
Their  little  voices  had  a sweet  and  kindly  sound  as  they 
talked  in  low  tones  to  their  parents  and  one  another. 
They  all  looked  very  shabby,  and  yet  had  a decency 
about  them ; and  it  was  touching  to  see  how  they  made 
themselves  at  home  at  this  casual  fireside,  and  got  all 
the  comfort  they  could  out  of  the  circumstances.  By 
and  by  two  or  three  marketwomen  came  in  and  looked 
pleasantly  at  them,  and  said  a word  or  two  to  the  children. 

They  did  not  beg  of  me,  as  I supposed  they  would ; 
but  after  looking  at  them  awhile,  I pulled  out  a piece  of 
silver,  and  handed  it  to  one  of  the  little  girls.  She  took 
it  very  readily,  as  if  she  partly  expected  it,  and  then  the 
father  and  mother  thanked  me,  and  said  they  had  been 
travelling  a long  distance,  and  had  nothing  to  subsist 
upon,  except  what  they  picked  up  on  the  road.  They 
found  it  impossible  to  live  in  England,  and  were  now 
on  their  way  to  Liverpool,  hoping  to  get  a passage  back 
to  Ireland,  where,  I suppose,  extreme  poverty  is  rather 
better  off  than  here.  I heard  the  little  girl  say  that  she 
should  buy  bread  with  the  money.  There  is  not  much 
that  can  be  caught  in  the  description  of  this  scene ; but 
it  made  me  understand,  better  than  before,  how  poor 
people  feel,  wandering  about  in  such  destitute  circum- 
stances, and  how  they  suffer,  and  yet  how  they  have  a 
life  not  quite  miserable,  after  all,  and  how  family  love 


LIVERPOOL. 


51 


1853.] 

goes  along  with  them.  Soon  the  boat  arrived  at  the 
pier,  and  we  all  went  on  board;  and  as  I sat  in  the 
cabin,  looking  up  through  a broken  pane  in  the  skylight, 
I saw  the  woman’s  thin  face,  with  its  anxious,  moth- 
erly aspect ; and  the  youngest  child  in  her  arms,  shrink- 
ing from  the  chill  wind,  but  yet  not  impatiently  ; and 
the  eldest  of  the  girls  standing  close  by  with  her  expres- 
sion of  childish  endurance,  but  yet  so  bright  and  in- 
telligent that  it  would  evidently  take  but  a few  days  to 
make  a happy  and  playful  child  of  her.  I got  into  the 
interior  of  this  poor  family,  and  understand,  through 
sympathy,  more  of  them  than  I can  tell.  I am  getting 
to  possess  some  of  the  English  indifference  as  to  beggars 
and  poor  people ; but  still,  whenever  T come  face  to 
face  with  them,  and  have  any  intercourse,  it  seems  as 
if  they  ought  to  be  the  better  for  me.  I wish,  instead 
of  sixpence,  I had  given  the  poor  family  ten  shillings, 
and  denied  it  to  a begging  subscriptionist,  who  has  just 
fleeced  me  to  that  amount.  How  silly  a man  feels  in 
this  latter  predicament ! 

I have  had  a good  many  visitors  at  the  Consulate  from 
the  United  States  within  a short  time,  — among  others, 
Mr.  D.  D.  Barnard,  our  late  minister  to  Berlin,  return- 
ing homeward  to-day  by  the  Arctic;  and  Mr.  Sickles, 
Secretary  of  Legation  to  London,  a fine-looking,  intelli- 
gent, gentlemanly  young  man With  him  came 

Judge  Douglas,  the  chosen  man  of  Young  America. 
He  is  very  short,  extremely  short,  but  has  an  uncom- 
monly good  head,  and  uncommon  dignity  without  seem- 
ing to  aim  at  it,  being  free  and  simple  in  manners.  I 
judge  him  to  be  a very  able  man,  with  the  Western  so- 
ciability and  free-fellowship.  Generally  I see  no  rea- 


52 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

son  to  be  ashamed  of  my  countrymen  who  come  out 
here  in  public  position,  or  otherwise  assuming  the  rank 
of  gentlemen. 


October  20 th.  — One  sees  incidents  in  the  streets 
here,  occasionally,  which  could  not  be  seen  in  an  Ameri- 
can city.  For  instance,  a week  or  two  since,  I was 
passing  a quiet-looking,  elderly  gentleman,  when,  all  of 
a sudden,  without  any  apparent  provocation,  he  uplifted 
his  stick,  and  struck  a black-gowned  boy  a smart  blow 
on  the  shoulders.  The  boy  looked  at  him  wofully  and 
resentfully,  but  said  nothing,  nor  can  I imagine  why  the 
thing  was  done.  In  Tythebarne  Street  to-day  I saw  a 
woman  suddenly  assault  a man,  clutch  at  his  hair,  and 
cuff  him  about  the  ears.  The  man,  who  was  of  decent 
aspect  enough,  immediately  took  to  his  heels,  full  speed, 
and  the  woman  ran  after  him,  and,  as  far  as  I could  dis- 
cern the  pair,  the  chase  continued. 


October  22 d.  — At  a dinner-party  at  Mr.  Holland’s 
last  evening,  a gentleman,  in  instance  of  Charles  Dick- 
ens’s unweariability,  said  that  during  some  theatrical 
performances  in  Liverpool  he  acted  in  play  and  farce, 
spent  the  rest  of  the  night  making  speeches,  feasting, 
and  drinking  at  table,  and  ended  at  seven  o’clock  in  the 
morning  by  jumping  leap-frog  over  the  backs  of  the 
whole  company. 

In  Moore’s  diary  he  mentions  a beautiful  Guernsey 
lily  having  been  given  to  his  wife,  and  says  that  the 


1853.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


53 


flower  was  originally  from  Guernsey.  A ship  from 
there  had  been  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Japan,  having 
many  of  the  lilies  on  board,  and  the  next  year  the 
flowers  appeared,  — springing  up,  I suppose,  on  the 
wave-beaten  strand. 

Wishing  to  send  a letter  to  a dead  man,  who  may  be 
supposed  to  have  gone  to  Tophet,  — throw  it  into  the 
fire. 

Sir  Arthur  Aston  had  his  brains  beaten  out  with  his 
own  wooden  leg,  at  the  storming  of  Tredagh  in  Ireland, 
by  Cromwell. 

In  the  county  of  Cheshire,  many  centuries  ago,  there 
lived  a half-idiot,  named  Nixon,  who  had  the  gift  of 
prophecy,  and  made  many  predictions  about  places, 
families,  and  important  public  events,  since  fulfilled. 
He  seems  to  have  fallen  into  fits  of  insensibility  pre- 
vious to  uttering  his  prophecies. 

The  family  of  Mainwaring  (pronounced  Mannering), 
of  Bromborough,  had  an  ass’s  head  for  a crest. 

“ Richard  Dawson,  being  sick  of  the  plague,  and 
perceiving  he  must  die,  rose  out  of  his  bed  and  made 
his  grave,  and  caused  his  nephew  to  cast  straw  into  the 
grave,  which  was  not  far  from  the  house,  and  went  and 
laid  him  down  in  the  said  grave,  and  caused  clothes 
to  be  laid  upon  him,  and  so  departed  out  of  this  world. 
This  he  did  because  he  was  a strong  man,  and  heavier 
than  his  said  nephew  and  a serving-wench  were  able  to 


54 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

bury.  He  died  about  the  24th  of  August.  Thus  was 
I credibly  told  he  did,  1625.”  This  was  in  the  town* 
ship  of  Malpas,  recorded  in  the  parish  register. 

At  Bickley  Hall,  taken  down  a few  years  ago,  used 
to  be  shown  the  room  where  the  body  of  the  Earl  of 
Leicester  was  laid  for  a whole  twelvemonth,  — 1659  to 
1660,  — he  having  been  kept  unburied  all  that  time, 
owing  to  a dispute  which  of  his  heirs  should  pay  his 
funeral  expenses. 

November  5th.  — We  all,  together  with  Mr.  Squarey, 
went  to  Chester  last  Sunday,  and  attended  the  ca- 
thedral service.  A great  deal  of  ceremony,  and  not 
unimposing,  but  rather  tedious  before  it  was  finished,  — 
occupying  two  hours  or  more.  The  Bishop  was  present, 
but  did  nothing  except  to  pronounce  the  benediction.  In 
America  the  sermon  is  the  principal  thing ; but  here  all 
this  magnificent  ceremonial  of  prayer  and  chanted  re- 
sponses and  psalms  and  anthems  was  the  setting  to  a 
short,  meagre  discourse,  which  would  not  have  been 
considered  of  any  account  among  the  elaborate  intel- 
lectual efforts  of  New  England  ministers.  While  this 
was  going  on,  the  light  came  through  the  stained  glass 
windows  and  fell  upon  the  congregation,  tingeing  them 
with  crimson.  After  service  we  wandered  about  the 
aisles,  and  looked  at  the  tombs  and  monuments,  — the 
oldest  of  which  was  that  of  some  nameless  abbot,  with 
a staff  and  mitre  half  obliterated  from  his  tomb,  which 
was  under  a shallow  arch  on  one  side  of  the  cathedral. 
There  were  also  marbles  on  the  walls,  and  lettered 
stones  in  the  pavement  under  our  feet ; but  chiefly,  if 


LIVERPOOL. 


55 


1853.] 

not  entirely,  of  modern  date.  We  lunched  at  the  Royal 
Hotel,  and  then  walked  round  the  city  walls,  also  cross- 
ing the  bridge  of  one  great  arch  over  the  Dee,  and 
penetrating  as  far  into  Wales  as  the  entrance  of  the 
Marquis  of  Westminster’s  Park  at  Eaton.  It  was,  I 
think,  the  most  lovely  day  as  regards  weather  that  I 
have  seen  in  England. 

I passed,  to-day,  a man  chanting  a ballad  in  a street 
about  a recent  murder,  in  a voice  that  had  innumerable 
cracks  in  it,  and  was  most  lugubrious.  The  other  day 
I saw  a man  who  was  reading  in  a loud  voice  what 
seemed  to  be  an  account  of  the  late  riots  and  loss  of 
life  in  Wigan.  He  walked  slowly  along  the  street 
as  he  read,  surrounded  by  a small  crowd  of  men, 
women,  and  children ; and  close  by  his  elbow  stalked  a 
policeman,  as  if  guarding  against  a disturbance. 

November  14 th.  — There  is  a heavy  dun  fog  on  the 
river  and  over  the  city  to-day,  the  very  gloomiest  at- 
mosphere that  ever  I was  acquainted  with.  On  the 
river  the  steamboats  strike  gongs  or  ring  bells  to  give 
warning  of  their  approach.  There  are  lamps  burn- 
ing in  the  counting-rooms  and  lobbies  of  the  ware- 
houses, and  they  gleam  distinctly  through  the  windows. 

The  other  day,  at  the  entrance  of  the  market-house, 
I saw  a woman  sitting  in  a small  hand-wagon,  appar- 
ently for  the  purpose  of  receiving  alms.  There  was  no 
attendant  at  hand  ; but  I noticed  that  one  or  two  per- 
sons who  passed  by  seemed  to  inquire  whether  she 
wished  her  wagon  to  be  moved.  Perhaps  this  is  her 
mode  of  making  progress  about  the  city,  by  the  volun- 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


56 


[1853. 


fury,  aid  of  boys  and  other  people  who  help  to  drag 
her.  There  is  something  in  this  — I don’t  yet  well 
know  what  — that  has  impressed  me,  as  if  I could 
make  a romance  out  of  the  idea  of  a woman  living  in  this 
manner  a public  life,  and  moving  about  by  such  means. 


November  29 th.  — Mr.  H.  A.  B told  me  of  his 

friend  Mr. (who  was  formerly  attache  to  the  Brit- 

ish Legation  at  Washington,  and  whom  I saw  at  Con- 
cord), that  his  father,  a clergyman,  married  a second 
wife.  After  the  marriage,  the  noise  of  a coffin  being 
nightly  carried  down  the  stairs  was  heard  in  the  par- 
sonage. It  could  be  distinguished  when  the  coffin 
reached  a certain  broad  landing  and  rested  on  it.  Fin- 
ally, his  father  had  to  remove  to  another  residence. 
Besides  this,  Mr. had  had  another  ghostly  experi- 

ence, — having  seen  a dim  apparition  of  an  uncle  at  the 
precise  instant  when  the  latter  died  in  a distant  place. 
The  attache  is  a credible  and  honorable  fellow,  and  talks 
of  these  matters  as  if  he  positively  believed  them.  But 
Ghostland  lies  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  veracity. 


In  a garden  near  Chester,  in  taking  down  a summer- 
house, a tomb  was  discovered  beneath  it,  with  a Latin 
inscription  to  the  memory  of  an  old  doctor  of  medicine, 
William  Bentley,  who  had  owned  the  place  long  ago, 
and  died  in  1680.  And  his  dust  and  bones  had  lain 
beneath  all  the  merry  times  in  the  summer-house. 

December  1 st.  — It  is  curious  to  observe  how  many 
methods  people  put  in  practice  here  to  pick  up  a half- 
penny. Yesterday  I saw  a man  standing  bareheaded 


LIVERPOOL. 


57 


1853.] 

and  barelegged  in  the  mud  and  misty  weather,  play- 
ing on  a fife,  in  hopes  to  get  a circle  of  auditors.  No- 
body, however,  seemed  to  take  any  notice.  Very  often 
a whole  band  of  musicians  will  strike  up,  — passing  a 
hat  round  after  playing  a tune  or  two.  On  board  the 
ferry,  until  the  coldest  weather  began,  there  were  al- 
ways some  wretched  musicians,  with  an  old  fiddle,  an 
old  clarionet,  and  an  old  verdigrised  brass  bugle,  per- 
forming during  the  passage,  and,  as  the  boat  neared  the 
shore,  sending  round  one  of  their  number  to  gather 
contributions  in  the  hollow  of  the  brass  bugle.  They 
were  a very  shabby  set,  and  must  have  made  a very 
scanty  living  at  best.  Sometimes  it  was  a boy  with  an 
accordion,  and  his  sister,  a smart  little  girl,  with  a tim- 
brel, - — which,  being  so  shattered  that  she  could  not 
play  on  it,  she  used  only  to  collect  halfpence  in.  Bal- 
lad-singers, or  rather  chanters  or  croakers,  are  often  to 
be  met  with  in  the  streets,  but  hand-organ  players  are 
not  more  frequent  than  in  our  cities. 

I still  observe  little  girls  and  other  children  bare- 
legged and  barefooted  on  the  wet  sidewalks.  There 
certainly  never  was  anything  so  dismal  as  the  Novem- 
ber weather  has  been  ; never  any  real  sunshine ; al- 
most always  a mist ; sometimes  a dense  fog,  like  slightly 
rarefied  wool,  pervading  the  atmosphere. 

An  epitaph  on  a person  buried  on  a hillside  in 
Cheshire,  together  with  some  others,  supposed  to  have 
died  of  the  plague,  and  therefore  not  admitted  into 
the  churchyards  : — 

Think  it  not  strange  our  bones  ly  here, 

Thine  may  ly  thou  knowst  not  where.” 

Elizabeth  Hampsoj*. 


3* 


58 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

These  graves  were  near  the  remains  of  two  rude  stone 
crosses,  the  purpose  of  which  was  not  certainly  known, 
although  they  were  supposed  to  be  boundary  marks. 
Probably,  as  the  plague-corpses  were  debarred  from 
sanctified  ground,  the  vicinity  of  these  corpses  was 
chosen  as  having  a sort  of  sanctity. 

“ Bang  beggar,”  — an  old  Cheshire  term  for  a parish 
beadle. 

Hawthorne  Hall,  Cheshire,  Macclesfield  Hundred, 
Parish  of  Wilmslow,  and  within  the  hamlet  of  Morley. 
It  was  vested  at  an  early  period  in  the  Lathoms  of 
Irlam,  Lancaster  County,  and  passed  through  the  Leighs 
to  the  Pages  of  Earlshaw.  Thomas  Leigh  Page  sold  it 
to  Mr.  Ralph  Bower  of  Wilmslow,  whose  children 
owned  it  in  1817.  The  Leighs  built  a chancel  in  the 
church  of  Wilmslow,  where  some  of  them  are  buried, 
their  arms  painted  in  the  windows.  The  hall  is  an 
“ ancient,  respectable  mansion  of  brick.” 

December  2 d,  — Yesterday,  a chill,  misty  December 
day,  yet  I saw  a woman  barefooted  in  the  street,  not  to 
speak  of  children. 

Cold  and  uncertain  as  the  weather  is,  there  is  still  a 
great  deal  of  small  trade  carried  on  in  the  open  air. 
Women  and  men  sit  in  the  streets  with  a stock  of  combs 
and  such  small  things  to  sell,  the  women  knitting  as  if 
they  sat  by  a fireside.  Cheap  crockery  is  laid  out  in 
the  street,  so  far  out  that  without  any  great  deviation 
from  the  regular  carriage-track  a wheel  might  pass 
straight  through  it.  Stalls  of  apples  are  innumerable, 


LIVERPOOL. 


59 


1853.] 

but  the  apples  are  not  fit  for  a pig.  In  some  streets 
herrings  are  very  abundant,  laid  out  on  boards.  Coals 
seem  to  be  for  sale  by  the  wheelbarrow-full.  Here  and 
there  you  see  children  with  some  small  article  for  sale, 
— as,  for  instance,  a girl  with  two  linen  caps.  A some- 
what overladen  cart  of  coal  was  passing  along  and  some 
small  quantity  of  the  coal  fell  off ; no  sooner  had  the 
wheels  passed  than  several  women  and  children  gathered 
to  the  spot,  like  hens  and  chickens  round  a handful  of 
corn,  and  picked  it  up  in  their  aprons.  We  have  noth- 
ing similar  to  these  street  women  in  our  country. 

December  10 th.  — I don’t  know  any  place  that  brings 
all  classes  into  contiguity  on  equal  ground  so  completely 
as  the  waiting-room  at  Rock  Ferry  on  these  frosty 
days.  The  room  is  not  more  than  eight  feet  square, 
with  walls  of  stone,  and  wooden  benches  ranged  round 
them,  and  an  open  stove  in  one  corner,  generally  well 
furnished  with  coal.  It  is  almost  always  crowded,  and 
I rather  suspect  that  many  persons  who  have  no  fireside 
elsewhere  creep  in  here  and  spend  the  most  comfortable 
part  of  their  day. 

This  morning,  when  I looked  into  the  room,  there 
were  one  or  two  gentlemen  and  other  respectable 
persons  ; but  in  the  best  place,  close  to  the  fire,  and 
crouching  almost  into  it,  was  an  elderly  beggar,  with 
the  raggedest  of  overcoats,  two  great  rents  in  the 
shoulders  of  it  disclosing  the  dingy  lining,  all  bepatched 
with  various  stuff  covered  with  dirt,  and  on  his  shoes 
and  trousers  the  mud  of  an  interminable  pilgrimage. 
Owing  to  the  posture  in  which  he  sat,  I could  not  see 
his  face,  but  only  the  battered  crown  and  rim  of  the 


60 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 


very  shabbiest  hat  that  ever  was  worn.  Regardless  of 
the  presence  of  women  (which,  indeed,  Englishmen 
seldom  do  regard  when  they  wish  to  smoke),  he  was 
smoking  a pipe  of  vile  tobacco;  but,  after  all,  this  was 
fortunate,  because  the  man  himself  was  not  personally 
fragrant.  He  was  terribly  squalid, — terribly;  and  when 
I had  a glimpse  of  his  face,  it  well  befitted  the  rest  of 
his  development,  — grizzled,  wrinkled,  weather-beaten, 
yet  sallow,  and  down-looking,  with  a watchful  kind  of 
eye  turning  upon  everybody  and  everything,  meeting 
the  glances  of  other  people  rather  boldly,  yet  soon 
shrinking  away ; a long  thin  nose,  a gray  beard  of  a 
week’s  growth  ; hair  not  much  mixed  with  gray,  but 
rusty  and  lifeless;  — a miserable  object;  but  it  was 
curious  to  see  how  he  was  not  ashamed  of  himself,  but 
seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  one  of  the  estates  of  the 
kingdom,  and  had  as  much  right  to  live  as  other  men. 
He  did  just  as  he  pleased,  took  the  best  place  by  the 
fire,  nor  would  have  cared  though  a nobleman  were 
forced  tc  stand  aside  for  him.  When  the  steamer’s  bell 
rang,  he  shouldered  a large  and  heavy  pack,  like  a pil- 
grim with  his  burden  of  sin,  but  certainly  journeying  to 
hell  instead  of  heaven.  On  board  he  looked  round  for 
the  best  position,  at  first  stationing  himself  near  the 
boiler-pipe  ; but,  finding  the  deck  damp  underfoot,  he 
went  to  the  cabin  door,  and  took  his  stand  on  the  stairs, 
protected  from  the  wind,  but  very  incommodiously 
placed  for  those  who  wished  to  pass.  All  this  was  done 
without  any  bravado  or  forced  impudence,  but  in  the 
most  quiet  way,  merely  because  he  was  seeking  his  own 
comfort,  and  considered  that  he  had  a right  to  seek  it. 
It  was  an  Englishman’s  spirit ; but  in  our  country, 


1853.  j 


LIVERPOOL. 


61 


I imagine,  a beggar  considers  himself  a kind  of  outlaw, 
and  would  hardly  assume  the  privileges  of  a man  in 
any  place  of  public  resort.  Here  beggary  is  a system, 
and  beggars  are  a numerous  class,  and  make  themselves, 
in  a certain  way,  respected  as  such.  Nobody  evinced 
the  slightest  disapprobation  of  the  man's  proceedings. 
In  America,  I think,  we  should  see  many  aristocratic 
airs  on  such  provocation,  and  probably  the  ferry  people 
would  there  have  rudely  thrust  the  beggar  aside ; giving 
him  a shilling,  however,  which  no  Englishman  would 
ever  think  of  doing.  There  would  also  have  been  a 
great  deal  of  fun  made  of  his  squalid  and  ragged  figure  ; 
whereas  nobody  smiled  at  him  this  morning,  nor  in  any 
way  showed  the  slightest  disrespect.  This  is  good ; but 
it  is  the  result  of  a state  of  things  by  no  means  good. 
For  many  days  there  has  been  a great  deal  of  fog  on 
the  river,  and  the  boats  have  groped  their  way  along, 
continually  striking  their  bells,  while,  on  all  sides,  there 
are  responses  of  bell  and  gong;  and  the  vessels  at 
anchor  look  shadow-like  as  we  glide  past  them,  and  the 
master  of  one  steamer  shouts  a warning  to  the  master 
of  another  which  he  meets.  The  Englishmen,  who 
hate  to  run  any  risk  without  an  equivalent  object,  show 
a good  deal  of  caution  and  timidity  on  these  foggy 
days. 

December  13 th.  — Chill,  frosty  weather ; such  an 
atmosphere  as  forebodes  snow  in  New  England,  and 
there  has  been  a little  here.  Yet  I saw  a barefooted 
young  woman  yesterday.  The  feet  of  these  poor 
creatures  have  exactly  the  red  complexion  of  their 
hands,  acquired  by  constant  exposure  to  the  cold  air. 


62  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

At  the  ferry-room,  this  morning,  was  a small,  thin, 
anxious-looking  woman,  with  a bundle,  seeming  in  rath- 
er poor  circumstances,  but  decently  dressed,  and  eying 
Other  women,  I thought,  with  an  expression  of  slight  ill- 
will  and  distrust;  also,  an  elderly,  stout,  gray-haired 
woman,  of  respectable  aspect,  and  two  young  ladylike 
persons,  quite  pretty,  one  of  whom  w'as  reading  a shil- 
ling volume  of  James’s  “ Arabella  Stuart.”  They  talked 
to  one  another  with  that  up-and-down  intonation  which 
English  ladies  practise,  and  which  strikes  an  unaccus- 
tomed ear  as  rather  affected,  especially  in  women  of  size 
and  mass.  It  is  very  different  from  an  American  lady’s 
mode  of  talking  : there  is  the  difference  between  color 
and  no  color ; the  tone  variegates  it.  One  of  these 
young  ladies  spoke  to  me,  making  some  remark  about 
the  weather,  — the  first  instance  I have  met  with  of  a 
gentlewoman’s  speaking  to  an  unintroduced  gentleman. 
Besides  these,  a middle-aged  man  of  the  lower  class, 
and  also  a gentleman’s  out-door  servant,  clad  in  a drab 
great  coat,  corduroy  breeches,  and  drab  cloth  gaiters 
buttoned  from  the  knee  to  the  ankle.  He  complained 
to  the  other  man  of  the  cold  weather;  said  that  a 
glass  of  whiskey,  every  half-hour,  would  keep  a man 
comfortable  ; and,  accidentally  hitting  his  coarse  foot 
against  one  of  the  young  lady’s  feet,  said,  “ Beg  pardon, 
ma’am,” which  she  acknowledged  with  a slight  move- 
ment of  the  head.  Somehow  or  other,  different  classes 
seem  to  encounter  one  another  in  an  easier  manner  than 
with  us ; the  shock  is  less  palpable.  I suppose  the 
reason  is  that  the  distinctions  are  real,  and  therefore 
need  not  be  continually  asserted. 


LIVERPOOL. 


63 


1853.] 

Nervous  and  excitable  persons  need  to  talk  a great 
deal,  by  way  of  letting  off  their  steam. 

On  board  the  Rock  Ferry  steamer,  a gentleman  com- 
ing into  the  cabin,  a voice  addresses  him  from  a dark 
corner,  “ How  do  you  do,  sir  ? ” — “ Speak  again ! ” says 
the  gentleman.  No  answer  from  the  dark  corner ; and 
the  gentleman  repeats,  “ Speak  again  ! ” The  speaker 
now  comes  out  of  the  dark  corner,  and  sits  down  in  a 
place  where  he  can  be  seen.  “Ah!”  cries  the  gentle- 
man, “very  well,  I thank  you.  How  do  you  do?  I 
did  not  recognize  your  voice.”  Observable,  the  English 
caution,  shown  in  the  gentleman’s  not  vouchsafing  to 
say,  “ Very  well,  thank  you ! ” till  he  knew  his  man. 

What  was  the  after  life  of  the  young  man,  whom 
Jesus,  looking  on,  “ loved,”  and  bade  him  sell  all  that  he 
had,  and  give  to  the  poor,  and  take  up  his  cross  and  fol- 
low him  ? Something  very  deep  and  beautiful  might 
be  made  out  of  this. 

December  31  st.  — Among  the  beggars  of  Liverpool, 
the  hardest  to  encounter  is  a man  without  any  legs,  and, 
if  I mistake  not,  likewise  deficient  in  arms.  You  see 
him  before  you  all  at  once,  as  if  he  had  sprouted  half- 
way out  of  the  earth,  and  would  sink  down  and  re- 
appear in  some  other  place  the  moment  he  has  done 
with  you.  His  countenance  is  large,  fresh,  and  very 
intelligent  ; but  his  great  power  lies  in  his  fixed  gaze, 
which  is  inconceivably  difficult  to  bear.  He  never  once 
removes  his  eye  from  you  till  you  are  quite  past  his 
range ; and  you  feel  it  all  the  same,  although  you  d# 


u 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


not  meet  his  glance.  He  is  perfectly  respectful ; but 
the  intentness  and  directness  of  his  silent  appeal  is  far 
worse  than  any  impudence.  In  fact,  it  is  the  very 
flower  of  impudence.  I would  rather  go  a mile  about 
than  pass  before  his  battery.  I feel  wronged  by  him, 
and  yet  unutterably  ashamed.  There  must  be  great 
force  in  the  man  to  produce  such  an  effect.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  customary  squalidness  of  beggary  about 
him,  but  remarkable  trimness  and  cleanliness.  A girl 
of  twenty  or  thereabouts,  who  vagabondizes  about  the 
city  on  her  hands  and  knees,  possesses,  to  a considera- 
ble degree,  the  same  characteristics.  I think  they  hit 
their  victims  the  more  effectually  from  being  below  the 
common  level  of  vision. 

January  3<f,  1854.  — Night  before  last  there  was  a 
fall  of  snow,  about  three  or  four  inches,  and,  following 
it,  a pretty  hard  frost.  On  the  river,  the  vessels  at 
anchor  showed  the  snow  along  their  yards,  and  on  every 
ledge  where  it  could  lie.  A blue  sky  and  sunshine 
overhead,  and  apparently  a clear  atmosphere  close  at 
hand ; but  in  the  distance  a mistiness  became  percepti- 
ble, obscuring  the  shores  of  the  river,  and  making  the 
vessels  look  dim  and  uncertain.  The  steamers  were 
ploughing  along,  smoking  their  pipes  through  the  frosty 
air.  On  the  landing  stage  and  in  the  streets,  hard- 
trodden  snow,  looking  more  like  my  New  England 
home  than  anything  I have  yet  seen.  Last  night  the 
thermometer  fell  as  low  as  13°,  nor  probably  is  it  above 
20°  to-day.  No  such  frost  has  been  known  in  England 
these  forty  years ! and  Mr.  Wilding  tells  me  that  he 
never  saw  so  much  snow  before* 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


65 


January  6^.  — I saw,  yesterday,  stopping  at  a cabi- 
net-maker’s shop  in  Church  Street,  a coach  with  four 
beautiful  white  horses,  and  a postilion  on  each  near- 
horse ; behind,  in  the  dickey,  a footman ; and  on  the 
box  a coachman,  all  dressed  in  livery.  The  coach- 
panel  bore  a coat  of  arms  with  a coronet,  and  I pre- 
sume it  must  have  been  the  equipage  of  the  Earl  of 
Derby.  A crowd  of  people  stood  round,  gazing  at  the 
coach  and  horses  ; and  when  any  of  them  spoke,  it  was 
in  a lower  tone  than  usual.  I doubt  not  they  all  had 
a kind  of  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle,  for  these  English 
are  strangely  proud  of  having  a class  above  them. 


Every  Englishman  runs  to  “ The  Times  ” with  his 
little  grievance,  as  a child  runs  to  his  mother. 

I was  sent  for  to  the  police  court  the  other  morning, 
in  the  case  of  an  American  sailor  accused  of  robbing  a 
shipmate  at  sea.  A large  room,  with  a great  coal  fire 
burning  on  one  side,  and  above  it  the  portrait  of  Mr. 
Rushton,  deceased,  a magistrate  of  many  years’  continu- 
ance. A long  table,  with  chairs,  and  a witness-box.  One 
of  the  borough  magistrates,  a merchant  of  the  city,  sat  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  with  paper  and  pen  and  ink  be- 
fore him ; but  the  real  judge  was  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  whose  professional  knowledge  and  experience 
governed  all  the  proceedings.  In  the  short  time  while 
I was  waiting,  two  cases  were  tried,  in  the  first  of  which 
the  prisoner  was  discharged.  The  second  case  was  of 
a woman,  — a thin,  sallow,  hard-looking,  careworn, 
rather  young  woman,  — for  stealing  a pair  of  slippers 

£ 


60 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1854. 


out  of  a shop.  The  trial  occupied  five  minutes  or  less, 
and  she  was  sentenced  to  twenty-one  days’  imprison 
ment,  — whereupon,  without  speaking,  she  looked  up 
wildly  first  into  one  policeman’s  face,  then  into  another’s, 
at  the  same  time  wringing  her  hands  with  no  theatric 
gesture,  but  because  her  torment  took  this  outward 
shape,  — and  was  led  away.  The  Yankee  sailor  was 
then  brought  up,  — an  intelligent,  but  ruffian-like  fellow, 
- — and  as  the  case  was  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
English  magistrates,  and  as  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
get  him  sent  over  to  America  for  trial,  he  was  forth* 
with  discharged.  He  stole  a comforter. 

If  mankind  were  all  intellect,  they  would  be  con 
tinuaily  changing,  so  that  one  age  would  be  entirety 
unlike  another.  The  great  conservative  is  the  heart 
which  remains  the  same  in  all  ages  ; so  that  common* 
places  of  a thousand  years’  standing  are  as  effective  a? 
ever. 

Monday , February  20 th.  — At  the  police  court  on 
Saturday,  I attended  the  case  of  the  second  mate  and 
four  seamen  of  the  John  and  Albert,  for  assaulting, 
beating,  and  stabbing  the  chief  mate.  The  chief  mate 
has  been  in  the  hospital  ever  since  the  assault,  and  was 
brought  into  the  court  to-day  to  give  evidence, — a 
man  of  thirty,  black  hair,  black  eyes,  a dark  com- 
plexion, disagreeable  expression ; sallow,  emaciated, 
feeble,  apparently  in  pain,  one  arm  disabled.  He  sat 
bent  and  drawn  upward,  and  had  evidently  been  se- 
verely hurt,  and  was  not  yet  fit  to  be  out  of  bed.  He 
had  some  brandy  and  water  to  enable  him  to  sustain 


LIVERPOOL. 


67 


1854.] 

himself.  He  gave  his  evidence  very  clearly,  beginning 
(sailor-like)  with  telling  in  what  quarter  the  wind  was 
at  the  time  of  the  assault,  and  which  sail  was  taken  in. 
His  testimony  bore  on  one  man  only,  at  whom  he  cast  a 
vindictive  look  ; but  I think  he  told  the  truth  as  far  as  he 
knew  and  remembered  it.  Of  the  prisoners  the  second 
mate  was  a mere  youth,  with  long  sandy  hair,  and  an 
intelligent  and  not  unprepossessing  face*  dressed  as  neatly 
as  a three  or  four  weeks*  capture,  with  small  or  no  means, 
could  well  allow,  in  a frock*coat,  and  with  clean  linen,  — 
the  only  linen  or  cotton  shirt  in  the  company.  The 
other  four  were  rude,  brutish  sailors,  in  flannel  or  red- 
baize  shirts.  Three  of  them  appeared  to  give  them- 
selves little  concern ; but  the  fourth,  a red-haired  and 
red-bearded  man,  — Paraman,  by  name,  — evidently 
felt  the  pressure  of  the  case  upon  himself.  He  was  the 
one  whom  the  mate  swore  to  have  given  him  the  first 
blow ; and  there  was  other  evidence  of  his  having  been 
stabbed  with  a knife.  The  captain  of  the  ship,  the 
pilot,  the  cook,  and  the  steward,  all  gave  their  evidence ; 
and  the  general  bearing  of  it  was,  that  the  chief  mate 
had  a devilish  temper,  and  had  misused  the  second 
mate  and  crew,  — that  the  four  seamen  had  attacked 
him,  and  that  Paraman  had  stabbed-  him  ; while  ail  but 
the  steward  concurred  in  saying  that  the  second  mate 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  affray.  The  steward,  how- 
ever, swore  to  having  seen  him  strike  the  chief  mate 
with  a wooden  marlingspike,  which  was  broken  by  the 
blow.  The  magistrate  dismissed  all  but  Paraman, 
whom  I am  to  send  to  America  for  trial.  In  my  opinion 
the  chief  mate  got  pretty  nearly  what  he  deserved,  under 
the  code  of  natural  justice.  While  business  was  going 


68 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

forward,  the  magistrate,  Mr.  Mansfield,  talked  about  a 
fancy  ball  at  which  he  had  been  present  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  of  other  matters  grave  and  gay.  It  was  very 
informal  ; we  sat  at  the  table,  or  stood  with  our  backs 
to  the  fire  ; policemen  came  and  went ; witnesses  were 
sworn  on  the  greasiest  copy  of  the  Gospels  I ever  saw, 
polluted  by  hundreds  and  thousands  of  perjured  kisses ; 
and  for  hours  the  prisoners  were  kept  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  table,  interested  to  the  full  extent  of  their 
capacity,  while  all  others  were  indifferent.  At  the  close 
of  the  case,  the  police  officers  and  witnesses  applied  to 
me  about  their  expenses. 

Yesterday  I took  a walk  with  my  wife  and  two  chil- 
dren to  Bebbington  Church.  A beautifully  sunny  morn- 
ing. My  wife  and  U.  attended  church,  J.  and  I continued 
our  walk.  When  we  were  at  a little  distance  from  the 
church,  the  bells  suddenly  chimed  out  with  a most  cheer- 
ful sound,  and  sunny  as  the  morning.  It  is  a pity  we 
have  no  chimes  of  bells,  to  give  the  churchward  sum- 
mons, at  home.  People  were  standing  about  the  an- 
cient church-porch  and  among  the  tombstones.  In  the 
course  of  our  walk,  we  passed  many  old  thatched  cot- 
tages, built  of  stone,  and  with  what  looked  like  a cow- 
house or  pigsty  at  one  end,  making  part  of  the  cot- 
tage ; also  an  old  stone  farm-house,  which  may  have 
been  a residence  of  gentility  in  its  day.  We  passed,  too, 
a small  Methodist  chapel,  making  one  of  a row  of  low 
brick  edifices.  There  was  a sound  of  prayer  within. 
I never  saw  a more  unbeautiful  place  of  worship ; and 
it  had  not  even  a separate  existence  for  itself,  the  ad- 
joining tenement  being  an  ale-house. 

The  grass  along  the  wayside  was  green,  with  a few 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


69 


daisies.  There  was  green  holly  in  the  hedges,  and  we 
passed  through  a wood,  up  some  of  the  tree-trunks  of 
which  ran  clustering  ivy. 

February  23 d.  — There  came  to  see  me  the  other 
day  a young  gentleman  with  a mustache  and  a blue 
cloak,  who  announced  himself  as  William  Allingham, 
and  handed  me  a copy  of  his  poems,  a thin  volume, 
with  paper  covers,  published  by  Routledge.  I thought 
I remembered  hearing  his  name,  but  had  never  seen 
any  of  his  works.  His  face  was  intelligent,  dark,  pleas- 
ing, and  not  at  all  John-Bullish.  He  said  that  he  had 
been  employed  in  the  Customs  in  Ireland,  and  was  now 
going  to  London  to  live  by  literature,  — to  be  connected 
with  some  newspaper,  I imagine.  He  had  been  in 
London  before,  and  was  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
principal  literary  people,  — among  others,  Tennyson  and 
Carlyle.  He  seemed  to  have  been  on  rather  intimate 

terms  with  Tennyson We  talked  awhile  in  my 

dingy  and  dusky  Consulate,  and  he  then  took  leave. 
His  manners  are  good,  and  he  appears  to  possess  inde- 
pendence of  mind 

Yesterday  I saw  a British  regiment  march  down  to 
George’s  Pier,  to  embark  in  the  Niagara  for  Malta. 
The  troops  had  nothing  very  remarkable  about  them  ; 
but  the  thousands  of  ragged  and  squalid  wretches,  who 
thronged  the  pier  and  streets  to  gaze  on  them,  were 
what  I had  not  seen  before  in  such  masses.  This  was 
the  first  populace  I have  beheld ; for  even  the  Irish,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water,  acquire  a respectability  of 
aspect.  John  Bull  is  going  with  his  whole  heart  into 


70 


ENGLJSH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


the  Turkish  w?r.  He  is  very  foolish.  Whatever  the 
Czar  may  propose  to  himself,  it  is  for  the  interest  of 
democracy  that  he  should  not  be  easily  put  down.  The 
regiment,  on  its  w^iy  to  embark,  carried  the  Queen’s 
colors,  and,  side  by  side  with  them,  the  banner  of  the 
28th,  — yellow,  with  the  names  of  the  peninsular  and 
other  battles  in  which  it  kad  been  engaged  inscribed  on 
it  in  a double  column.  It  is  a very  distinguished  regi- 
ment; and  Mr.  Henry  Bright  mentioned  as  one  of  its 
distinctions,  that  Washington  ka^,  formerly  been  an  offi- 
cer in  it.  I never  heard  of  this. 


February  21th.  — We  walked  to  M^odside  in  the 
pleasant  forenoon,  and  thence  crossed  to  Liverpool.  On 
our  way  to  Woodside,  we  saw  the  remains  of  the  old 
Birkenhead  Priory,  built  of  the  common  red  freestone, 
much  time-worn,  with  ivy  creeping  over  it,  and  birds 
evidently  at  home  in  its  old  crevices.  These  rums  are 
pretty  extensive,  and  seem  to  be  the  remains  of  a quad- 
rangle. A handsome  modern  church,  likewise  of  the 
same  red  freestone,  has  been  built  on  part  of  the  site 
occupied  by  the  Priory ; and  the  organ  was  sounding 
within,  while  we  walked  about  the  premises.  On  some 
of  the  ancient  arches,  there  were  grotesquely  carved 
stone  faces.  The  old  walls  have  been  sufficiently  re- 
stored to  make  them  secure,  without  destroying  their 
venerable  aspect.  It  is  a very  interesting  spot ; and  so 
much  the  more  so  because  a modern  town,  with  its  brick 
and  stone  houses,  its  flags  and  pavements,  has  sprung 
up  about  the  ruins,  which  were  new  a thousand  years 
ago.  The  station  of  the  Chester  railway  is  within  a 


LIVERPOOL. 


71 


1854.  j 

hundred  yards.  Formerly  the  monks  of  this  Priory 
kept  the  only  ferry  that  then  existed  on  the  Mersey. 

At  a dinner  at  Mr.  Bramley  Moore’s  a little  while 
ago,  we  had  a prairie-hen  from  the  West  of  America. 
It  was  a very  delicate  bird,  and  a gentleman  carved  it 
most  skilfully  to  a dozen  guests,  and  had  still  a second 
slice  to  offer  to  them. 

Aboard  the  ferry-boat  yesterday,  there  was  a labor- 
ing man  eating  oysters.  He  took  them  one  by  one 
from  his  pocket  in  interminable  succession,  opened  them 
with  his  jack-knife,  swallowed  each  one,  threw  the  shell 
overboard,  and  then  sought  for  another.  Having  con- 
cluded his  meal,  he  took  out  a clay  tobacco-pipe,  filled 
it,  lighted  it  with  a match,  and  smoked  it,  — all  this, 
while  the  other  passengers  were  looking  at  him,  and 
with  a perfect  coolness  and  independence,  such  as  no 
single  man  can  ever  feel  in  America.  Here  a man 
does  not  seem  to  consider  what  other  people  will  think 
of  his  conduct,  but  only  whether  it  suits  his  own  con- 
venience to  do  so  and  so.  It  may  be  the  better  way. 

A French  military  man,  a veteran  of  all  Napoleon’s 
wars,  is  now  living,  with  a false  leg  and  arm,  both 
movable  by  springs,  false  teeth,  a false  eye,  a silver 
nose  with  a flesh-colored  covering,  and  a silver  plate 
replacing  part  of  the  skull.  He  has  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor. 

March  13 th.  — On  Saturday  I went  with  Mr. 
B to  the  Dingle,  a pleasant  domain  on  the  banks 


72 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


of  the  Mersey,  almost  opposite  to  Rock  Ferry.  Walk- 
ing home,  we  looked  into  Mr.  Thom’s  Unitarian  Chapel, 

Mr.  B ’s  family’s  place  of  worship.  There  is  a 

little  graveyard  connected  with  the  chapel,  a most  un- 
inviting and  unpicturesque  square  of  ground,  perhaps 
thirty  or  forty  yards  across,  in  the  midst  of  back  fronts 
of  city  buildings.  About  half  the  space  was  occupied 
by  flat  tombstones,  level  with  the  ground,  the  remainder 
being  yet  vacant.  Nevertheless,  there  were  perhaps 
more  names  of  men  generally  known  to  the  world  on 
these  few  tombstones  than  in  any  other  churchyard  in 
Liverpool,  — Roscoe,  Blanco  White,  and  the  Rev. 
William  Enfield,  whose  name  has  a classical  sound  in 
my  ears,  because,  when  a little  boy,  I used  to  read  his 
“ Speaker  ” at  school.  In  the  vestry  of  the  chapel 
there  were  many  books,  chiefly  old  theological  works, 
in  ancient  print  and  binding,  much  mildewed  and  in- 
jured by  the  damp.  The  body  of  the  chapel  is  neat, 
but  plain,  and,  being  not  very  large,  has  a kind  of  social 
and  family  aspect,  as  if  the  clergyman  and  his  people 
must  needs  have  intimate  relations  among  themselves. 
The  Unitarian  sect  in  Liverpool  have,  as  a body,  great 
wealth  and  respectability. 

Yesterday  I walked  with  my  wife  and  children  to 
the  brow  of  a hill,  overlooking  Birkenhead  and  Tran- 
mere,  and  commanding  a fine  view  of  the  river,  and 
Liverpool  beyond.  All  round  about  new  and  neat 
residences  for  city  people  are  springing  up,  with  fine 
names,  — Eldon  Terrace,  Rose  Cottage,  Belvoir  Villa, 
&c.,  &c.,  with  little  patches  of  ornamented  garden  or 
lawn  in  front,  and  heaps  of  curious  rock-work,  with* 
which  the  English  are  ridiculously  fond  of  adorning 


LIVERPOOL. 


n 


1854. J 

their  front  yards.  I rather  think  the  middling  classes  — 
meaning  shopkeepers,  and  other  respectabilities  of  that 
level  — are  better  lodged  here  than  in  America  ; and, 
what  I did  not  expect,  the  houses  are  a great  deal  newer 
than  in  our  new  country.  Of  course,  this  can  only  be 
the  case  in  places  circumstanced  like  Liverpool  and  its 
suburbs.  But,  scattered  among  these  modern  villas, 
there  are  old  stone  cottages  of  the  rudest  structure,  and 
doubtless  hundreds  of  years  old,  with  thatched  roofs, 
into  which  the  grass  has  rooted  itself,  and  now  looks 
verdant.  These  cottages  are  in  themselves  as  ugly  as 
possible,  resembling  a large  kind  of  pigsty ; but  often, 
by  dint  of  the  verdure  on  their  thatch,  and  the  shrub- 
bery clustering  about  them,  they  look  picturesque. 

The  old-fashioned  flowers  in  the  gardens  of  New 
England  — blue-bells,  crocuses,  primroses,  foxglove, 
and  many  others  — appear  to  be  wild  flowers  here  on 
English  soil.  There  is  something  very  touching  and 
pretty  in  this  fact,  that  the  Puritans  should  have  car- 
ried their  field  and  hedge  flowers,  and  nurtured  them  in 
their  gardens,  until,  to  us,  they  seem  entirely  the  pro- 
duct of  cultivation. 

March  16^. — Yesterday,  at  the  coroner’s  court, 
attending  the  inquest  on  a black  sailor  who  died  on 
board  an  American  vessel,  after  her  arrival  at  this 
port.  The  court-room  is  capable  of  accommodating 
perhaps  fifty  people,  dingy,  with  a pyramidal  skylight 
above,  and  a single  window  on  one  side,  opening  into  a 
gloomy  back  court.  A private  room,  also  lighted  with 
a pyramidal  skylight,  is  behind  the  court-room,  into 
which  I was  asked,  and  found  the  coroner,  a gray- 

vol.  i.  4 


74 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

headed,  grave,  intelligent,  broad,  red-faced  man,  with  an 
air  of  some  authority,  well  mannered  and  dignified,  but 
not  exactly  a gentleman,  — dressed  in  a blue  coat,  with 
a black  cravat,  showing  a shirt-collar  above  it.  Con- 
sidering how  many  and  what  a variety  of  cases  of  the 
ugliest  death  are  constantly  coming  before  him,  he  was 
much  more  cheerful  than  could  be  expected,  and  had  a 
kind  of  formality  and  orderliness  which  I suppose 
balances  the  exceptionalities  with  which  he  has  to 
deal.  In  the  private  room  with  him  was  likewise  the 
surgeon,  who  professionally  attends  the  court.  We 
chatted  about  suicide  and  such  matters,  — the  surgeon, 
the  coroner,  and  I,  — until  the  American  case  was 
ready,  when  we  adjourned  to  the  court-room,  and  the 
coroner  began  the  examination.  The  American  cap- 
tain was  a rude,  uncouth  Down-Easter,  about  thirty 
years  old,  and  sat  on  a bench,  doubled  and  bent  into  an 
indescribable  attitude,  out  of  which  he  occasionally 
straightened  himself,  all  the  time  toying  with  a ruler, 
or  some  such  article.  The  case  was  one  of  no  interest ; 
the  man  had  been  frost-bitten,  and  died  from  natural 
causes,  so  that  no  censure  was  deserved  or  passed  upon 
the  captain.  The  jury,  who  had  been  examining  the 
body,  were  at  first  inclined  to  think  that  the  man  had 
not  been  frost-bitten,  but  that  his  feet  had  been  im- 
mersed in  boiling  water;  but,  on  explanation  by  the 
surgeon,  readily  yielded  their  opinion,  and  gave  the 
verdict  which  the  coroner  put  into  their  mouths,  excul- 
pating the  captain  from  all  blame.  In  fact,  it  is  utterly 
impossible  that  a jury  of  chance  individuals  should  not 
be  entirely  governed  by  the  judgment  of  so  experienced 
and  weighty  a man  as  the  coroner.  In  the  court-room 


LIVERPOOL. 


75 


1854.] 

were  two  or  three  police  officers  in  uniform,  and  some 
other  officials,  a very  few  idle  spectators,  and  a few 
witnesses  waiting  to  be  examined.  And  while  the  case 
was  going  forward,  a poor-looking  woman  came  in,  and  I 
heard  her,  in  an  undertone,  telling  an  attendant  of  a death 
that  had  just  occurred.  The  attendant  received  the  com- 
munication in  a very  quiet  and  matter-of-course  way,  said 
that  it  should  be  attended  to,  and  the  woman  retired. 

The  Diary  of  a Coroner  would  be  a work  likely 
to  meet  with  large  popular  acceptance.  A dark  pas- 
sage-way, only  a few  yards  in  extent,  leads  from  the 
liveliest  street  in  Liverpool  to  this  coroner’s  court-room, 
where  all  the  discussion  is  about  murder  and  suicide. 
It  seems,  that,  after  a verdict  of  suicide,  the  corpse  can 
only  be  buried  at  midnight,  without  religious  rites. 

“ His  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places,”  — applied  to 
a successful  angler. 

A woman’s  chastity  consists,  like  an  onion,  of  a series 
of  coats.  You  may  strip  off  the  outer  ones  without  doing 
much  mi-chief,  perhaps  none  at  all ; but  you  keep  tak- 
ing off  one  after  another,  in  expectation  of  coming  to 
the  inner  nucleus,  including  the  whole  value  of  the 
matter.  It  proves,  however,  that  there  is  no  such 
nucleus,  and  that  chastity  is  diffused  through  the  whole 
series  of  coats,  is  lessened  with  the  removal  of  each, 
and  vanishes  with  the  final  one,  which  you  supposed 
would  introduce  you  to  the  hidden  pearl. 

March  23 d.  — Mr.  B.  and  I took  a cab  Saturday 
afternoon,  and  drove  out  of  the  city  in  the  direction  of 


76  « ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

Knowsley.  On  our  way  we  saw  many  gentlemen’s  or 
rich  people’s  places,  some  of  them  dignified  with  the 
title  of  Halls,  — with  lodges  at  their  gates,  and  standing 
considerably  removed  from  the  road.  The  greater  part 
of  them  were  built  of  brick,  — a material  with  which  I 
have  not  been  accustomed  to  associate  ideas  of  grandeur ; 
but  it  was  much  in  use  here  in  Lancashire,  in  the  Eliza- 
bethan age, — more,  I think,  than  now.  These  subur- 
ban residences,  however,  are  of  much  later  date  than 
Elizabeth’s  time.  Among  other  places,  Mr.  B.  called 
at  the  Hazles,  the  residence  of  Sir  Thomas  Birch,  a 
kinsman  of  his.  It  is  a large  brick  mansion,  and  has 
old  trees  and  shrubbery  about  it,  the  latter  very  fine  and 
verdant, — hazles,  holly,  rhododendron,  &c.  Mr.  B. 
went  in,  and  shortly  afterwards  Sir  Thomas  Birch  came 
out,  — a very  frank  and  hospitable  gentleman,  — and 
pressed  me  to  enter  and  take  luncheon,  which  latter 
hospitality  I declined. 

His  house  is  in  very  nice  order.  He  had  a good 
many  pictures,  and,  amongst  them,  a small  portrait  of  his 
mother,  painted  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  when  a 
youth.  It  is  unfinished,  and  when  the  painter  was  at 
the  height  of  his  fame,  he  was  asked  to  finish  it.  But 
Lawrence,  after  looking  at  the  picture,  refused  to  re- 
touch it,  saying  that  there  was  a merit  in  this  early 
sketch  which  he  could  no  longer  attain.  It  was  really 
a very  beautiful  picture  of  a lovely  woman. 

Sir  Thomas  Birch  proposed  to  go  with  us  and  get  us 
admittance  into  Knowsley  Park,  where  we  could  not 
possibly  find  entrance  without  his  aid.  So  we  went  to 
the  stables,  where  the  old  groom  had  already  shown 


LIVERPOOL. 


77 


1864.] 

hospitality  to  oar  cabman,  by  giving  his  horse  some 
provender,  and  himself  some  beer.  There  seemed  to  be 
a kindly  and  familiar  sort  of  intercourse  between  the 
old  servant  and  the  Baronet, — each  of  them,  I presume, 
looking  on  their  connection  as  indissoluble. 

The  gate- warden  of  Knowsley  Park  was  an  old 
woman,  who  readily  gave  us  admittance  at  Sir  Thomas 
Birch’s  request.  The  family  of  the  Earl  of  Derby  is 

not  now  at  the  Park It  was  a very  bad  time 

of  year  to  see  it ; the  trees  just  showing  the  earliest 
symptoms  of  vitality,  while  whole  acres  of  ground  were 
covered  with  large,  dry,  brown  ferns,  — which  I sup- 
pose are  very  beautiful  when  green.  Two  or  three 
hares  scampered  out  of  these  ferns,  and  sat  on  their 
hind  legs  looking  about  them,  as  we  drove  by.  A sheet 
of  water  had  been  drawn  off,  in  order  to  deepen  its  bed. 
The  oaks  did  not  seem  to  me  so  magnificent  as  they 
should  be  in  an  ancient  noble  property  like  this.  A 
century  does  not  accomplish  so  much  for  a tree,  in  this 
slow  region,  as  it  does  in  ours.  I think,  however,  that 
they  were  more  individual  and  picturesque,  with  more 
character  in  their  contorted  trunks ; therein  somewhat 
resembling  apple-trees.  Our  forest-trees  have  a great 
sameness  of  character,  like  our  people,  — because  one 
and  the  other  grow  too  closely. 

In  one  part  of  the  Park  we  came  to  a small  tower, 
for  what  purpose  I know  not,  unless  as  an  observatory ; 
and  near  it  was  a marble  statue  on  a high  pedestal. 
The  statue  had  been  long  exposed  to  the  weather,  and 
was  overgrown  and  ingrained  with  moss  and  lichens,  so 
that  its  classic  beauty  was  in  some  sort  gothicized.  A 
half-mile  or  so  from  this  point,  we  saw  the  mansion  of 


78 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

Knowsley,  in  the  midst  of  a very  fine  prospect,  with  a 
tolerably  high  ridge  of  hills  in  the  distance.  The  house 
itself  is  exceedingly  vast,  a front  and  two  wings,  with 
suites  of  rooms,  I suppose,  interminable.  The  oldest 
part,  Sir  Thomas  Birch  told  us,  is  a tower  of  the  time 
of  Henry  VII.  Nevertheless,  the  effect  is  not  over- 
whelming, because  the  edifice  looks  low  in  proportion 
to  its  great  extent  over  the  ground;  and  besides,  a good 
deal  of  it  is  built  of  brick,  with  white  window-frames, 
so  that,  looking  at  separate  parts,  I might,  think  them 
American  structures,  without  the  smart  addition  of 
green  Venetian  blinds,  so  universal  with  us.  Portions, 
however,  were  built  of  red  freestone ; and  if  I had  looked 
at  it  longer,  no  doubt  I should  have  admired  it  more. 
We  merely  drove  round  it  from  the  rear  to  the  front.  It 
stands  in  my  memory  rather  like  a college  or  a hospital, 
than  as  the  ancestral  residence  of  a great  English  noble. 

We  left  the  Park  in  another  direction,  and  passed 
through  a part  of  Lord  Sefton’s  property,  by  a private 
road. 

By  the  by,  we  saw  half  a dozen  policemen,  in  their 
blue  coats  and  embroidered  collars,  after  entering 
Knowsley  Park  ; but  the  Earl’s  own  servants  would 
probably  have  supplied  their  place,  had  the  family  been 
at  home.  The  mansion  of  Croxteth,  the  seat  of  Lord 
Sefton,  stands  near  the  public  road,  and,  though  large, 
looked  of  rather  narrow  compass  after  Knowsley. 

The  rooks  were  talking  together  very  loquaciously 
in  the  high  tops  of  the  trees  near  Sir  Thomas  Birch’s 
house,  it  being  now  their  building-time.  It  was  a very 
pleasant  sound,  the  noise  being  comfortably  softened  by 


LIVERPOOL. 


79 


1854.] 

the  remote  height.  Sir  Thomas  said  that  more  than 
half  a century  ago  the  rooks  used  to  inhabit  another 
grove  of  lofty  trees,  close  in  front  of  the  house ; but  be- 
ing noisy,  and  not  altogether  cleanly  in  their  habits,  the 
ladies  of  the  family  grew  weary  of  them,  and  wished 
to  remove  them.  Accordingly,  the  colony  was  driven 
away,  and  made  their  present  settlement  in  a grove  be- 
hind the  house.  Ever  since  that  time  not  a rook  has 
built  in  the  ancient  grove  ; every  year,  however,  one  or 
another  pair  of  young  rooks  attempt  to  build  among 
the  deserted  tree-tops,  but  the  old  rooks  tear  the  new 
nest  to  pieces  as  often  as  it  is  put  together.  Thus, 
either  the  memory  of  aged  individual  rooks  or  an  authen- 
ticated tradition  in  their  society  has  preserved  the  idea 
that  the  old  grove  is  forbidden  and  inauspicious  to  them. 

A son  of  General  Arnold,  named  William  Fitch  Ar- 
nold, and  born  in  1794,  now  possesses  the  estate  of  Lit- 
tle Messenden  Abbey,  Bucks  County,  and  is  a magis- 
trate for  that  county.  He  was  formerly  Captain  of  the 
19th  Lancers.  He  has  now  two  sons  and  four  daugh- 
ters. The  other  three  sons  of  General  Arnold,  all  old- 
er than  this  one,  and  all  military  men,  do  not  appear  to 
have  left  children ; but  a daughter  married  to  Colonel 
Phipps,  of  the  Mulgrave  family,  has  a son  and  two 
daughters.  I question  whether  any  of  our  true-hearted 
revolutionary  heroes  have  left  a more  prosperous  proge- 
ny than  this  arch-traitor.  I should  like  to  know  their 
feelings  with  respect  to  their  ancestor. 

April  3d.  — I walked  with  J . two  days  ago,  to 

Eastham,  a village  on  the  road  to  Chester,  and  five  or  six 


80 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

miles  from  Rock  Ferry.  On  our  way  we  passed  through 
a village,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a small  stone  pillar, 
standing  on  a pedestal  of  several  steps,  on  which  chil- 
dren were  sitting  and  playing.  I take  it  to  have  been 
an  old  Catholic  cross ; at  least,  I know  not  what  else  it  is. 
It  seemed  very  ancient.  Eastham  is  the  finest  old 
English  village  I have  seen,  with  many  antique  houses, 
and  with  altogether  a rural  and  picturesque  aspect,  un- 
like anything  in  America,  and  yet  possessing  a familiar 
look,  as  if  it  were  something  I had  dreamed  about. 
There  were  thatched  stone  cottages  intermixed  with 
houses  of  a better  kind,  and  likewise  a gateway  and  grav- 
elled walk,  that  perhaps  gave  admittance  to  the  Squire’s 
mansion.  It  was  not  merely  one  long,  wide  street,  as 
in  most  New  England  villages,  but  there  were  several 
crooked  ways,  gathering  the  whole  settlement  into  a 
pretty  small  compass.  In  the  midst  of  it  stood  a ven- 
erable church  of  the  common  red  freestone,  with  a most 
reverend  air,  considerably  smaller  than  that  of  Bebbing- 
ton,  but  more  beautiful,  and  looking  quite  as  old. 
There  was  ivy  on  its  spire  and  elsewhere.  It  looked 
very  quiet  and  peaceful,  and  as  if  it  had  received  the 
people  into  its  low  arched  door  every  Sabbath  for 
many  centuries.  There  were  many  tombstones  about  it, 
some  level  with  the  ground,  some  raised  on  blocks  of 
stone,  on  low  pillars,  moss-grown  and  weather-worn ; 
and  probably  these  were  but  the  successors  of  other 
stones  that  had  quite  crumbled  away,  or  been  buried  by 
the  accumulation  of  dead  men’s  dust  above  them.  In 
the  centre  of  the  churchyard  stood  an  old  yew-tree, 
with  immense  trunk,  which  was  all  decayed  within,  so 
that  it  is  a wonder  how  the  tree  retains  any  life,  — which, 


LIVERPOOL. 


81 


1854.] 

nevertheless,  it  does.  It  was  called  “the  old  Yew  of 
Eastham  ” six  hundred  years  ago ! 

After  passing  through  the  churchyard,  we  saw  the 
village  inn  on  the  other  side.  The  doors  were  fastened, 
but  a girl  peeped  out  of  the  window  at  us,  and  let  us  in, 
ushering  us  into  a very  neat  parlor.  There  was  a 
cheerful  fire  in  the  grate,  a straw  carpet  on  the  floor,  a 
mahogany  sideboard,  and  a mahogany  table  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  ; and,  on  the  walls,  the  portraits  of 
mine  host  (no  doubt)  and  of  his  wife  and  daughters,  — 
a very  nice  parlor,  and  looking  like  what  I might  have 
found  in  a country  tavern  at  home,  only  this  was  an 
ancient  house,  and  there  is  nothing  at  home  like  the 
glimpse,  from  the  window,  of  the  church,  and  its  red,  ivy- 
grown  tower.  I ordered  some  lunch,  being  waited  on 
by  the  girl,  who  was  very  neat,  intelligent,  and  comely,  — 
and  more  respectful  than  a New  England  maid.  As 
we  came  out  of  the  inn,  some  village  urchins  left  their 
play,  and  ran  to  me  begging,  calling  me  “ Master ! ” 
They  turned  at  once  from  play  to  begging,  and,  as  I 
gave  them  nothing,  they  turned  to  their  play  again. 

This  village  is  too  far  from  Liverpool  to  have  been 
much  injured  as  yet  by  the  novelty  of  cockney  resi- 
dences, which  have  grown  up  almost  everywhere  else, 
so  far  as  I have  visited.  About  a mile  from  it,  how- 
ever, is  the  landing-place  of  a steamer  (which  runs  regu- 
larly, except  in  the  winter  months),  where  a large,  new 
hotel  is  built.  The  grounds  about  it  are  extensive  and 
well  wooded.  We  got  some  biscuits  at  the  hotel,  and 
I gave  the  waiter  (a  splendid  gentleman  in  black)  four 
halfpence,  being  the  surplus  of  a shilling.  He  bowed 
and  thanked  me  very  humbly.  An  American  does  not 

4* 


F 


82 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


easily  bring  his  mind  to  the  small  measure  of  English 
liberality  to  servants ; if  anything  is  to  be  given,  we  are 
ashamed  not  to  give  more,  especially  to  clerical-looking 
persons,  in  black  suits  and  white  neckcloths. 

I stood  on  the  Exchange  at  noon,  to-day,  to  see  the 
18th  Regiment,  the  Connaught  Rangers,  marching  down 
to  embark  for  the  East.  They  were  a body  of  young, 
healthy,  and  cheerful-looking  men,  and  looked  greatly 
better  than  the  dirty  crowd  that  thronged  to  gaze  at 
them.  The  royal  banner  of  England,  quartering  the 
lion,  the  leopard,  and  the  harp,  waved  on  the  town-house, 
and  looked  gorgeous  and  venerable.  Here  and  there 
a woman  exchanged  greetings  with  an  individual  soldier, 
as  he  marched  along,  and  gentlemen  shook  hands  with 
officers  with  whom  they  happened  to  be  acquainted. 
Being  a stranger  in  the  land,  it  seemed  as  if  I could  see 
the  future  in  the  present  better  than  if  I had  been  an 
Englishman  ; so  I questioned  with  myself  how  many  of 
these  ruddy-cheeked  young  fellows,  marching  so  stoutly 
away,  would  ever  tread  English  ground  again.  The 
populace  did  not  evince  any  enthusiasm,  yet  there  could 
not  possibly  be  a war  to  which  the  country  could  assent 
more  fully  than  to  this.  I somewhat  doubt  whether  the 
English  populace  really  feels  a vital  interest  in  the  nation. 

Some  years  ago,  a piece  of  rude  marble  sculpture, 
representing  St.  George  and  the  dragon,  was  found  over 
the  fireplace  of  a cottage  near  Rock  Ferry,  on  the  road 
to  Chester.  It  was  plastered  over  with  pipe-clay,  and 
its  existence  was  unknown  to  the  cottagers  until  a lady 
noticed  the  projection  and  asked  what  it  was.  It  was 


LIVERPOOL. 


83 


1654.] 

supposed  to  have  originally  adorned  the  walls  of  the 
Priory  at  Birkenhead.  It  measured  fourteen  and  a half 
by  nine  inches,  in  which  space  were  the  heads  of  a king 
and  queen,  with  uplifted  hands,  in  prayer  ; their  daugh- 
ters also  in  prayer,  and  looking  very  grim  ; a lamb,  the 
slain  dragon,  and  St.  George,  proudly  prancing  on  what 
looks  like  a donkey,  brandishing  a sword  over  his  head. 

The  following  is  a legend  inscribed  on  the  inner  mar- 
gin of  a curious  old  box  : — 

“ From  Birkenhead  into  Hilbree 
A squirrel  might  leap  from  tree  to  tree.” 

I do  not  know  where  Hilbree  is ; but  all  round  Bir- 
kenhead a squirrel  would  scarcely  find  a single  tree  to 
climb  upon.  All  is  pavement  and  brick  buildings  now. 

Good  Friday . — The  English  and  Irish  think  it  good 
to  plant  on  this  day,  because  it  was  the  day  when  our 
Saviour’s  body  was  laid  in  the  grave.  Seeds,  therefore, 
are  certain  to  rise  again. 

At  dinner  the  other  day,  Mrs. mentioned  the 

origin  of  Franklin’s  adoption  of  the  customary  civil 
dress,  when  going  to  court  as  a diplomatist.  It  was 
simply  that  his  tailor  had  disappointed  him  of  his  court 
suit,  and  he  wore  his  plain  one  with  great  reluctance, 
because  he  had  no  other.  Afterwards,  gaining  great 
success  and  praise  by  his  mishap,  he  continued  to  wear 
it  from  policy. 

The  grandmother  of  Mrs.  — — died  fifty  years  ago, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-eight.  She  had  great  personal 


84 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


charms,  and  among  them  a head  of  beautiful  chestnut 
hair.  After  her  burial  in  a family  tomb,  the  coffin  of 
one  of  her  children  was  laid  on  her  own,  so  that  the  lid 
seems  to  have  decayed,  or  been  broken  from  this  cause ; 
at  any  rate,  this  was  the  case  when  the  tomb  was 
opened,  about  a year  ago.  The  grandmother’s  coffin 
was  then  found  to  be  filled  with  beautiful,  glossy,  living 
chestnut  ringlets,  into  which  her  whole  substance  seems 
to  have  been  transformed,  for  there  was  nothing  else  but 
these  shining  curls,  the  growth  of’  half  a century  in  the 
tomb.  An  old  man,  with  a ringlet  of  his  youthful  mis- 
tress treasured  on  his  heart,  might  be  supposed  to  wit- 
ness this  wonderful  thing. 

Madam  — — , who  is  now  at  my  house,  and  very 
infirm,  though  not  old,  was  once  carried  to  the  grave, 
and  on  the  point  of  being  buried.  It  was  in  Barbary, 
where  her  husband  was  Consul-General.  He  was 
greatly  attached  to  her,  and  told  the  pall-bearers  at  the 
grave  that  he  must  see  her  once  more.  When  her  face 
was  uncovered,  he  thought  he  discerned  signs  of  life,  and 
felt  a warmth.  Finally  she  revived,  and  for  many 
years  afterwards  supposed  the  funeral  procession  to 
have  been  a dream ; she  having  been  partially  con- 
scious throughout,  and  having  felt  the  wind  blowing  on 
her,  and  lifting  the  shroud  from  her  feet,  — for  I pre- 
sume she  was  to  be  buried  in  oriental  style,  without  a 
coffin.  Long  after,  in  London,  when  she  was  speaking 
of  this  dream,  her  husband  told  her  the  facts,  and  she 
fainted  away.  Whenever  it  is  now  mentioned,  her  face 
turns  white.  Mr.  , her  son,  was  born  on  ship- 

board, on  the  coast  of  Spain,  and  claims  four  nationalities, 


LIVERPOOL. 


85 


1854.J 

— those  of  Spain,  England,  Ireland,  and  the  United 
States  ; his  father  being  Irish,  his  mother  a native  of 
England,  himself  a naturalized  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  and  his  father  having  registered  his  birth  and 
baptism  in  a Catholic  church  of  Gibraltar,  which  gives 
him  Spanish  privileges.  He  has  hereditary  claims  to 
a Spanish  countship.  His  infancy  was  spent  in  Bar- 
bary, and  his  lips  first  lisped  in  Arabic.  There  has 
been  an  unsettled  and  wandering  character  in  his  whole 
Jife, 

The  grandfather  of  Madam , who  was  a British 

officer,  once  horsewhipped  Paul  Jones, — -Jones  being  a 
poltroon.  How  singular  it  is  that  the  personal  courage 
of  famous  warriors  should  be  so  often  called  in  question  ! 

May  20 th.  — I went  yesterday  to  a hospital  to  take 
the  oath  of  a mate  to  a protest.  He  had  met  with  a 
severe  accident  by  a fall  on  shipboard.  The  hospital  is 
a large  edifice  of  red  freestone,  with  wide,  airy  passages, 
resounding  with  footsteps  passing  through  them.  A 
porter  was  waiting  in  the  vestibule.  Mr.  Wilding  and 
myself  were  shown  to  the  parlor,  in  the  first  instance,  — 
a neat,  plainly  furnished  room,  with  newspapers  and 
pamphlets  lying  on  the  table  and  sofas.  Soon  the  sur- 
geon of  the  house  came,  — a brisk,  alacritous,  civil,  cheer- 
ful young  man,  by  whom  we  were  shown  to  the  apart- 
ment where  the  mate  was  lying.  As  we  went  through 
the  principal  passage,  a man  was  borne  along  in  a chair, 
looking  very  pale,  rather  wild,  and  altogether  as  if  he 
had  just  been  through  great  tribulation,  and  hardly 
knew  as  yet  whereabouts  he  was.  I noticed  that  his 
left  arm  was  but  a stump,  and  seemed  done  up  in  red 


86 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

baize,  — at  all  events  it  was  of  a scarlet  hue.  The  sur« 
geon  shook  his  right  hand  cheerily,  and  he  was  carried 
on.  This  was  a patient  who  had  just  had  his  arm  cut 
off.  He  had  been  a rough  person  apparently,  but  now 
there  was  a kind  of  tenderness  about  him,  through  pain 
and  helplessness. 

In  the  chamber  where  the  mate  lay,  there  were  seven 
beds,  all  of  them  occupied  by  persons  who  had  met  with 
accidents.  Jn  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a stationary 
pine  table,  about  the  length  of  a man,  intended,  I sup- 
pose, to  stretch  patients  upon  for  necessary  operations. 
The  furniture  of  the  beds  was  plain  and  homely.  I 
thought  that  the  faces  of  the  patients  all  looked  remark- 
ably intelligent,  though  they  were  evidently  men  of  the 
lower  classes.  Suffering  had  educated  them  morally 
and  intellectually.  They  gazed  curiously  at  Mr.  Wild- 
ing and  me,  but  nobody  said  a word.  In  the  bed  next 
to  the  mate  lay  a little  boy  with  a broken  thigh.  The 
surgeon  observed  that  children  generally  did  well  with 
accidents  ; and  this  boy  certainly  looked  very  bright 
and  cheerful.  There  was  nothing  particularly  interest- 
ing about  the  mate. 

After  finishing  our  business,  the  surgeon  showed  us 
into  another  room  of  the  surgical  ward,  likewise  devoted 
to  cases  of  accident  and  injury.  All  the  beds  were 
occupied,  and  in  two  of  them  lay  two  American  sail- 
ors who  had  recently  been  stabbed.  They  had  been  se- 
verely hurt,  but  were  doing  very  well.  The^  surgeon 
thought  that  it  was  a good  arrangement  to  have  several 
cases  together,  and  that  the  patients  kept  up  one  an- 
other’s spirits,  — being  often  merry  together.  Smiles 
and  laughter  may  operate  favorably  enough  from  bed 


LIVERPOOL. 


8? 


1854.] 


to  bed  ; but  dying  groans,  I should  think,  must  be  some* 
what  of  a discouragement.  Nevertheless,  the  previous 
habits  and  modes  of  life  of  such  people  as  compose  the 
more  numerous  class  of  patients  in  a hospital  must  be 
considered  before  deciding  this  matter.  It  is  very  pos- 
sible that  their  misery  likes  such  bedfellows  as  it  here 
finds. 

As  we  were  taking  our  leave,  the  surgeon  asked  us 
if  we  should  not  like  to  see  the  operating-room;  and 
before  we  could  reply  he  threw  open  a door,  and  be- 
hold, there  was  a roll  of  linen  “ garments  rolled  in 
blood,”  — and  a bloody  fragment  of  a human  arm ! 
The  surgeon  glanced  at  me,  and  smiled  kindly,  but  as 
if  pitying  my  discomposure. 


Gervase  Elwes,  son  of  Sir  Gervase  Elwes,  Baronet, 
of  Stoke,  Suffolk,  married  Isabella,  daughter  of  Sir 
Thomas  Hervey,  Knight,  and  sister  of  the  first  Earl  of 
Bristol.  This  Gervase  died  before  liis  father,  but  left 
a son,  Henry,  who  succeeded  to  the  Baronetcy.  Sir 
Henry  died  without  issue,  and  was  succeeded  by  his 
sister’s  son,  John  Maggott  Twining,  who  assumed  the 
name  of  Elwes.  He  was  the  famous  miser,  and  must 
have  had  Hawthorne  blood  in  him,  through  his  grand- 
father, Gervase,  whose  mother  was  a Hawthorne.  It 
was  to  this  Gervase  that  my  ancestor,  William  Haw- 
thorne, devised  some  land  in  Massachusetts,  “ if  he 
would  come  over,  and  enjoy  it.”  My  ancestor  calls  him 
his  nephew. 


June  \2th.  — Barry  Cornwall,  Mr.  Procter,  called 
on  me  a week  or  more  ago,  but  I happened  not  to 


88 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


be  in  the  office.  Saturday  last  he  called  again,  and 
as  I had  crossed  to  Rock  Park  he  followed  me  thither. 
A plain,  middle-sized,  English-looking  gentleman,  el- 
derly, with  short  white  hair,  and  particularly  quiet  in 
his  manners.  He  talks  in  a somewhat  low  tone  without 

emphasis,  scarcely  distinct His  head  has  a good 

outline,  and  would  look  well  in  marble.  I liked  him 
Very  well.  He  talked  unaffectedly,  showing  an  author’s 
regard  to  his  reputation,  and  was  evidently  pleased  to 
hear  of  his  American  celebrity.  He  said  that  in  his 
younger  days  he  was  a scientific  pugilist,  and  once  took 
a journey  to  have  a sparring  encounter  with  the  Game- 
Chicken.  Certainly,  no  one  would  have  looked  for  a 
pugilist  in  this  subdued  old  gentleman.  He  is  now 
Commissioner  of  Lunacy,  and  makes  periodical  circuits 
through  the  country,  attending  to  the  business  of  his 
office.  He  is  slightly  deaf,  and  this  may  be  the  cause 
of  his  unaccented  utterance,  — owing  to  his  not  being 

able  to  regulate  his  voice  exactly  by  his  own  ear 

He  is  a good  man,  and  much  better  expressed  by  his 
real  name,  Procter,  than  by  his  poetical  one,  Barry 

Cornwall He  took  my  hand  in  both  of  his  at 

parting 


June  Ylth . — At  eleven,  at  this  season  (and  how 
much  longer  I know  not),  there  is  still  a twilight.  If 
we  could  only  have  such  dry,  deliciously  warm  evenings 
as  we  used  to  have  in  our  own  land,  what  enjoyment 
there  might  be  in  these  interminable  twilights ! But 
here  we  close  the  window-shutters,  and  make  ourselves 
cosey  by  a coal  fire. 

All  three  of  the  children,  and,  I think,  my  wife  and 


LIVERPOOL. 


89 


1854.] 

myself,  are  going  through  the  hooping-cough.  The 
east  wind  of  this  season  and  region  is  most  horrible. 
There  have  been  no  really  warm  days ; for  though 
the  sunshine  is  sometimes  hot,  there  is  never  any  dif- 
fused heat  throughout  the  air.  On  passing  from  the 
sunshine  into  the  shade,  we  immediately  feel  too  cool. 

June  20 th.  — The  vagabond  musicians  about  town  are 
very  numerous.  On  board  the  steam  ferry-boats,  I have 
heretofore  spoken  of  them.  They  infest  them  from 
May  to  November,  for  very  little  gain  apparently.  A 
shilling  a day  per  man  must  be  the  utmost  of  their 
emolument.  It  is  rather  sad  to  see  somewhat  respect- 
able old  men  engaged  in  this  way,  with  two  or  three 
younger  associates.  Their  instruments  look  much  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  even  my  unmusical  ear  can  dis- 
tinguish more  discord  than  harmony.  They  appear  to 
be  a very  quiet  and  harmless  people.  Sometimes  there 
is  a woman  playing  on  a fiddle,  while  her  husband 
blows  a wind  instrument.  In  the  streets  it  is  not  un- 
usual to  find  a band  of  half  a dozen  performers,  who, 
without  any  provocation  or  reason  whatever,  sound 
their  brazen  instruments  till  the  houses  re-echo.  Some- 
times one  passes  a man  who  stands  whistling  a tune 
most  unweariably,  though  I never  saw  anybody  give 
him  anything.  The  ballad-singers  are  the  strangest, 
from  the  total  lack  of  any  music  in  their  cracked  voices. 
Sometimes  you  see  a space  cleared  in  the  street,  and 
a foreigner  playing,  while  a girl  — weather-beaten, 
tanned,  and  wholly  uncomely  in  face  and  shabby  in 
attire  — dances  ballets.  The  common  people  look  on, 
and  never  criticise'  or  treat  any  of  these  poor  devils  un- 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


90 


[1854. 


kindly  or  uncivilly ; but  I do  not  observe  that  they  give 
them  anything. 

A crowd  — or,  at  all  events,  a moderate-sized  group 
— is  much  more  easily  drawn  together  here  than  with 
us.  The  people  have  a good  deal  of  idle  and  momen- 
tary curiosity,  and  are  always  ready  to  stop  when 
another  person  has  stopped,  so  as  to  see  what  has  at- 
tracted his  attention.  I hardly  ever  pause  to  look  at  a 
shop-window,  without  being  immediately  incommoded 
by  boys  and  men,  who  stop  likewise,  and  would  forth- 
with throng  the  pavement  if  I did  not  move  on. 

June  30 th.  — If  it  is  not  known  how  and  when  a 
man  dies,  it  makes  a ghost  of  him  for  many  years  there- 
after, perhaps  for  centuries.  King  Arthur  is  an  ex- 
ample ; also  the  Emperor  Frederic,  and  other  famous 
men,  who  were  thought  to  be  alive  ages  after  their 
disappearance.  So  with  private  individuals.  I had  an 
uncle  John,  who  went  a voyage  to  sea  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war  of  1812,  and  has  never  returned  to 
this  hour.  But  as  long  as  his  mother  lived,  as  many 
as  twenty  years,  she  never  gave  up  the  hope  of  his  re- 
turn, and  was  constantly  hearing  stories  of  persons 
whose  description  answered  to  his.  Some  people  act- 
ually affirmed  that  they  had  seen  him  in  various  parts 
of  the  world.  Thus,  so  far  as  her  belief  was  concerned, 
he  still  walked  the  earth.  And.  even  to  this  day  I 
never  see  his  name,  which  is  no  very  uncommon  one, 
without  thinking  that  this  may  be  the  lost  uncle. 

Thus,  too,  the  French  Dauphin  still  exists,  or  a kind 
of  ghost  of  him ; the  three  Tells,  too,  in  the  cavern 
of  Uri. 


NORTH  WALES. 


91 


1854.] 

July  6 th.  — Mr.  Cecil,  the  other  day,  was  saying 
that  England  could  produce  as  fine  peaches  as  any 
other  country.  I asked  what  was  the  particular  excel- 
lence of  a peach,  and  he  answered,  “ Its  cooling  and 
refreshing  quality,  like  that  of  a melon  ! ” Just  think 
of  this  idea  of  the  richest,  most  luscious,  of  all  fruits  ! But 
the  untravelled  Englishman  has  no  more  idea  of  what 
fruit  is  than  of  what  sunshine  is  ; he  thinks  he  has 
tasted  the  first  and  felt  the  last,  but  they  are  both  alike 
watery.  I heard  a lady  in  Lord  Street  talking  about 
the  “ broiling  sun,”  when  I was  almost  in  a shiver. 
They  keep  up  their  animal  heat  by  means  of  wine  and 
ale,  else  they  could  not  bear  this  climate. 

July  19 th. — A week  ago  I made  a little  tour  in 
North  Wales  with  Mr.  Bright.  We  left  Birkenhead 
by  railway  for  Chester  at  two  o’clock ; thence  for  Ban- 
gor ; thence  by  carriage  over  the  Menai  bridge  to 
Beaumaris.  At  Beaumaris,  a fine  old  castle,  — quite 
coming  up  to  my  idea  of  what  an  old  castle  should  be. 
A gray,  ivy-hung  exterior  wall,  with  large  round 
towers  at  intervals ; within  this  another  wall,  the  place 
of  the  portcullis  between  ; and  again,  within  the  second 
wall  the  castle  itself,  with  a spacious  green  court-yard 
in  front.  The  outer  wall  is  so  thick  that  a passage  runs 
in  it  all  round  the  castle,  which  covers  a space  of  three 
acres.  This  passage  gives  access  to  a chapel,  still  very 
perfect,  and  to  various  apartments  in  the  towers,  — all 
exceedingly  dismal,  and  giving  very  unpleasant  im- 
pressions of  the  way  in  which  the  garrison  of  the  castle 
lived.  The  main  castle  is  entirely  roofless,  but  the  hall 
and  other  rooms  are  pointed  out  by  the  guide,  and 


92 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

the  whole  is  tapestried  with  abundant  ivy,  so  that  my 
impression  is  of  gray  walls,  with  here  and  there  a vast 
green  curtain  ; a carpet  of  green  over  the  floors  of  halls 
and  apartments ; and  festoons  around  all  the  outer  battle- 
ment, with  an  uneven  and  rather  perilous  footpath  run- 
ning along  the  top.  There  is  a fine  vista  through  the  cas- 
tle itself,  and  the  two  gateways  of  the  two  encompassing 
walls.  The  passage  within  the  wall  is  very  rude,  both 
underfoot  and  on  each  side,  with  various  ascents  and 
descents  of  rough  steps,  — sometimes  so  low  that  your 
head  is  in  danger ; and  dark,  except  where  a little  light 
comes  through  a loop-hole  or  window  in  the  thickness  of 
the  wall.  In  front  of  the  castle  a tennis-court  was  fitted 
up,  by  laying  a smooth  pavement  on  the  ground,  and 
casing  the  walls  with  tin  or  zinc,  if  I recollect  aright. 
All  this  was  open  to  the  sky;  and  when  we  were  there, 
some  young  men  of  the  town  were  playing  at  the  game. 
There  are  but  very  few  of  these  tennis-courts  in  Eng- 
land ; and  this  old  castle  was  a very  strange  place  for 
one. 

The  castle  is  the  property  of  Sir  Richard  Bulkely, 
whose  seat  is  in  the  vicinity,  and  who  owns  a great  part 
of  the  island  of  Anglesea,  on  which  Beaumaris  lies. 
The  hotel  where  we  stopped  was  the  Bulkely  Arms, 
and  Sir  Richard  has  a kind  of  feudal  influence  in  the 
town. 

In  the  morning  we  walked  along  a delightful  road, 
bordering  on  the  Menai  Straits,  to  Bangor  Ferry.  It 
was  really  a very  pleasant  road,  overhung  by  a growth 
of  young  wood,  exceedingly  green  and  fresh.  English 
trees  are  green  all  about  their  stems,  owing  to  the 
creeping  plants  that  overrun  them.  There  were  some 


1854.] 


NORTH  WALES. 


93 


flowers  in  the  hedges,  such  as  we  cultivate  in  gardens. 
At  the  ferry,  there  was  a whitewashed  cottage ; a wo- 
man or  two,  some  children,  and  a fisherman-like  person- 
age, walking  to  and  fro  before  the  door.  The  scenery 
of  the  strait  is  very  beautiful  and  picturesque,  and  di- 
rectly opposite  to  us  lay  Bangor,  — the  strait  being  here 
almost  a mile  across.  An  American  ship  from  Boston 
lay  in  the  middle  of  it.  The  ferry-boat  was  just  putting 
off  from  the  Bangor  side,  and,  by  the  aid  of  a sail,  soon 
neared  the  shore. 

At  Bangor  we  went  to  a handsome  hotel,  and  hired 
a carriage  and  two  horses  for  some  Welsh  place,  the 
name  of  which  I forget ; neither  can  I remember  a single 
name  of  the  places  through  which  we  posted  that  day, 
nor  could  I spell  them  if  I heard  them  pronounced,  nor 
pronounce  them  if  I saw  them  spelt.  It  was  a circuit 
of  about  forty  miles,  bringing  us  to  Conway  at  last.  I 
remember  a great  slate-quarry ; and  also  that  many  of 
the  cottages,  in  the  first  part  of  our  drive,  were  built  of 
blocks  of  slate.  The  mountains  were  very  bold,  thrust* 
ing  themselves  up  abruptly  in  peaks,  — not  of  the  dump- 
ling formation,  which  is  somewhat  too  prevalent  among 
the  New  England  mountains.  At  one  point  we  saw 
Snowdon,  with  its  bifold  summit.  We  also  visited 
the  smaller  waterfall  (this  is  a translation  of  an  unpro- 
nounceable Welsh  name),  which  is  the  largest  in  Wales. 
It  was  a very  beautiful  rapid,  and  the  guide-book  con- 
siders it  equal  in  sublimity  to  Niagara.  Likewise  there 
were  one  or  two  lakes  which  the  guide-book  greatly 
admired,  but  which  to  me,  who  remembered  a hundred 
sheets  of  blue  water  in  New  England,  seemed  nothing 
more  than  sullen  and  dreary  puddles,  with  bare  banks* 


94  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

and  wholly  destitute  of  beauty.  I think  they  were 
nowhere  more  than  a hundred  yards  across.  But  the 
hills  were  certainly  very  good,  and,  though  generally 
bare  of  trees,  their  outlines  thereby  were  rendered  the 
stronger  and  more  striking. 

Many  of  the  Welsh  women,  particularly  the  elder  ones, 
wear  black  beaver  hats,  high-crowned,  and  almost  pre- 
cisely like  men’s.  It  makes  them  look  ugly  and  witch - 
like.  Welsh  is  still  the  prevalent  language,  and  the 
only  one  spoken  by  a great  many  of  the  inhabitants.  I 
have  had  Welsh  people  in  my  office,  on  official  business, 
with  whom  I could  not  communicate  except  through  an 
interpreter. 

At  some  unutterable  village  we  went  into  a little 
church,  where  we  saw  an  old  stone  image  of  a warrior, 
lying  on  his  back,  with  his  hands  clasped.  It  was  the 
natural  son  (if  I remember  rightly)  of  David,  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  was  doubtless  the  better  part  of  a thousand 
years  old.  There  was  likewise  a stone  coffin  of  still 
greater  age ; some  person  of  rank  and  renown  had 
mouldered  to  dust  within  it,  but  it  was  now  open  and 
empty.  Also,  there  were  monumental  brasses  on  the 
walls,  engraved  with  portraits  of  a gentleman  and  lady 
in  the  costumes  of  Elizabeths  time.  Also,  on  one  of  the 
pews,  a brass  record  of  some  persons  who  slept  in  the 
vault  beneath;  so  that,  every  Sunday,  the  survivors 
and  descendants  kneel  and  worship  directly  over  their 
dead  ancestors.  In  the  churchyard,  on  a flat  tombstone, 
there  was  the  representation  of  a harp.  I supposed  that 
it  must  be  the  resting-place  of  a bard ; but  the  inscrip- 
tion was  in  memory  of  a merchant,  and  a skilful  manu- 
facturer of  harps. 


LIVERPOOL. 


95 


[854.] 


This  was  a very  delightful  town.  We  saw  a great 
many  things  which  it  is  now  too  late  to  describe,  the 
sharpness  of  the  first  impression  being  gone  ; but  I 
think  I can  produce  something  of  the  sentiment  of  it 
hereafter. 

We  arrived  at  Conway  late  in  the  afternoon,  to  take 
the  rail  for  Chester.  I must  see  Conway,  with  its  old 
gray  wall  and  its  unrivalled  castle,  again,  It  was  bet* 
ter  than  Beaumaris,  and  I never  saw  anything  more 
picturesque  than  the  prospect  from  the  castle  wall  to* 
wards  the  sea.  We  reached  Chester  at  10  p.  m,  The 
next  morning,  Mr.  Bright  left  for  Liverpool  before  I 
was  awake.  I visited  the  Cathedral,  where  the  organ  was 
sounding,  sauntered  through  the  Rows,  bought  some 
playthings  for  the  children,  and  left  for  home  soon  after 
twelve. 


Liverpool , August  8th . — Visiting  the  Zoological  Gar* 

dens  the  other  day  with  J it  occurred  to  me  what 

a fantastic  kind  of  life  a person  connected  with  them 
might  be  depicted  as  leading,  — a child,  for  instance. 
The  grounds  are  very  extensive,  and  include  arrange* 
ments  for  all  kinds  of  exhibitions  calculated  to  attract 
the  idle  people  of  a great  city.  In  one  enclosure  is  a 
bear,  who  climbs  a pole  to  get  cake  and  gingerbread 
from  the  spectators.  Elsewhere,  a circular  building, 
with  compartments  for  lions,  wolves,  and  tigers.  In 
another  part  of  the  garden  is  a colony  of  monkeys,  the 
skeleton  of  an  elephant,  birds  of  all  kinds.  Swans 
and  various  rare  water-fowl  were  swimming  on  a piece 
of  water,  which  was  green,  by  the  by,  and  when  the 
fowls  dived  they  stirred  up  black  mud.  A stork  was 


96 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

parading  along  the  margin,  with  melancholy  strides  of 
its  long  legs,  and  came  slowly  towards  us,  as  if  for  com- 
panionship. In  one  apartment  was  an  obstreperously 
noisy  society  of  parrots  and  macaws,  most  gorgeous  and 
diversified  of  hue.  These  different  colonies  of  birds  and 
beasts  were  scattered  about  in  various  parts  of  the 
grounds,  so  that  you  came  upon  them  unexpectedly. 
Also,  there  were  archery  and  shooting  grounds,  and  a 
swing.  A theatre,  also,  at  which  a rehearsal  was  going 
on,  — we  standing  at  one  of  the  doors,  and  looking  in 
towards  the  dusky  stage  where  the  company,  in  their 
ordinary  dresses,  were  rehearsing  something  that  had  a 
good  deal  of  dance  and  action  in  it.  In  the  open  air 
there  was  an  arrangement  of  painted  scenery  represent- 
ing a wide  expanse  of  mountains,  with  a city  at  their 
feet,  and  before  it  the  sea,  with  actual  water,  and  large 
vessels  upon  it,  the  vessels  having  only  the  side  that 
would  be  presented  to  the  spectator.  But  the  scenery 
was  so  good  that  at  a first  casual  glance  I almost  mis- 
took it  for  reality.  There  was  a refreshment-room, 
with  drinks  and  cakes  and  pastry,  but,  so  far  as  I saw, 
no  substantial  victual.  About  in  the  centre  of  the  gar- 
den there  was  an  actual,  homely-looking,  small  dwelling- 
house,  where  perhaps  the  overlookers  of  the  place  live. 
Now  this  might  be  wrought,  in  an  imaginative  descrip- 
tion, into  a pleasant  sort  of  a foofs  paradise,  where  all 
sorts  of  unreal  delights  should  cluster  round  some  suita- 
ble personage  ; and  it  would  relieve,  in  a very  odd  and 
effective  way,  the  stern  realities  of  life  on  the  outside 
of  the  garden  walls.  I saw  a little  girl,  simply  dressed, 
who  seemed  to  have  her  habitat  within  the  grounds. 
There  was  also  a daguerreotypist,  with  his  wife  and 


ISLE  OF  MAN. 


97 


1854.] 

family,  carrying  on  his  business  in  a shanty,  and  per- 
haps having  his  home  in  its  inner  room.  He  seemed 
to  be  an  honest,  intelligent,  pleasant  young  man,  and  his 
wife  a pleasant  woman ; and  I had  J 's  daguerreo- 

type taken  for  three  shillings,  in  a little  gilded  frame. 
In  the  description  of  the  garden,  the  velvet  turf,  of  a 
charming  verdure,  and  the  shrubbery  and  shadowy 
walks  and  large  trees,  and  the  slopes  and  inequalities 
of  ground,  must  not  be  forgotten.  In  one  place  there 
was  a maze  and  labyrinth,  where  a person  might  wander 
a long  while  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  get  out,  although 
all  the  time  looking  at  the  exterior  garden,  over  the  low 
hedges  that  border  the  walks  of  the  maze.  And  this  is 
like  the  inappreciable  difficulties  that  often  beset  us  in 
life. 

I will  see  it  again  before  long,  and  get  some  additional 
record  of  it. 

August  1 Oth. — We  went  to  the  Isle  of  Man  a few 
weeks  ago,  where  S and  the  children  spent  a fort- 

night. I spent  two  Sundays  with  them. 

I never  saw  anything  prettier  than  the  little  church 
of  Kirk  Madden  there.  It  stands  in  a perfect  seclusion 
of  shadowy  trees,  — a plain  little  church,  that  would  not 
be  at  all  remarkable  in  another  situation,  but  is  most 
picturesque  in  its  solitude,  and  bowery  environment. 
The  churchyard  is  quite  full  and  overflowing  with 
graves,  and  extends  down  the  gentle  slope  of  a hill, 
with  a dark  mass  of  shadow  above  it.  Some  of  the 
tombstones  are  flat  on  the  ground,  some  erect,  or  laid 
horizontally  on  low  pillars  or  masonry.  There  were 
no  very  old  dates  on  any  of  these  stones  ; for  the 

yol.  i.  5 Q 


98 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854, 

climate  soon  effaces  inscriptions,  and  makes  a 3tone  of 
fifty  years  look  as  old  as  one  of  five  hundred,  — unless 
it  be  slate,  or  something  harder  than  the  usual  red  free- 
stone, There  was  an  old  Runic  monument,  however, 
near  the  centre  of  the  churchyard,  that  had  some 
strange  sculpture  on  it,  and  an  inscription  still  legible 
by  persons  learned  in  such  matters.  Against  the  tower 
of  the  church,  too,  there  is  a circular  stone,  with  carving 
on  it,  said  to  be  of  immemorial  antiquity.  There  Is 
likewise  a tall  marble  monument,  as  much  as  fifty  feet 
high,  erected  some  years  ago  to  the  memory  of  one 
of  the  Athol  family  by  his  brother-officers  of  a local 
regiment  of  which  he  was  colonel.  At  one  of  the  side 
entrances  of  the  church,  and  forming  the  threshold 
within  the  thickness  of  the  wall,  so  that  the  feet  of  all 
who  enter  must  tread  on  it,  is  a flat  tombstone  of 
somebody  who  felt  himself  a sinner,  no  doubt,  and 
desired  to  be  thus  trampled  upon.  The  stone  is  much 
worn. 

The  structure  is  extremely  plain  inside  and  very 
small.  On  the  walls,  over  the  pews,  are  several  monu- 
mental sculptures,  — a quite  elaborate  one  to  a Colonel 
Murray,  of  the  Coldstream  Guards;  his  military  pro- 
fession being  designated  by  banners  and  swords  in  mar- 
ble. Another  was  to  a farmer. 

On  one  side  of  the  church  tower  there  was  a little 
penthouse,  or  lean-to,  — merely  a stone  roof,  about 
three  or  four  feet  high,  and  supported  by  a single  pillar, 
— beneath  which  was  once  deposited  the  bier. 

I have  let  too  much  time  pass  before  attempting  to 
record  my  impressions  of  the  Isle  of  Man  ; but,  as  re- 
gards this  church,  no  description  can  come  up  to  ita 


LIVERPOOL. 


99 


1354.] 

quiet  beauty,  its  seclusion,  and  its  every  requisite  for 
an  English  country  church. 

Last  Sunday  I went  to  Eastham,  and,  entering  the 
churchyard,  sat  down  on  a tombstone  under  the  yew- 
tree  which  has  been  known  for  centuries  as  the  Great 
Tree  of  Eastham.  Some  of  the  village  people  were 
sitting  on  the  graves  near  the  door  ; and  an  old  woman 
came  towards  me,  and  said,  in  a low,  kindly,  admonish- 
ing tone,  that  I must  not  let  the  sexton  see  me,  because 
he  would  not  allow  any  one  to  be  there  in  sacrament- 
time. I inquired  why  she  and  her  companions  were 
there,  and  she  said  they  were  waiting  for  the  sacrament. 
So  I thanked  her,  gave  her  a sixpence,  and  departed. 
Close  under  the  eaves,  I saw  two  upright  stones,  in 
memory  of  two  old  servants  of  the  Stanley  family,  — 
one  over  ninety,  and  the  other  over  eighty  years  of 
age. 

August  \2th.  — J and  I went  to  Birkenhead 

Park  yesterday.  There  is  a large  ornamental  gate- 
way to  the  Park,  and  the  grounds  within  are  neatly 
laid  out,  with  borders  of  shrubbery.  There  is  a sheet 
of  water,  with  swans  and  other  aquatic  fowl,  which 
swim  about,  and  are  fed  with  dainties  by  the  visitors. 
Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  a swan.  It  is  the 
ideal  of  a goose,  — a goose  beautified  and  beatified. 
There  were  not  a great  many  visitors,  but  some  chil- 
dren were  dancing  on  the  green,  and  a few  lover-like 
people  straying  about.  I think  the  English  behave  bet- 
ter than  the  Americans  at  similar  places. 

There  was  a camera-obscura , very  wretchedly  in- 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


100 


[1854, 


distinct.  At  the  refreshment-room  were  ginger  beer 
and  British  wines. 


August  2\st.  — I was  in  the  Crown  Court  on  Satur- 
day, sitting  in  the  sheriff’s  seat.  The  judge  was  Baron 

, an  old  gentleman  of  sixty,  with  very  large,  long 

features.  His  wig  helped  him  to  look  like  some  strange 
kind  of  animal,  — very  queer,  but  yet  with  a sagacious, 
and,  on  the  whole,  beneficent  aspect.  During  the  ses- 
sion some  mischievous  young  barrister  occupied  him- 
self with  sketching  the  judge  in  pencil;  and,  being 
handed  about,  it  found  its  way  to  me.  It  was  very  like 
and  very  laughable,  but  hardly  caricatured.  The  judi- 
cial wig  is  an  exceedingly  odd  affair ; and  as  it  covers 
both  ears,  it  would  seem  intended  to  prevent  his  Lord- 
ship,  and  justice  in  his  person,  from  hearing  any  of  the 
case  on  either  side,  that  thereby  he  may  decide  the 
better.  It  is  like  the  old  idea  of  blindfolding  the  statue 
of  Justice. 

It  seems  to  me  there  is  less  formality,  less  dis- 
tance between  the  judge,  jury,  witnesses,  and  bar,  in  the 
English  courts  than  in  our  own.  The  judge  takes  a 
very  active  part  in  the  trial,  constantly  asking  a ques- 
tion of  the  witness  on  the  stand,  making  remarks  on 
the  conduct  of  the  trial,  putting  in  his  word  on  all 
occasions,  and  allowing  his  own  sense  of  the  matter 
in  hand  to  be  pretty  plainly  seen ; so  that,  before  the 
trial  is  over,  and  long  before  his  own  charge  is  de- 
livered, he  must  have  exercised  a very  powerful  influ- 
ence over  the  minds  of  the  jury.  All  this  is  done,  not 
without  dignity,  yet  in  a familiar  kind  of  way.  It  is  a 
sort  of  paternal  supervision  of  the  whole  matter,  quite 


EATON  HALL. 


101 


Id54.j 


unlike  the  cold  awfulness  of  an  American  judge.  But 
all  this  may  be  owing  partly  to  the  personal  character, 

istics  of  Baron . It  appeared  to  me,  howevev, 

that,  from  the  closer  relations  of  all  parties,  truth  was 
likely  to  be  arrived  at  and  justice  to  be  done.  As  an 
innocent  man,  I should  not  be  afraid  to  be  tried  by 
Baron . 

EATON  HALL. 

August  24:th.  — I went  to  Eaton  Hall  yesterday 
with  my  wife  and  Mr.  G.  P.  Bradford,  via  Chester. 
On  our  way,  at  the  latter  place,  we  visited  St.  John’s 
Church.  It  is  built  of  the  same  red  freestone  as  the 
Cathedral,  and  looked  exceedingly  antique,  and  ven- 
erable ; this  kind  of  stone,  from  its  softness,  and  its 
liability  to  be  acted  upon  by  the  weather,  being  liable 
to  an  early  decay.  Nevertheless,  I believe  the  church 
was  built  above  a thousand  years  ago,  — some  parts 
of  it,  at  least,  — and  the  surface  of  the  tower  and 
walls  is  worn  away  and  hollowed  in  shallow  sweeps 
by  the  hand  of  Time.  There  were  broken  niches 
in  several  places,  where  statues  had  formerly  stood. 
All,  except  two  or  three,  had  fallen  or  crumbled 
away,  and  those  which  remained  were  much  damaged. 
The  face  and  details  of  the  figure  were  almost  obliter- 
ated. There  wrere  many  gravestones  round  the  church, 
but  none  of  them  of  any  antiquity.  Probably,  as  the 
names  become  indistinguishable  on  the  older  stones,  the 
graves  are  dug  over  again,  and  filled  with  new  occu- 
pants and  covered  with  new  stones,  or  perhaps  with  the 
old  ones  newly  inscribed. 

Closely  connected  with  the  church  was  the  clergy- 
man’s house,  a comfortable-looking  residence  ; and  like* 


102 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854 

wise  in  the  churchyard,  with  tombstones  all  about  it, 
even  almost  at  the  threshold,  so  that  the  doorstep  itself 
might  have  been  a tombstone,  was  another  house,  of 
respectable  size  and  aspect.  We  surmised  that  this 
might  be  the  sexton’s  dwelling,  but  it  proved  not  to  be 
so ; and  a woman,  answering  our  knock,  directed  us  to 
the  place  where  he  might  be  found.  So  Mr.  Bradford 

and  I went  in  search  of  him,  leaving  S seated  on 

a tombstone.  The  sexton  was  a jolly-looking,  ruddy- 
faced man,  a mechanic  of  some  sort,  apparently,  and  he 
followed  us  to  the  churchyard  with  much  alacrity.  We 

found  S standing  at  a gateway,  which  opened  into 

the  most  ancient,  and  now  quite  ruinous,  part  of  the 
church,  the  present  edifice  covering  much  less  ground 
than  it  did  some  centuries  ago.  We  went  through  this 
gateway,  and  found  ourselves  in  an  enclosure  of  vener- 
able walls,  open  to  the  sky,  with  old  Norman  arches 
standing  about,  beneath  the  loftiest  of  which  the  sexton 
told  us  the  high  altar  used  to  stand.  Of  course,  there 
were  weeds  and  ivy  growing  in  the  crevices,  but  not  so 
abundantly  as  I have  seen  them  elsewhere.  The 
sexton  pointed  out  a piece  of  a statue  that  had  once 
stood  in  one  of  the  niches,  and  which  he  himself,  I 
think,  had  dug  up  from  several  feet  below  the  earth  ; 
also,  in  a niche  of  the  walls,  high  above  our  heads,  he 
showed  us  an  ancient  wooden  coffin,  hewn  out  of  a 
solid  log  of  oak,  the  hollow  being  made  rudely  in  the 
shape  of  a human  figure.  This  too  had  been  dug  up, 
and  nobody  knew  how  old  it  was.  While  we  looked  at 
all  this  solemn  old  trumpery,  the  curate,  quite  a young 
man,  stood  at  the  back  door  of  his  house,  elevated  con- 
siderably above  the  ruins,  with  his  young  wife  (I  pre- 


EATON  HALL. 


103 


I 


1854.] 

sume)  and  a Triend  or  two,  chatting  cheerfully  among 
themselves.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  them  there.  After 
examining  the  ruins,  we  went  inside  of  the  church,  and 
found  it  a dim  and  dusky  old  place,  quite  paved  over 
with  tombstones,  not  an  inch  of  space  being  left  in  the 
aisles  or  near  the  altar,  or  in  any  nook  or  corner, 
uncovered  by  a tombstone.  There  were  also  mural 
monuments  and  escutcheons,  and  close  against  the  wall 
lay  the  mutilated  statue  of  a Crusader,  with  his  legs 
crossed,  in  the  style  which  one  has  so  often  read  about. 
The  old  fellow  seemed  to  have  been  represented  in 
chain  armor ; but  he  had  been  more  battered  and 
bruised  since  death  than  even  during  his  pugnacious 
life,  and  his  * nose  was  almost  knocked  away.  This 
figure  had  been  dug  up  many  years  ago,  and  nobody 
knows  whom  it  was  meant  to  commemorate. 

The  nave  of  the  church  is  supported  by  two  rows  of 
Saxon  pillars,  not  very  lofty,  but  six  feet  six  inches  (so 
the  sexton  says)  in  diameter.  They  are  covered  with 
plaster,  which  was  laid  on  ages  ago,  and  is  now  so  hard 
and  smooth  that  I took  the  pillars  to  be  really  composed 
of  solid  shafts  of  gray  stone.  But,  at  one  end  of  the 
church,  the  plaster  had  been  removed  from  two  of  the 
pillars,  in  order  to  discover  whether  they  were  still 
sound  enough  to  support  the  building  ; and  they  prove 
to  be  made  of  blocks  of  red  freestone,  just  as  sound  as 
when  it  came  from  the  quarry  ; for  though  this  stone  soon 
crumbles  in  the  open  air,  it  is  as  good  as  indestructible 
when  sheltered  from  the  weather.  It  looked  very 
strange  to  see  the  fresh  hue  of  these  two  pillars  amidst 
the  dingy  antiquity  of  the  rest  of  the  structure. 

The  body  of  the  church  is  covered  with  pews,  the 


104  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854 

wooden  enclosures  of  which  seemed  of  antique  fashion. 
There  were  also  modern  stoves ; but  the  sexton  said 
it  was  very  cold  there,  in  spite  of  the  stoves.  It  had,  I 
must  say,  a disagreeable  odor  pervading  it,  in  which 
the  dead  people  of  long  ago  had  doubtless  some  share, 
— a musty  odor,  by  no  means  amounting  to  a stench, 
but  unpleasant,  and,  I should  think,  unwholesome. 
Old  wood-work,  and  old  stones,  and  antiquity  of  all 
kinds,  moral  and  physical,  go  to  make  up  this  smell.  I 
observed  it  in  the  Cathedral,  and  Chester  generally  has 
it,  especially  under  the  Rows.  After  all,  the  necessary 
damp  and  lack  of  sunshine,  in  such  a shadowy  old 
church  as  this,  have  probably  more  to  do  with  it  than 
the  dead  people  have ; although  I did  think  the  odor 
was  particularly  strong  over  some  of  the  tombstones. 
Not  having  shillings  to  give  the  sexton,  we  were  forced 
to  give  him  half  a crown. 

The  Church  of  St.  John  is  outside  of  the  city  walls. 
Entering  the  East  gate,  we  walked  awhile  under  the 
Rows,  bought  our  tickets  for  Eaton  Hall  and  its  gar- 
dens, and  likewise  some  playthings  for  the  children ; 
for  this  old  city  of  Chester  seems  to  me  to  possess  an 
unusual  number  of  toy-shops.  Finally  we  took  a cab, 
and  drove  to  the  Hall,  about  four  miles  distant,  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  way  lying  through  the  wooded  Park. 
There  are  many  sorts  of  trees,  making  up  a wilderness, 
which  looked  not  unlike  the  woods  of  our  own  Concord, 
only  less  wild.  The  English  oak  is  not  a handsome 
tree,  being  short  and  sturdy,  with  a round,  thick  mass 
of  foliage,  lying  all  within  its  own  bounds.  It  was  a 
showery  day.  Had  there  been  any  sunshine,  there 
might  doubtless  have  been  many  beautiful  effects  of 


/854.] 


EATON  HALL. 


105 


light  and  shadow  in  these  woods.  We  saw  one  or  two 
herds  of  deer,  quietly  feeding,  a hundred  yards  or  so 
distant.  They  appeared  to  be  somewhat  wilder  than 
cattle,  but,  I think,  not  much  wilder  than  sheep.  Their 
ancestors  have  probably  been  in  a half-domesticated 
state,  receiving  food  at  the  hands  of  man,  in  winter,  for 
centuries.  There  is  a kind  of  poetry  in  this,  quite  as 
much  as  if  they  were  really  wild  deer,  such  as  their 
forefathers  were,  when  Hugh  Lupus  used  to  hunt 
them. 

Onr  miserable  cab  drew  up  at  the  steps  of  Eaton 
Hall,  and,  ascending  under  the  portico,  the  door  swung 
silently  open,  and  we  were  received  very  civilly  by 
two  old  men,  — one,  a tall  footman  in  livery  ; the  other, 
of  higher  grade,  in  plain  clothes.  The  entrance-hall 
is  very  spacious,  and  the  floor  is  tessellated  or  somehow 
inlaid  with  marble.  There  was  statuary  in  marble  on 
the  floor,  and  in  niches  stood  several  figures  in  antique 
armor,  of  various  dates ; some  with  lances,  and  others 
with  battle-axes  and  swords.  There  was  a two-handed 
sword,  as  much  as  six  feet  long;  but  not  nearly  so 
ponderous  as  I have  supposed  this  kind  of  weapon  to 
be,  from  reading  of  it.  I could  easily  have  brandished  it. 

I don’t  think  I am  a good  sight-seer ; at  least,  I soon 
get  satisfied  with  looking  at  set  sights,  and  wish  to  go 
on  to  the  next. 

The  plainly  dressed  old  man  now  led  us  into  a long 
corridor,  which  goes,  I think,  the  whole  length  of  the 
house,  about  five  hundred  feet,  arched  all  the  way,  and 
lengthened  interminably  by  a looking-glass  at  the  endf 
in  which  I saw  our  own  party  approaching  like  a party 
of  strangers.  But  I have  so  often  seen  this  eflfeo*  pr<* 

B* 


106  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

dueed  in  dry-goods  stores  and  elsewhere,  that  I was  not 
much  impressed.  There  were  family  portraits  and 
other  pictures,  and  likewise  pieces  of  statuary,  along 
this  arched  corridor ; and  it  communicated  with  a 
chapel  with  a scriptural  altar-piece,  copied  from  Ru- 
bens, and  a picture  of  St.  Michael  and  the  Dragon, 
and  two,  or  perhaps  three,  richly  painted  windows. 
Everything  here  is  entirely  new  and  fresh,  this  part 
having  been  repaired,  and  never  yet  inhabited  by  the 
family.  This  brand-newness  makes  it  much  less  effec- 
tive than  if  it  had  been  lived  in  ; and  I felt  pretty  much 
as  if  I were  strolling  through  any  other  renewed  house. 
After  all,  the  utmost  force  of  man  can  do  positively  very 
little  towards  making  grand  things  or  beautiful  things. 
The  imagination  can  do  so  much  more,  merely  on  shut- 
ting one’s  eyes,  that  the  actual  effect  seems  meagre  ; so 
that  a new  house,  unassociated  with  the  past,  is  exceed- 
ingly unsatisfactory,  especially  when  you  have  heard 
that  the  wealth  and  skill  of  man  has  here  done  its  best. 
Besides,  the  rooms,  as  we  saw  them,  did  not  look  by  any 
means  their  best,  the  carpets  not  being  down,  and  the 
furniture  being  covered  with  protective  envelopes. 
However,  rooms  cannot  be  seen  to  advantage  by  day- 
light ; it  being  altogether  essential  to  the  effect,  that 
they  should  be  illuminated  by  artificial  light,  which 
takes  them  somewhat  out  of  the  region  of  bare  reality. 
Nevertheless,  there  was  undoubtedly  great  splendor,  — 
for  the  details  of  which  I refer  to  the  guide-book. 
Among  the  family  portraits,  there  was  one  of  a lady 
famous  for  her  beautiful  hand ; and  she  was  holding  it 
up  to  notice  in  the  funniest  way,  — and  very  beautiful 
it  certainly  was.  The  private  apartments  of  the  family 


EATON  HALL. 


107 


1854,] 

were  not  shown  us.  I should  think  it  impossible  for 
the  owner  of  this  house  to  imbue  it  with  his  personality 
to  such  a degree  as  to  feel  it  to  be  his  home.  It  must 
be  like  a small  lobster  in  a shell  much  too  large  for  him. 

After  seeing  what  was  to  be  seen  of  the  rooms,  we 
visited  the  gardens,  in  which  are  noble  conservatories 
and  hot-houses,  containing  all  manner  of  rare  and  beau- 
tiful flowers,  and  tropical  fruits.  I noticed  some  large 
pines,  looking  as  if  they  were  really  made  of  gold.  The 
gardener  (under-gardener  I suppose  he  was)  who  showed 
this  part  of  the  spectacle  was  very  intelligent  as  well 
as  kindly,  and  seemed  to  take  an  interest  in  his  business. 

He  gave  S a purple  everlasting  flower,  which  will 

endure  a great  many  years,  as  a memento  of  our  visit 
to  Eaton  HalL  Finally,  we  took  a view  of  the  front 
of  the  edifice,  which  is  very  fine,  and  much  more  satis- 
factory than  the  interior,  — and  returned  to  Chester. 

We  strolled  about  under  the  unsavory  Rows,  some- 
times scudding  from  side  to  side  of  the  street,  through 
the  shower;  took  lunch  in  a confectioner’s  shop,  and 
drove  to  the  railway  station  in  time  for  the  three-o’clock 
train.  It  looked  picturesque  to  see  two  little  girls,  hand 
in  hand,  racing  along  the  ancient  passages  of  the  Rows  ; 
but  Chester  has  a very  evil  smell. 

At  the  railroad  station,  S saw  a small  edition 

of  u Twice-Told  Tales,”  forming  a volume  of  the  Cot- 
tage Library ; and,  opening  it,  there  was  the  queerest 
imaginable  portrait  of  myself,  — so  very  queer  that  we 
could  not  but  buy  it.  The  shilling  edition  of  “ The 
Scarlet  Letter  ” and  “ Seven  Gables  ” are  at  all  the 
book-stalls  and  shop-windows ; but  so  is  “ The  Lamp* 
lighter,”  and  still  more  trashy  books. 


108 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854, 


August  26th. — All  past  affairs,  all  home  conclu- 
sions, all  people  whom  I have  known  in  America 
and  meet  again  here,  are  strangely  compelled  to  undergo 
a new  trial,  It  is  not  that  they  suffer  by  comparison 
with  circumstances  of  English  life  and  forms  of  English 
manhood  or  womanhood  ; but,  being  free  from  my  old 
surroundings,  and  the  inevitable  prejudices  of  home,  I 
decide  upon  them  absolutely. 

I think  I neglected  to  record  that  I saw  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  a few  weeks  since.  She  is  a large,  robust,  elderly 
woman,  and  plainly  dressed  ; but  withal  she  has  so  kind, 
cheerful,  and  intelligent  a face  that  she  is  pleasanter  to 
look  at  than  most  beauties.  Her  hair  is  of  a decided 
gray,  and  she  does  not  shrink  from  calling  herself  old. 
She  is  the  most  continual  talker  I ever  heard  ; it  is 
really  like  the  babbling  of  a brook,  and  very  lively  and 
sensible  too ; and  all  the  while  she  talks,  she  moves 
the  bowl  of  her  ear-trumpet  from  one  auditor  to  another, 
so  that  it  becomes  quite  an  organ  of  intelligence  and 
sympathy  between  her  and  yourself.  The  ear-trumpet 
seems  a sensible  part  of  her,  like  the  antennae  of  some 
insects.  If  you  have  any  little  remark  to  make,  you 
drop  it  in  ; and  she  helps  you  to  make  remarks  by  this 
delicate  little  appeal  of  the  trumpet,  as  she  slightly 
directs  it  towards  you  ; and  if  you  have  nothing  to  say, 
the  appeal  is  not  strong  enough  to  embarrass  you.  All 
her  talk  was  about  herself  and  her  affairs  ; but  it  did 
not  seem  like  egotism,  because  it  was  so  cheerful  and 
free  from  morbidness.  And  this  woman  is  an  Atheist, 
and  thinks  that  the  principle  of  life  will  become  extinct 
when  her  body  is  laid  in  the  grave  ! I will  not  think 


1854.] 


KHYL. 


109 


so,  were  it  only  for  her  sake.  What ! only  a few  weeds 
to  spring  out  of  her  mortality,  instead  of  her  intellect 
and  sympathies  flowering  and  fruiting  forever  ! 


September  1 3th.  — My  family  went  to  Rhyl  last  Thurs- 
day, and  on  Saturday  I joined  them  there,  in  com- 
pany with  O’Sullivan,  who  arrived  in  the  Behama 
from  Lisbon  that  morning.  We  went  by  way  of 

Chester,  and  found  S waiting  for  us  at  the  Rhyl 

station.  Rhyl  is  a most  uninteresting  place,  — a col- 
lection of  new  lodging-houses  and  hotels,  on  a long  sand- 
beach,  which  the  tide  leaves  bare  almost  to  the  horizon. 
The  sand  is  by  no  means  a marble  pavement,  but  sinks 
under  the  foot,  and  makes  very  heavy  walking ; but 
there  is  a promenade  in  front  of  the  principal  range 
of  houses,  looking  on  the  sea,  whereon  we  have  rather 
better  footing.  Almost  all  the  houses  were  full,  and 

S had  taken  a parlor  and  two  bedrooms,  and  is 

living  after  the  English  fashion,  providing  her  own 
table,  lights,  fuel,  and  everything.  It  is  very  awkward 
to  our  American  notions  ; but  there  is  an  independence 
about  it,  which  I think  must  make  it  agreeable  on  bet- 
ter acquaintance.  But  the  place  is  certainly  destitute 
of  attraction,  and  life  seems  to  pass  very  heavily.  The 
English  do  not  appear  to  have  a turn  for  amusing  them- 
selves. 

Sunday  was  a bright  and  hot  day,  and  in  the  fore- 
noon I set  out  on  a walk,  not  well  knowing  whither,  over 
a very  dusty  road,  with  not  a particle  of  shade  along 
its  dead  level.  The  Welsh  mountains  were  before  me, 
at  the  distance  of  three  or  four  miles, — long  ridgy  hills. 


110 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


L1854. 


descending  pretty  abruptly  upon  the  plain  ; on  either 
side  of  the  road,  here  and  there,  an  old  whitewashed, 
thatched  stone  cottage,  or  a stone  farm-house,  with  an 
aspect  of  some  antiquity.  I never  suffered  so  much 
before,  on  this  side  of  the  water,  from  heat  and  dust, 
and  should  probably  have  turned  back  had  I not  es- 
pied the  round  towers  and  walls  of  an  old  castle  at 
some  distance  before  me.  Having  looked  at  a guide- 
book, previously  to  setting  out,  I knew  that  this  must 
be  Rhyddlan  Castle,  about  three  miles  from  Rhyl ; so  I 
plodded  on,  and  by  and  by  entered  an  antiquated  vil- 
lage, on  one  side  of  which  the  castle  stood.  This  Welsh 
village  is  very  much  like  the  English  villages,  with  nar- 
row streets  and  mean  houses  or  cottages,  built  in  blocks, 
and  here  and  there  a larger  house  standing  alone  ; every- 
thing far  more  compact  than  in  our  rural  villages,  and 
with  no  grassy  street-margin  nor  trees ; aged  and  dirt}) 
also,  with  dirty  children  staring  at  the  passenger,  and 
an  undue  supply  of  mean  inns ; most,  or  many  of  the 
men  in  breeches,  and  some  of  the  women,  especially  the 
elder  ones,  in  black  beaver  hats.  The  streets  were 
paved  with  round  pebbles,  and  looked  squalid  and  ugly. 

The  children  and  grown  people  stared  lazily  at  me  as 
I passed,  but  showed  no  such  alert  and  vivacious  curi- 
osity as  a community  of  Yankees  would  have  done.  I 
turned  up  a street  that  led  me  to  the  castle,  which  looked 
very  picturesque  close  at  hand,  — more  so  than  at  a 
distance,  because  the  towers  and  walls  have  not  a suf- 
ficiently broken  outline  against  the  sky.  There  are 
several  round  towers  at  the  angles  of  the  wall  very  large 
in  their  circles,  built  of  gray  stone,  crumbling,  ivy- 
grcwn;  everything  that  one  thinks  of  in  an  old  ruin. 


RHYL. 


Ill 


1854.] 

I could  not  get  into  the  inner  space  of  the  castle  with- 
out climbing  over  a fence,  or  clambering  down  into  the 
moat ; so  I contented  myself  with  walking  round  it, 
and  viewing  it  from  the  outside.  Through  the  gateway 
I saw  a cow  feeding  on  the  green  grass  in  the  inner 
court  of  the  castle.  In  one  of  the  walls  there  was  a 
large  triangular  gap,  where  perhaps  the  assailants  had 
made  a breach.  Of  course,  there  were  weeds  on  the 
ruinous  top  of  the  towers,  and  along  the  summit  of  the 
wall.  This  was  the  first  castle  built  by  Edward  I.  in 
Wales,  and  he  resided  here  during  the  erection  of  Con- 
way Castle,  and  here  Queen  Eleanor  gave  birth  to  a 
princess.  Some  few  years  since  a meeting  of  Welsh 
bards  was  held  within  it. 

After  viewing  it  awhile,  and  listening  to  the  babble  of 
some  children  who  lay  on  the  grass  near  by,  I resumed 
my  walk,  and,  meeting  a Welshman  in  the  village 
street,  I asked  him  my  nearest  way  back  to  Rhyl. 
“ Dim  Sassenach,”  said  he,  after  a pause.  How  odd 
that  an  hour  or  two  on  the  railway  should  have  brought 
me  amongst  a people  who  speak  no  English  ! Just 
below  the  castle,  there  is  an  arched  stone  bridge  over 
the  river  Cwlyd,  and  the  best  view  of  the  edifice  is 
from  hence.  It  stands  on  a gentle  eminence,  command- 
ing the  passage  of  the  river,  and  two  twin  round  towers 
rise  close  beside  one  another,  whence,  I suppose,  archers 
have  often  drawn  their  bows  against  the  wild  Welsh- 
men, on  the  river-banks.  Behind  was  the  line  of  moun- 
tains ; and  this  was  the  point  of  defence  between  the 
hill  country  and  the  lowlands.  On  the  bridge  stood  a 
good  many  idle  Welshmen,  leaning  over  the  parapet, 
and  looking  at  some  small  vessels  that  had  come  up  the 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


112 


[1854, 


river  from  the  sea.  There  was  the  frame  of  a new 
vessel  on  the  stocks  near  by. 

As  I returned,  on  my  way  home,  I again  inquired 
my  way  of  a man  in  breeches,  who,  I found,  could  speak 
English  very  well.  He  was  kind,  and  took  pains  to 
direct  me,  giving  me  the  choice  of  three  ways,  viz.  the 
one  by  which  I came,  another  across  the  fields,  and  a 
third  by  the  embankment  along  the  river-side.  I chose 
the  latter,  and  so  followed  the  course  of  the  Cwlyd, 
which  is  very  ugly,  with  a tidal  flow  and  wide  marshy 
banks.  On  its  farther  side  was  Rhyddlan  marsh,  where 
a battle  was  fought  between  the  Welsh  and  Saxons  a 
thousand  years  ago.  I have  forgotten  to  mention  that 
the  castle  and  its  vicinity  was  the  scene  of  the  famous 
battle  of  the  fiddlers,  between  De  Blandeville,  Earl  of 
Chester,  and  the  Welsh,  about  the  time  of  the  Con- 
queror. 

CONWAY  CASTLE. 


a September  13th,  — On  Monday  we  went  with  O’Sul- 
livan to  Conway  by  rail.  Certainly  this  must  be  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  a ruinous  old  castle  in  the 
whole  world;  it  quite  fills  up  one’s  idea.  We  first 
walked  round  the  exterior  of  the  wall,  at  the  base 
of  which  are  hovels,  with  dirty  children  playing  about 
them,  and  pigs  rambling  along,  and  squalid  women 
visible  in  the  doorways ; but  all  these  things  melt 
into  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene,  and  do  not  harm 
it.  The  whole  town  of  Conway  is  built  in  what  was 
once  the  castle  yard,  and  the  whole  circuit  of  the 
wall  is  still  standing  in  a delightful  state  of  decay.  At 
the  angles,  and  at  regular  intervals,  there  are  round 
towers,  having  half  their  circle  on  the  outside  of  the 


CONWAY  CASTLE. 


113 


1854.] 

walls,  and  half  within.  Most  of  these  towers  have  a 
great  crack  pervading  them  irregularly  from  top  to 
bottom ; the  ivy  hangs  upon  them,  — the  weeds  grow 
on  the  tops.  Gateways,  three  or  four  of  them,  open 
through  the  walls,  and  streets  proceed  from  them  into 
the  town.  At  some  points,  very  old  cottages  or  small 
houses  are  close  against  the  sides,  and,  old  as  they  are, 
they  must  have  been  built  after  the  whole  structure  was 
a ruin.  In  one  place  I saw  the  sign  of  an  ale-house 
painted  on  the  gray  stones  of  one  of  the  old  round 
towers.  As  we  entered  one  of  the  gates,  after  making 
the  entire  circuit,  we  saw  an  omnibus  coming  down 
the  street  towards  us,  with  its  horn  sounding.  Llan- 
dudno was  its  place  of  destination ; and,  knowing  no 
more  about  it  than  that  it  was  four  miles  off,  we  took 
our  seats.  Llandudno  is  a watering-village  at  the  base 
of  the  Great  Orme’s  Head,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Conway 
River.  In  this  omnibus  there  were  two  pleasant-looking 
girls,  who  talked  Welsh  together,  — a guttural,  childish 
kind  of  a babble.  Afterwards  we  got  into  conversation 
with  them,  and  found  them  very  agreeable.  One  of 
them  was  reading  Tupper’s  “Proverbial  Philosophy .” 

On  reaching  Llandudno,  S waited  at  the  hotelj 

while  O’Sullivan,  U , and  I ascended  the  Great 

Orme’s  Head.  There  are  copper-mines  here,  and  we 
heard  of  a large  cave,  with  stalactites,  but  did  not  go  so 
far  as  that.  We  found  the  old  shaft  of  a mine,  however, 
and  threw  stones  down  it,  and  counted  twenty  before  we 
heard  them  strike  the  bottom.  At  the  base  of  the  Head, 
on  the  side  opposite  the  village,  we  saw  a small  church 
with  a broken  roof,  and  horizontal  gravestones  of  slate 
within  the  stone  enclosure  around  it.  The  view  from 


H 


114 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854c 

the  hill  was  most  beautiful,  — a blue  summer  sea,  with 
the  distant  trail  of  smoke  from  a steamer,  and  many 
snowy  sails ; in  another  direction  the  mountains,  neai 
and  distant,  some  of  them  with  clouds  below  their 
peaks. 

We  went  to  one  of  the  mines  which  are  still  worked, 
and  boys  came  running  to  meet  us  with  specimens  of 
the  copper  ore  for  sale*,  The  miners  were  not  now 
hoisting  ore  from  the  shaft,  but  were  washing  and 
selecting  the  valuable  fragments  from  great  heaps  of 
crumbled  stone  and  earth.  All  about  this  spot  there 
are  shafts  and  well-holes,  looking  fearfully  deep  and 
black,  and  without  the  slightest  protection,  so  that  we 
might  just  as  easily  have  walked  into  them  as  not. 
Having  examined  these  matters  sufficiently,  we  de- 
scended the  hill  towards  the  village,  meeting  parties  of 
visitors,  mounted  on  donkeys,  which  is  a much  more 
sensible  way  of  ascending  in  a hot  day  than  to  walk. 
On  the  sides  and  summit  of  the  hill  we  found  yellow 
gorse,  — heath  of  two  colors,  I think,  and  very  beautiful, 
— and  here  and  there  a harebell.  Owing  to  the  long- 
continued  dry  weather,  the  grass  was  getting  withered 
and  brown,  though  not  so  much  so  as  on*American  hill- 
pastures  at  this  season.  Returning  to  the  village,  we 
all  went  into  a confectioner’s  shop,  and  made  a good 
luncheon.  The  two  prettiest  young  ladies  whom  I 
have  seen  in  England  came  into  the  shop  and  ate 
cakes  while  we  were  there.  They  appeared  to  be 
living  together  in  a lodging-house,  and  ordered  some 
©f  their  housekeeping  articles  from  the  confectioner. 
Next  we  went  into  the  village  bazaar,  — a sort  of  tent 
or  open  shop,  full  of  knick-knacks  and  gewgaws,  and 


CONWAY  CASTLE. 


115 


1854.] 

bought  some  playthings  for  the  children.  At  half  past 
one  we  took  our  seats  in  the  omnibus,  to  return  to 
Conway. 

We  had  as  yet  only  seen  the  castle  wall  and  the 
exterior  of  the  castle  ; now  we  were  to  see  the  inside. 
Right  at  the  foot  of  it  an  old  woman  has  her  stand  for 
the  sale  of  lithographic  views  of  Conway  and  other 
places ; but  these  views  are  ridiculously  inadequate,  so 
that  we  did  not  buy  any  of  them.  The  admittance  into 
the  castle  is  by  a wooden  door  of  modern  construction, 
and  the  present  seneschal  is,  I believe,  the  sexton  of  a 
church.  He  remembered  me  as  having  been  there  a 
month  or  two  ago ; and  probably,  considering  that  I 
was  already  initiated,  or  else  because  he  had  many 
other  visitors,  he  left  us  to  wander  about  the  castle  at 
will.  It  is  altogether  impossible  to  describe  Conway 
Castle.  Nothing  ever  can  have  been  so  perfect  in  its 
own  style,  and  for  its  own  purposes,  when  it  was  first 
built;  and  now  nothing  else  can  be  so  perfect  as  a 
picture  of  ivy-grown,  peaceful  ruin.  The  banqueting- 
hall,  all  open  to  the  sky  and  with  thick  curtains  of  ivy 
tapestrying  the  walls,  and  grass  and  weeds  growing  on 
the  arches  that  overpass  it,  is  indescribably  beautiful. 
The  hearthstones  of  the  great  old  fireplaces,  all  about 
the  castle,  seem  to  be  favorite  spots  for  weeds  to  grow. 
There  are  eight  large  round  towers,  and  out  of  four  of 
them,  I think,  rise  smaller  towers,  ascending  to  a much 
greater  height,  and  once  containing  winding  staircases, 
all  of  which  are  now  broken,  and  inaccessible  from 
below,  though,  in  at  least  one  of  the  towers,  the  stairs 
seemed  perfect,  high  aloft.  It  must  have  been  the 
rudest  violence  that  broke  down  these  stairs ; for  each 


116 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854, 


step  was  a thick  and  heavy  slab  of  stone,  built  into  the 
wall  of  the  tower.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a roof  in 
any  part ; towers,  hall,  kitchen,  all  are  open  to  the  sky. 
One  round  tower,  directly  overhanging  the  railway,  is 
so  shattered  by  the  falling  away  of  the  lower  part,  that 
you  can  look  quite  up  into  it  and  through  it,  while 
sitting  in  the  cars ; and  yet  it  has  stood  thus,  without 
falling  into  complete  ruin,  for  more  than  two  hundred 
years.  I think  that  it  was  in  this  tower  that  we  found 
the  castle  oven,  an  immense  cavern,  big  enough  to  bake 
bread  for  an  army.  The  railway  passes  exactly  at  the 
base  of  the  high  rock,  on  which  this  part  of  the  castle 
is  situated,  and  goes  into  the  town  through  a great  arch 
that  has  been  opened  in  the  castle  wall.  The  tubular 
bridge  across  the  Conway  has  been  built  in  a style  that 
accords  with  the  old  architecture,  and  I observed  that 
one  little  sprig  of  ivy  had  rooted  itself  in  the  new 
structure. 

There  are  numberless  intricate  passages  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  castle  walls,  forming  communications  be- 
tween tower  and  tower,  — damp,  chill  passages,  with 
rough  stone  on  either  hand,  darksome,  and  very 
likely  leading  to  dark  pitfalls.  The  thickness  of  the 
walls  is  amazing ; and  the  people  of  those  days  must 
have  been  content  with  very  scanty  light,  so  small 
were  the  apertures,  — sometimes  merely  slits  and  loop- 
holes, glimmering  through  many  feet  of  thickness  of 
stone.  One  of  the  towers  was  said  to  have  been  the 
residence  of  Queen  Eleanor;  and  this  was  better 
lighted  than  the  others,  containing  an  oriel  window, 
looking  out  of  a little  oratory,  as  it  seemed  to  be,  with 
groined  arches  and  traces  of  ornamental  sculpture, 


CONWAY  CASTLE. 


117 


1854.] 

so  that  we  could  dress  up  some  imperfect  image  of  a 
queenly  chamber,  though  the  tower  was  roofless  and 
floorlesfc.  There  was  another  pleasant  little  windowed 
nook,  close  beside  the  oratory,  where  the  Queen  might, 
have  sat  sewing  or  looking  down  the  river  Conway  at 
the  picturesque  headlands  towards  the  sea.  We  im- 
agined her  stately  figure  in  antique  robes,  standing 
beneath  the  groined  arches  of  the  oratory.  There 
seem  to  have  been  three  chambers,  one  above  another,, 
in  these  towers,  and  the  one  in  which  was  the  embowed 
window  was  the  middle  one.  I suppose  the  diameter 
of  each  of  these  circular  rooms  could  not  have  been 
more  than  twenty  feet  on  the  inside.  All  traces  of 
wood-work  and  iron-work  are  quite  gone  from  the 
whole  castle.  These  are  said  to  have  been  taken  away 
by  a Lord  Conway  in  the  reig*i  of  Charles  II.  There 
is  a grassy  space  under  the  windows  of  Queen  Eleanor’s 
tower,  — a sort  of  outwork  of  the  castle,  where  prob- 
ably, when  no  enemy  was  near,  the  Queen  used  to  take 
the  open  air  in  summer  afternoons  like  this.  Here  we 
sat  down  on  the  grass  of  the  ruined  wall,  and  agreed 
that  nothing  in  the  world  could  be  so  beautiful  and 
picturesque  as  Conway  Castle,  and  that  never  could 
there  have  been  so  fit  a time  to  see  it  as  this  sunny, 
quiet,  lovely  afternoon.  Sunshine  adapts  itself  to  the 
character  of  a ruin  in  a wonderful  way ; it  does  not 
“ flout  the  ruins  gray,”  as  Scott  says,  but  sympa- 
thizes with  their  decay,  and  saddens  itself  for  their  sake. 
It  beautifies  the  ivy  too. 

We  saw,  at  the  corner  of  this  grass  plot  around 
Queen  Eleanor’s  tower,  a real  trunk  of  a tree  of  ivy, 
with  so  stalwart  a stem,  and  such  a vigorous  grasp  of 


118  ' ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854 

its  strong  branches,  that  it  would  be  a very  efficient 
support  to  the  wall,  were  it  otherwise  inclined  to  fall. 

0 that  we  could  have  ivy  in  America!  What  is 
there  to  beautify  us  when  our  time  of  ruin  comes? 

Before  departing,  we  made  the  entire  circuit  of  the 
castle  on  its  walls,  and  O’Sullivan  and  I climbed  by  a 
ladder  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers.  While  there, 
we  looked  down  into  the  street  beneath,  and  saw  a 
photographist  preparing  to  take  a view  of  the  castle, 
and  calling  out  to  some  little  girl  in  some  niche  or  on 
some  pinnacle  of  the  walls  to  stand  still  that  he  might 
catch  her  figure  and  face.  I think  it  added  to  the  im- 
pressiveness of  the  old  castle,  to  see  the  streets  and  the 
kitchen  gardens  and  the  homely  dwellings  that  had 
grown  up  within  the  precincts  of  this  feudal  fortress, 
and  the  people  of  to-day  following  their  little  businesses 
about  it.  This  does  not  destroy  the  charm ; but 
tourists  and  idle  visitors  do  impair  it.  The  earnest  life 
of  to-day,  however,  petty  and  homely  as  it  may  be,  has 
a right  to  its  place  alongside  of  what  is  left  of  the  life 
of  other  days;  and  if  it  be  vulgar  itself,  it  does  not 
vulgarize  the  scene.  But  tourists  do  vulgarize  it ; and 

1 suppose  we  did  so,  just  like  others. 

We  took  the  train  back  to  Rhyl,  where  we  arrived 
at  about  four  o’clock,  and,  having  dined,  we  again  took 
the  rail  for  Chester,  and  thence  to  Rock  Park,  (that  is, 
O’Sullivan  and  I,)  and  reached  home  at  about  eleven 
o’clock. 

Yesterday,  September  13th,  I began  to  wear  a watch 
from  Bennet’s,  65  Cheapside,  London.  W.  C.  Bennei 
warrants  it  as  the  best  watch  which  they  can  produce. 


RHYL, 


1.19 


1854,] 

If  it  prove  as  good  and  as  durable  as  lie  prophesies, 

J will  find  it  a perfect  time-keeper  long  after  his 

father  has  done  with  Time.  If  I had  not  thought  of  his 
wearing  it  hereafter,  I should  have  been  content  with  a 
much  inferior  one.  No.  39,620. 

September  20th.  — I went  back  to  Rhyl  last  Friday  in 
the  steamer.  We  arrived  at  the  landing-place  at  nearly 
four  o’clock,  having  started  at  twelve,  and  I walked 
thence  to  our  lodgings,  18  West  Parade.  The  children 
and  their  mother  were  all  gone  out,  and  I sat  some  time 
in  our  parlor  before  anybody  came.  The  next  morn- 
ing I made*  an  excursion  in  the  omnibus  as  far  as 
Ruthin,  passing  through  Rhyddlan,  St.  Asaph,  Denbigh, 
and  reaching  Ruthin  at  one  o’clock.  All  these  are 
very  ancient  places.  St.  Asaph  has  a cathedral  which 
is  not  quite  worthy  of  that  name,  but  is  a very  large 
and  stately  church  in  excellent  repair.  Its  square 
battlemented  tower  has  a very  fine  appearance,  crown- 
ing the  clump  of  village  houses  on  the  hill-top,  as  you 
approach  from  Rhyddlan.  The  ascent  of  the  hill  is 
very  steep ; so  rt  is  at  Denbigh  and  at  Ruthin,  — the 
steepest  streets,  indeed,  that  I ever  climbed.  Denbigh 
is  a place  of  still  more  antique  aspect  than  St.  Asaph  ; 
it  looks,  I think,  even  older  than  Chester,  with  its  gabled 
houses,  many  of  their  windows  opening  on  hinges,  and 
their  fronts  resting  on  pillars,  with  an  open  porch  be- 
neath. The  castle  makes  an  admirably  ruinous  figure 
on  the  hill,  higher  than  the  village.  I had  come  hither 
with  the  purpose  of  inspecting  it,  but  as  it  began  to  rain 
just  then,  I concluded  to  get  into  the  omnibus  and  go 
to  Ruthin.  There  was  another  steep  ascent  from  the 


120 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

commencement  of  the  long  street  of  Ruthin,  till  I 
reached  the  market-place,  which  is  of  nearly  triangular 
shape,  and  an  exceedingly  old-looking  place.  Houses 
of  stone  or  plastered  brick  ; one  or  two  with  timber 
frames ; the  roofs  of  an  uneven  line,  and  bulging  out  or 
sinking  in  ; the  slates  moss-grown.  Some  of  them  have 
two  peaks  and  even  three  in  a row,  fronting  on  the 
streets,  and  there  is  a stone  market-house  with  a table 
of  regulations.  In  this  market-place  there  is  said  to 
be  a stone  on  which  King  Arthur  beheaded  one  of  his 
enemies ; but  this  I did  not  see.  All  these  villages 
were  very  lively,  as  the  omnibus  drove  in ; and  I rather 
imagine  it  was  market-day  in  each  of  them,  — there 
being  quite  a bustle  of  Welsh  people.  The  old  women 
came  round  the  omnibus  courtesying  and  intimating  their 
willingness  to  receive  alms,  — witch-like  women,  such 
as  one  sees  in  pictures  or  reads  of  in  romances,  and 
very  unlike  anything  feminine  in  America.  Their 
style  of  dress  cannot  have  changed  for  centuries.  It 
was  quite  unexpected  to  me  to  hear  Welsh  so  universally 
and  familiarly  spoken.  Everybody  spoke  it.  The 
omnibus-driver  could  speak  but  imperfect  English ; 
there  was  a jabber  of  Welsh  all  through  the  streets  and 
market-places ; and  it  flowed  out  with  a freedom  quite 
different  from  the  way  in  which  they  expressed  them- 
selves in  English.  I had  had  an  idea  that  Welsh  was 
spoken  rather  as  a freak  and  in  fun  than  as  a native 
language ; it  was  so  strange  to  find  another  language 
the  people’s  actual  and  earnest  medium  of  thought 
within  so  short  a distance  of  England.  But  English  is 
scarcely  more  known  to  the  body  of  the  Welsh  people 
than  to  the  peasantry  of  France.  Moreover,  they 


<?854.] 


RUTHIN. 


121 


sometimes  pretend  to  ignorance,  when  they  might  speak 
it  fairly  enough. 

I took  luncheon  at  the  hotel  where  the  omnibus 
stopped,  and  then  went  to  search  out  the  castle.  It  ap- 
pears to  have  been  once  extensive,  but  the  remains  of 
it  are  now  very  few,  except  a part  of  the  external  wall. 
Whatever  other  portion  may  still  exist,  has  been  built 
into  a modern  castellated  mansion,  which  has  risen 
within  the  wide  circuit  of  the  fortress,  — a handsome 
and  spacious  edifice  of  red  freestone,  with  a high  tower, 
on  which  a flag  was  flying.  The  grounds  were  well 
laid  out  in  walks,  and  really  I think  the  site  of  the  castle 
could  not  have  been  turned  to  better  account.  I am 
getting  tired  of  antiquity.  It  is  certainly  less  interesting 
in  the  long  run  than  novelty ; and  so  I was  well  con 
tent  with  the  fre^h,  warm,  red  hue  of  the  modern  house, 
and  the  unworn  outline  of  its  walls,  and  its  cheerful, 
large  windows ; and  was  willing  that  the  old  ivy-grown 
ruins  should  exist  now  only  to  contrast  with  the  modern- 
isms. These  ancient  walls,  by  the  by,  are  of  immense 
thickness.  There  is  a passage  through  the  interior  of  a 
portion  of  them,  the  width  from  this  interior  passage  to 
the  outer  one  being  fifteen  feet  on  one  side,  and  I know 
not  how  much  on  the  other. 

It  continued  showery  all  day ; and  the  omnibus  was 
crowded.  I had  chosen  the  outside  from  Rhyl  to 
Denbigh,  but,  all  the  rest  of  the  journey,  imprisoned  my- 
self within.  On  our  way  home,  an  old  lady  got  into  the 
omnibus,  — a lady  of  tremendous  rotundity  ; and  as  she 
tumbled  from  the  door  to  the  farthest  part  of  the  carriage, 
she  kept  advising  all  the  rest  of  the  passengers  to  get 
out.  “ I don’t  think  there  will  be  much  rain,  gentle- 

YOU  Is  6 


? 22 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1654. 


inen,”  quoth  she  ; 66  you  ’ll  be  much  more  comfortable  on 
£he  outside.”  As  none  of  us  complied,  she  glanced 
along  the  seats.  “ What ! are  you  all  Saas’nach  ? ” she 
inquired.  As  we  drove  along,  she  talked  Welsh  with 
"great  fluency  -to  one  of  the  passengers,  a young  woman 
with  a baby,  and  to  as  many  others  as  could  understand 
her.  It  has  a strange,  wild  sound,  like  a language  half 
blown  away  by  the  wind.  The  lady’s  English  was  very 
good  ; but  she  probably  prided  herself  on  her  proficiency 
in  Welsh.  My  excursion  to-day  had  been  along  the 
valley  of  the  Clwyd,  a very  rich  and  fertile  tract  of 
country. 

The  next  day  we  all  took  a long  walk  on  the  beach, 
picking  up  shells. 

On  Monday  we  took  an  open  carriage  and  drove  to 
Rhyddlan ; whence  we  sent  back  the  carriage,  mean- 
ing to  walk  home  along  the  embankment  of  the  river 
Clwyd,  after  inspecting  the  castle.  The  fortress  is  very 
ruinous,  having  been  dismantled  by  the  Parliamentarians. 
There  are  great  gaps,  — two,  at  least,  in  the  walls  that 
connect  the  round  towers,  of  which  there  were  six,  one 
on  each  side  of  a gateway  in  front,  and  the  same  at  a 
gateway  towards  the  river,  where  there  is  a steep  descent 
to  a wall  and  square  tower,  at  the  water-side.  Great 
pains  and  a great  deal  of  gunpowder  must  have  been 
used  in  converting  this  castle  into  a ruin.  There  were 
one  or  two  fragments  lying  where  they  had  fallen  more 
than  two  hundred  years  ago,  which,  though  merely  a 
conglomeration  of  small  stones  and  mortar,  were  just  as 
hard  as  if  they  had  been  solid  masses  of  granite.  The 
substantial  thickness  of  the  walls  is  composed  of  these 
agglomerated  small  stones  and  mortar,  the  casing  being 


RHYDDLAH. 


123 


1854.] 

hewn  blocks  of  red  freestone.  This  is  much  worn  away 
by  the  weather,  wherever  it  has  been  exposed  to  the 
air  ; but,  under  shelter,  it  looks  as  if  it  might  have  been 
hewn  only  a year  or  two  ago.  Each  of  the  round 
towers  had  formerly  a small  staircase  turret  rising 
beside  and  ascending  above  it,  in  which  a warder  might 
be  posted,  but  they  have  all  been  so  battered  and 
shattered  that  it  is  impossible  for  an  uninstructed  ob- 
server to  make  out  a satisfactory  plan  of  them.  The 
interior  of  each  tower  was  a small  room,  not  more  than 
twelve  or  fifteen  feet  across  ; and  of  these  there  seem 
to  have  been  three  stories,  with  loop-holes  for  archery, 
and  not  much  other  light  than  what  came  through  theim 
Then  there  are  various  passages  and  nooks  and  corners 
and  square  recesses  in  the  stone,  some  of  which  must 
have  been  intended  for  dungeons,  and  the  ugliest  and 
gloomiest  dungeons  imaginable,  for  they  could  not  have 
had  any  light  or  air.  There  is  not  the  least  splinter 
of  wood-work  remaining  in  any  part  of  the  castle,  — 
nothing  but  bare  stone,  and  a little  plaster  in  one  or  two 
places,  on  the  wall.  In  the  front  gateway  we  looked  at 
the  groove  on  each  side,  in  which  the  portcullis  used  to 
rise  and  fall ; and  in  each  of  the  contiguous  round 
towers  there  was  a loop-hole,  whence  an  enemy  on  the 
outer  side  of  the  portcullis  might  be  shot  through  with 
an  arrow. 

The  inner  court-yard  is  a parallelogram,  nearly  a 
square,  and  is  about  forty-five  of  my  paces  across.  It 
is  entirely  grass-grown,  and  vacant,  except  for  two  or 
three  trees  that  have  been  recently  set  out,  and  which 
are  surrounded  with  palings  to  keep  away  the  cows 
that  pasture  in  and  about  the  place.  No  window  looks 


124  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l8o4 

from  the  walls  or  towers  into  this  court-yard ; nor  are 
there  any  traces  of  buildings  having  stood  within  the 
enclosure,  unless  it  be  what  looks  something  like  th*> 
flue  of  a chimney  within  one  of  the  walls.  I should 
suppose,  however,  that  there  must  have  been,  when  the 
castle  was  in  its  perfect  state,  a hall,  a kitchen,  and  other 
commodious  apartments  and  offices  for  the  King  and  his 
train,  such  as  there  were  at  Conway  and  Be&umaris. 
But  if  so,  all  fragments  have  been  carried  away,  and  all 
hollows  of  the  old  foundations  scrupulously  filled  up. 
The  round  towers  could  not  have  comprised  all  the 
accommodation  of  the  castle.  There  is  nothing  more 
striking  in  these  ruins  than  to  look  upward  from  the 
crumbling  base,  and  see  flights  of  stairs,  still  compara- 
tively perfect,  by  which  you  might  securely  ascend  to 
the  upper  heights  of  the  tower,  although  all  traces  of  a 
staircase  have  disappeared  below,  and  the  upper  portion 
cannot  be  attained.  On  three  sides  of  the  fortress  is  a 
moat,  about  sixty  feet  wide,  and  cased  with  stone.  It 
was  probably  of  great  depth  in  its  day,  but  it  is  now 
partly  filled  up  with  earth,  and  is  quite  dry  and  grassy 
throughout  its  whole  extent.  On  the  inner  side  of  the 
moat  was  the  outer  wall  of  the  castle,  portions  of  which 
still  remain.  Between  the  outer  wall  and  the  castle  it- 
self the  space  is  also  about  sixty  feet. 

The  day  was  cloudy  and  lowering,  and  there  were 
several  little  spatterings  of  rain,  while  we  rambled 
about.  The  two  children  ran  shouting  hither  and  thither, 
and  were  continually  clambering  into  dangerous  places, 
racing  along  ledges  of  broken  wall.  At  last  they  alto- 
gether disappeared  for  a good  while  ; their  voices,  which 
had  heretofore  been  plainly  audible,  were  hushed,  nor 


1854,] 


RHYDDLAN. 


125 


was  there  any  answer  when  we  began  to  call  them, 
while  making  ready  for  our  departure.  But  they  finally 
appeared^  coming  out  of  the  moat,  where  they  had  been 
picking  and  eating  blackberries,  — which,  they  said, 
grew  very  plentifully  there,  and  which  they  were  very 
reluctant  to  leave.  Before  quitting  the  castle,  I must 
not  forget  the  ivy,  which  makes  a perfect  tapestry  over 
a large  portion  of  the  walls. 

We  walked  about  the  village,  which  is  old  and  ugly; 
small,  irregular  streets,  contriving  to  be  intricate,  though 
there  are  few  of  them;  mean  houses,  joining  to  each 
other.  We  saw,  in  the  principal  one,  the  parliament 
house  in  which  Edward  I.  gave  a Charter,  or  allowed 
rights  of  some  kind  to  his  Welsh  subjects.  The  ancient 
part  of  its  wall  is  entirely  distinguishable  from  what  has 
since  been  built  upon  it. 

Thence  we  set  out  to  walk  along  the  embankment, 
although  the  sky  looked  very  threatening.  The  wind, 
however,  was  so  strong,  and  had  such  a full  sweep  at 
us,  on  the  top  of  the  bank,  that  we  decided  on  taking  a 
path  that  led  from  it  across  the  moor.  But  we  soon 
had  cause  to  repent  of  this  ; for,  which  way  soever  we 
turned,  we  found  ourselves  cut  off  by  a ditch  or  a little 
stream  ; so  that  here  we  were,  fairly  astray  on  Rhyddlan 
moor,  the  old  battle-field  of  the  Saxons  and  Britons,  and 
across  which,  I suppose,  the  fiddlers  and  mountebanks 
had  marched  to  the  relief  of  the  Earl  of  Chester.  Anon, 
too,  it  began  to  shower ; and  it  was  only  after  various 
leaps  and  scramblings  that  we  made  our  way  to  a large 
farm-house,  and  took  shelter  under  a cart-shed.  The 
back  of  the  house  to  which  we  gained  access  was  very 
dirty  and  ill  kept ; some  dirty  children  peeped  at  us  as 


126  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

we  approached,  and  nobody  had  the  civility  to  ask  us 
in ; so  we  took  advantage  of  the  first  cessation  of  the 
shower  to  resume  our  way.  We  were  shortly  over- 
taken by  a very  intelligent-looking  and  civil  man,  who 
seemed  to  have  come  from  Rhyddlan,  and  said  he  was 
going  to  Rhyl.  We  followed  his  guidance  over  stiles 
and  along  hedge-row  paths  which  we  never  could  have 
threaded  rightly  by  ourselves. 

By  and  by  our  kind  guide  had  to  stop  at  an  inter- 
mediate farm  ; but  he  gave  us  full  directions  how  to 
proceed,  and  we  went  on  till  it  began  to  shower  again 
pretty  briskly,  and  we  took  refuge  in  a little  bit  of  old 
stone  cottage,  which,  small  as  it  was,  had  a greater  an- 
tiquity than  any  mansion  in  America.  The  door  was 
open,  and  as  we  approached,  we  saw  several  children 
gazing  at  us ; and  their  mother,  a pleasant-looking 
woman,  who  seemed  rather  astounded  at  the  visit  that 
was  about  to  befall  her,  tried  to  draw  a tattered  curtain 
over  a part  of  her  interior,  which  she  fancied  even  less 
fit  to  be  seen  than  the  rest.  To  say  the  truth,  the  house 
was  not  at  all  better  than  a pigsty ; and  while  we  sat 
there,  a pig  came  familiarly  to  the  door,  thrust  in  his 
snout,  and  seemed  surprised  that  he  should  be  driven 
away,  instead  of  being  admitted  as  one  of  the  family. 
The  floor  was  of  brick  ; there  was  no  ceiling,  but  only 
the  peaked  gable  overhead.  The  room  was  kitchen, 
parlor,  and,  I suppose,  bedroom  for  the  whole  family ; 
at  all  events,  there  was  only  the  tattered  curtain  be- 
tween us  and  the  sleeping  accommodations.  The  good 
woman  either  could  not  or  would  not  speak  a word  of 
English,  only  laughing  when  S said,  “ Dim  Sassen- 

ach ? ” but  she  was  kind  and  hospitable,  and  found  a 


LIVERPOOL. 


127 


1854.] 

chair  for  each  of  us.  She  had  been  making  some  bread, 
and  the  dough  was  on  the  dresser.  Life  with  these 
people  is  reduced  to  its  simplest  elements.  It  is  only  a 
pity  that  they  cannot  or  do  not  choose  to  keep  themselves 
cleaner.  Poverty,  except  in  cities,  need  not  be  squalid. 
When  the  shower  abated  a little,  we  gave  all  the  pennies 
we  had  to  the  children,  and  set  forth  again.  By  the 
by,  there  were  several  colored  prints  stuck  up  against 
the  walls,  and  there  was  a clock  ticking  in  a corner, 
and  some  paper-hangings  pinned  upon  the  slanting  roof. 

It  began  to  rain  again  before  we  arrived  at  Rhyl, 
and  we  were  driven  into  a small  tavern.  After  staying 
there  awhile,  we  set  forth  between  the  drops ; but  the 
rain  fell  still  heavier,  so  that  we  were  pretty  well 
damped  before  we  got  to  our  lodgings.  After  dinner, 
I took  the  rail  for  Chester  and  Rock  Park,  and  S-^?~  ■ 
and  the  children  and  maid  followed  the  next  day. 

a September  22 d.  — I dined  on  Wednesday  evening  at 
Mr.  John  Heywood’s,  Norris  Green.  Mr.  Monckton 
Milnes  and  lady  were  of  the  company.  Mr.  Milnes  is  a 
very  agreeable,  kindly  man,  resembling  Longfellow  a 
good  deal  in  personal  appearance ; and  he  promotes,  by 
his  genial  manners,  the  same  pleasant  intercourse  which 
is  so  easily  established  with  Longfellow.  He  is  said  to 
be  a very  kind  patron  of  literary  men,  and  to  do  a great 
deal  of  good  among  young  and  neglected  people  of  that 
class.  He  is  considered  one  of  the  best  conversationists 
at  present  in  society : it  may  very  well  be  so ; his 
style  of  talking  being  very  simple  and  natural,  any- 
thing but  obtrusive,  so  that  you  might  enjoy  its  agreeable- 
ness without  suspecting  it.  He  introduced  me  to  his 


128 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 


wife  (a  daughter  of  Lord  Crewe),  with  whom  and  him-. 

self  I had  a good  deal  of  talk Mr.  Milnes  told 

me  that  he  owns  the  land  in  Yorkshire,  whence  some 
of  the  pilgrims  of  the  Mayflower  emigrated  to  Plymouth, 
and  that  Elder  Brewster  was  the  Postmaster  of  the  vil- 
lage  He  also  said  that  in  the  next  voyage  of  the 

Mayflower,  after  she  carried  the  Pilgrims,  she  was  em- 
ployed in  transporting  a cargo  of  slaves  from  Africa,  — 
to  the  West  Indies,  I suppose.  This  is  a queer  fact, 
and  would  be  nuts  for  the  Southerners. 


Mem.  — An  American  would  never  understand  the 
passage  in  Bunyan  about  Christian  and  Hopeful  going 
astray  along  a by-path  into  the  grounds  of  Giant  De- 
spair, — from  there  being  no  stiles  and  by-paths  in  our 
country. 

September  26th,  — On  Saturday  evening  my  wife 
and  I went  to  a soiree  given  by  the  Mayor  and  Mrs. 
Lloyd  at  the  Town  Hall  to  receive'  the  Earl  of  Harrow- 
by.  It  was  quite  brilliant,  the  public  rooms  being  really 
magnificent,  and  adorned  for  the  occasion  with  a large 
collection  of  pictures,  belonging  to  Mr.  Naylor.  They 
were  mostly,  if  not  entirely,  of  modern  artists,  — of 
Turner,  Wilkie,  Landseer,  and  others  of  the  best  Eng- 
lish painters.  Turner’s  seemed  too  ethereal  to  have 
been  done  by  mortal  hands. 

The  British  Scientific  Association  being  now  in  ses* 
sion  here,  many  distinguished  strangers  were  present 


September  26th.  — Mr.  Monckton  Milnes  called  ou 


LIVERPOOL. 


129 


1854.] 

me  at  the  Consulate  day  before  yesterday.  He  is  pleas- 
ant and  sensible Speaking  of  American  politi- 

cians, I remarked  that  they  were  seldom  anything  but 
politicians,  and  had  no  literary  or  other  culture  beyond 
their  own  calling.  He  said  the  case  was  the  same  in 

England,  and  instanced  Sir , who  once  called 

on  him  for  information  when  an  appeal  had  been  made 

to  him  respecting  two  literary  gentlemen.  Sir 

had  never  heard  the  names  of  either  of  these  gentlemen, 
and  applied  to  Mr.  Milnes  as  being  somewhat  conver- 
sant with  the  literary  class,  to  know  whether  they  were 
distinguished  and  what  were  their  claims.  The  names 
of  the  two  literary  men  were  James  Sherida*i  Knowlet 
and  Alfred  Tennyson. 

October  bth.  — Yesterday  I was  present  at  a dejeuner 
on  board  the  James  Barnes,  on  occasion  of  her  com. 
ing  under  the  British  flag,  having  been  built  for  tin* 
Messrs.  Barnes  by  Donald  McKay  of  Boston.  She  k 
a splendid  vessel,  and  magnificently  fitted  up,  though 
not  with  consummate  taste.  It  would  be  worth  while 
that  ornamental  architects  and  upholsterers  should  study 
this  branch  of  art,  since  the  ship-builders  seem  willing 
to  expend  a good  deal  of  money  on  it.  In  fact,  I do 
not  see  that  there  is  anywhere  else  so  much  encourage- 
ment.to  the  exercise  of  ornamental  art.  I saw  nothing 
to  criticise  in  the  solid  and  useful  details  of  the  ship  ; the 
ventilation,  in  particular,  being  free  and  abundant,  so 
that  the  hundreds  of  passengers  who  will  have  their 
berths  between  decks,  and  at  a still  lower  depth,  will 
have  good  air  and  enough  of  it. 

There  were  four  or  five  hundred  persons,  principally 

6*  I 


130 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854 


Liverpool  merchants  and  their  wives,  invited  to  the 
dejeuner;  and  the  tables  were  spread  between  decks, 
the  berths  for  passengers  not  being  yet  put  in.  There 
was  not  quite  light  enough  to  make  the  scene  cheerful, 
it  being  an  overcast  day;  and,  indeed,  there  was  an 
English  plainness  in  the  arrangement  of  the  festal 
room,  which  might  have  been  better  exchanged  for  the 
flowery  American  taste,  which  I have  just  been  crit- 
icising. With  flowers,  and  the  arrangement  of  flags, 
we  should  have  made  something  very  pretty  of  the 
space  between  decks  ; but  there  was  nothing  to  hide  the 
fact,  that  in  a few  days  hence  there  would  be  crowded 
berths  and  sea-sick  steerage  passengers  where  we  were 
now  feasting.  The  cheer  was  very  good,  — cold  fowl 
and  meats ; cold  pies  of  foreign  manufacture  very  rich, 
and  of  mysterious  composition ; and  champagne  in 
plenty,  with  other  wines  for  those  who  liked  them. 

I sat  between  two  ladies,  one  of  them  Mrs. , a 

pleasant  young  woman,  who,  I believe,  is  of  American 
provincial  nativity,  and  whom  I therefore  regarded 
as  half  a countrywoman.  We  talked  a good  deal  to- 
gether, and  I confided  to  her  my  annoyance  at  the 
prospect  of  being  called  up  to  answer  a toast ; but  she 
did  not  pity  me  at  all,  though  she  felt  much  alarm 

about  her  husband,  Captain , who  was  in  the  same 

predicament.  Seriously,  it  is  the  most  awful  part 
of  my  official  duty,  — this  necessity  of  making  dinner- 
speeches  at  the  Mayor’s,  and  other  public  or  semi-public 

tables.  However,  my  neighborhood  to  Mrs. was 

good  for  me,  inasmuch  as  by  laughing  over  the  matter 
with  her  I came  to  regard  it  in  a light  and  ludicrous  way ; 
and  so,  when  the  time  actually  came,  I stood  up  with  a 


1854.1 


LIVERPOOL. 


-131 


careless  dare-devil  feeling.  The  chairman  toasted  the 
President  immediately  after  the  Queen,  and  did  me 
the  honor  to  speak  of  myself  in  a most  flattering 
manner,  something  like  this  : “ Great  by  his  position 
under  the  Republic, — greater  still,  I am  bold  to  say, 
in  the  Republic  of  letters  ! ” I made  no  reply  at  all 
to  this ; in  truth,  I forgot  all  about  it  when  I began  to 
speak,  and  merely  thanked  the  company  in  behalf 
of  the  President  and  my  countrymen,  and  made  a few 
remarks  with  no  very  decided  point  to  them.  How- 
ever, they  cheered  and  applauded,  and  I took  advantage 

of  the  applause  to  sit  down,  and  Mrs. informed  me 

that  I had  succeeded  admirably.  It  was  no  success  at 
all,  to  be  sure ; neither  was  it  a failure,  for  I had 
aimed  at  nothing,  and  I had  exactly  hit  it.  Butr  after 
sitting  down,  I was  conscious  of  an  enjoyment  in 
speaking  to  a public  assembly,  and  felt  as  if  I should 
like  to  rise  again.  It  is  something  like  being  under 
fire,  — a sort  of  excitement,  not  exactly  pleasure,  but 
more  piquant  than  most  pleasures.  I have  felt  this 
before,  in  the  same  circumstances  ; but,  while  on  my 
legs,  my  impulse  is  to  get  through  with  my  remarks 
and  sit  down  again  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  next 

speech,  I think,  was  by  Rev.  Dr. , the  celebrated 

Arctic  gentleman,  in  reply  to  a toast  complimentary 
to  the  clergy.  He  turned  aside  from  the  matter 
in  hand,  to  express  his  kind  feelings  towards  America, 
where  he  said  he  had  been  most  hospitably  received, 
especially  at  Cambridge  University.  He  also  made 
allusions  to  me,  and  I suppose  it  would  have  been  no 
more  than  civil  in  me  to  have  answered  with  a speech 
in  acknowledgment,  but  I did  not  choose  to  make 


132 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1854. 

another  venture,  so  merely  thanked  him  across  the  corner 
of  the  table,  for  he  sat  near  me.  He  is  a venerable- 
looking,  white-haired  gentleman,  tall  and  slender,  with 
a pale,  intelligent,  kindly  face. 

Other  speeches  were  made ; but  from  beginning  to 
end  there  was  not  one  breath  of  eloquence,  nor  even 
one  neat  sentence ; and  I rather  think  that  Englishmen 
would  purposely  avoid  eloquence  or  neatness  in  after- 
dinner  speeches.  It  seems  to  be  no  part  of  their 
object.  Yet  any  Englishman  almost,  much  more  gen- 
erally than  Americans,  will  stand  up  and  talk  on  in  a 
plain  way,  uttering  one  rough,  ragged,  and  shapeless 
sentence  after  another,  and  will  have  expressed  himself 
sensibly,  though  in  a very  rude  manner,  before  he  sits 
down*.  And  this  is  quite  satisfactory  to  his  audience, 
who,  indeed,  are  rather  prejudiced  against  the  man  who 
speaks  too  glibly. 

The  guests  began  to  depart  shortly  after  three 
o’clock.  This  morning  I have  seen  two  reports  of  my 
little  speech,  — one  exceedingly  incorrect;  another 
pretty  exact,  but  not  much  to  my  taste,  for  I seem  to 
have  left  out  everything  that  would  have  been  fittest  to 
say. 

Octooer  6 th.  — The  people,  for  several  days,  have 
been  in  the  utmost  anxiety,  and  latterly  in  the  highest 
exultation  about  Sebastopol,  — and  all  England,  and 
Europe  to  boot,  have  been  fooled  by  the  belief  that  it 
had  fallen.  This,  however,  now  turns  out  to  be  incor- 
rect ; and  the  public  visage  is  somewhat  grim,  in 
consequence.  I am  glad  of  it.  In  spite  of  his  actual 
sympathies,  it  is  impossible  for  a true  American  to  be 


LIVERPOOL. 


133 


£854.] 

otherwise  than  glad.  Success  makes  an  Englishman 
intolerable ; and,  already,  on  the  mistaken  idea  that  the 
way  was  open  to  a prosperous  conclusion  of  the  war, 
The  Times  had  begun  to  throw  out  menaces  against 
America.  I shall  never  love  England  till  she  sues  to 
us  for  help,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  the  fewer  triumphs 
she  obtains,  the  better  for  all  parties.  An  Englishman 
in  adversity  is  a very  respectable  character  ; he  does 
not  lose  his  dignity,  but  merely  comes  to  a proper 
conception  of  himself.  It  is  rather  touching  to  an 
observer  to  see  how  much  the  universal  heart  is  in  this 
matter,  — to  see  * the  merchants  gathering  round  the 
telegraphic  messages,  posted  on  the  pillars  of  the  Ex- 
change news-room,  — the  people  in  the  street  who 
cannot  afford  to  buy  a paper  clustering  round  the 
windows  of  the  news-offices,  where  a copy  is  pinned  up, 
— the  groups  of  corporals  and  sergeants  at  the  recruit- 
ing rendezvous,  with  a newspaper  in  the  midst  of  them  ; 
- — and  all  earnest  and  sombre,  and  feeling  like  one 
man  together,  whatever  their  rank.  I seem  to  myself 
like  a spy  or  a traitor  when  I meet  their  eyes,  and  am 
conscious  that  I neither  hope  nor  fear  in  sympathy  with 
them,  although  they  look  at  me  in  full  confidence  of 
sympathy.  Their  heart  “ knoweth  its  own  bitterness,” 
and  as  for  me,  being  a stranger  and  an  alien,  I “ inter- 
meddle not  with  their  joy.” 

October  9th.  — My  ancestor  left  England  in  1630. 
I return  in  1853.  I sometimes  feel  as  if  I myself  had 
been  absent  these  two  hundred  and  twenty-three  years, 
leaving  England  just  emerging  from  the  feudal  system, 
and  finding  it,  on  my  return,  on  the  verge  of  republican- 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


134 


[1854 


ism.  It  brings  the  two  far-separated  points  of  time 
very  closely  together,  to  view  the  matter  thus. 


October  1 §th.  — A day  or  two  ago  arrived  the  sad 
news  of  the  loss  of  the  Arctic  by  collision  with  a French 
steamer  off  Newfoundland,  and  the  loss  also  of  three  or 
four  hundred  people.  I have  seldom  been  more  af- 
fected by  anything  quite  alien  from  my  personal  and 
friendly  concerns,  than  by  the  death  of  Captain  Luce 
and  his  son.  The  boy  was  a delicate  lad,  and  it  is 
said  that  he  had  never  been  absent  from  his  mother 
till  this  time,  when  his  father  had  taken  him  to  Eng- 
land to  consult  a physician  about  a complaint  in  bis 
hip.  So  his  father,  while  the  ship  was  sinking,  was 
obliged  to  decide  whether  he  would  put  the  poor,  weak- 
ly, timorous  child  on  board  the  boat,  to  take  his  hard 
chance  of  life  there,  or  keep  him  to  go  down  with  him- 
self and  the  ship.  He  chose  the  latter;  and  within 
half  an  hour,  I suppose,  the  boy  was  among  the  child- 
angels.  Captain  Luce  could  not  do  less  than  die,  for 
his  own  part,  with  the  responsibility  of  all  those  lost 
lives  upon  him.  He  may  not  have  been  in  the  least  to 
blame  for  the  calamity,  but  it  was  certainly  too  heavy 
a one  for  him  to  survive.  He  was  a sensible  man,  and 
a gentleman,  courteous,  quiet,  with  something  almost 
melancholy  in  his  address  and  aspect.  Oftentimes  he 
has  come  into  my  inner  office  to  say  good  by  before  his 
departures,  but  I cannot  precisely  remember  whether 
or  no  he  took  leave  of  me  before  this  latest  voyage. 
I never  exchanged  a great  many  words  with  him ; but 
those  were  kind  ones. 


LIVERPOOL. 


135 


18M.] 

October  19 th.  — It  appears  to  be  customary  for  peo- 
ple of  decent  station,  but  in  distressed  circumstances,  to 
go  round  among  their  neighbors  and  the  public,  accom- 
panied by  a friend,  who  explains  the  case.  I have 
been  accosted  in  the  street  in  regard  to  one  of  these 
matters ; and  to-day  there  came  to  my  office  a grocer, 
who  had  become  security  for  a friend,  and  who  was 
threatened  with  an  execution,  — with  another  grocer  for 
supporter  and  advocate.  The  beneficiary  takes  very 
little  active  part  in  the  affair,  merely  looking  careworn, 
distressed,  and  pitiable,  and  throwing  in  a word  of  cor- 
roboration, or  a sigh,  or  an  acknowledgment,  as  the 
case  may  demand.  In  the  present  instance,  the  friend, 
a young,  respectable-looking  tradesman,  with  a Lan- 
cashire accent,  spoke  freely  and  simply  of  his  client’s 
misfortunes,  not  pressing  the  case  unduly,  but  doing  it 
full  justice,  and  saying,  at  the  close  of  the  interview', 
that  it  was  no  pleasant  business  for  himself.  The 
broken  grocer  was  an  elderly  man,  of  somewhat  sickly 
aspect.  The  whole  matter  is  very  foreign  to  American 
habits.  No  respectable  American  would  think  of  re- 
trieving his  affairs  by  such  means,  but  would  prefer 
ruin  ten  times  over;  no  friend  would  take  up  his 
cause ; no  public  would  think  it  worth  while  to  prevent 
the  small  catastrophe.  And  yet  the  custom  is  not 
without  its  good  side,  as  indicating  a closer  feeling  of 
brotherhood,  a more  efficient  sense  of  neighborhood, 
than  exists  among  ourselves,  although,  perhaps,  we  are 
more  careless  of  a fellow-creature’s  ruin,  because  ruin 
with  us  is  by  no  means  the  fatal  and  irretrievable  event 
that  it  is  in  England. 


136  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1854. 

I am  impressed  with  the  ponderous  and  imposing  look 
of  an  English  legal  document,  — an  assignment  of  real 
estate  in  England,  for  instance,  — engrossed  on  an  im- 
mense sheet  of  thickest  paper,  in  a formal  hand,  begin- 
ning with  “ This  Indenture  ” in  German  text,  and  with 
occasional  phrases  of  form,  breaking  out  into  large  script, 
— very  long  and  repetitious,  fortified  with  the  Mayor 
of  Manchester’s  seal,  two  or  three  inches  in  diameter, 
which  is  certified  by  a notary-public,  whose  signature, 
again,  is  to  have  my  consular  certificate  and  official  seal. 

November  2 d.  — A young  Frenchman  enters,  of  gen- 
tlemanly aspect,  with  a grayish  cloak  or  paletot  over- 
spreading his  upper  person,  and  a handsome  and  well- 
made  pair  of  black  trousers  and  well-fitting  boots  be- 
low. On  sitting  down,  he  does  not  throw  off  nor  at 
all  disturb  the  cloak.  Eying  him  more  closely,  one 
discerns  that  he  has  no  shirt-collar,  and  that  what  little 
is  visible  of  his  shirt-bosom  seems  not  to  be  of  to- 
day nor  of  yesterday,  — perhaps  not  even  of  the  day 
before.  His  manners  are  very  good  ; nevertheless, 
he  is  a coxcomb  and  a jackanapes.  He  avers  himself 
a naturalized  citizen  of  America,  where  he  has  been 
tutor  in  several  families  of  distinction,  and  has  been 
treated  like  a son.  He  left  America  on  account  of 
his  health,  and  came  near  being  tutor  in  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk’s  family,  but  failed  for  lack  of  testimonials ; 
he  is  exceedingly  capable  and  accomplished,  but  re- 
duced in  funds,  and  wants  employment  here,  or  the 
means  of  returning  to  America,  where  he  intends  to 
take  a situation  under  government,  which  he  is  sure 
of  obtaining.  He  mentioned  a quarrel  which  he  had 


1854.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


137 


recently  had  with  an  Englishman  in  behalf  of  America, 
and  would  have  fought  a duel  had  such  been  the 
custom  of  the  country*  He  made  the  Englishman  foam 
at  the  mouth,  and  told  him  that  he  had  been  twelve 
years  at  a military  school,  and  could  easily  kill  him* 
I say  to  him  that  I see  little  or  no  prospect  of  his 
getting  employment  here*  but  offer  to  inquire  whether 
any  situation,  as  clerk  or  otherwise*  can  be  obtained  for 
him  in  a vessel  returning  to  America,  and  ask  his 
address.  He  has  no  address.  Much  to  my  surprise, 
he  takes  his  leave  without  requesting  pecuniary  aid, 
but  hints  that  he  shall  call  again. 

He  is  a very  disagreeable  young  fellow,  like  scores 
of  others  who  call  on  me  in  the  like  situation.  His 
English  is  very  good  for  a Frenchman,  and  he  says  he 
speaks  it  the  least  well  of  five  languages.  He  has 
been  three  years  in  America,  and  obtained  his  natural- 
ization papers,  he  says,  as  a special  favor,  and  by 
means  of  strong  interest.  Nothing  is  so  absolutely 
odious  as  the  sense  of  freedom  and  equality  pertaining 
to  an  American  grafted  on  the  mind  of  a native  of  any 
other  country  in  the  world.  A naturalized  citizen  is 
hateful.  Nobody  has  a right  to  our  ideas,  unless  born 
to  them. 

November  9 th.  — I lent  the  above  Frenchman  a 
small  sum ; he  advertised  for  employment  as  a teacher ; 
and  he  called  this  morning  to  thank  me  for  my  aid, 

and  says  Mr.  C has  engaged  him  for  his  children, 

at  a guinea  a week,  and  that  he  has  also  another 
engagement.  The  poor  fellow  seems  to  have  been 
brought  to  a very  low  ebb.  He  has  pawmed  every- 


138 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[i  854. 

thing,  even  to  his  last  shirt,  save  the  one  he  had  on, 
and  had  been  living  at  the  rate  of  twopence  a day. 
I had  procured  him  a chance  to  return  to  America, 
but  he  was  ashamed  to  go  back  in  such  poor  circum- 
stances, and  so  determined  to  seek  better  fortune  here. 
I like  him  better  than  I did,  partly,  I suppose,  be- 
cause I have  helped  him. 

November  1 \th.  — The  other  day  I saw  an  elderly 
gentleman  walking  in  Dale  Street,  apparently  in  a 
state  of  mania ; for  as  he  limped  along  (being  afflicted 
with  lameness)  he  kept  talking  to  himself,  and  some- 
times breaking  out  into  a threat  against  some  casual 
passenger.  He  was  a very  repectable-looking  man ; 
and  I remember  to  have  seen  him  last  summer,  in  the 
steamer,  returning  from  the  Isle  of  Man,  where  he  had 
been  staying  at  Castle  Mona.  What  a strange  and 
ugly  predicament  it  would  be  for  a person  of  quiet 
habits  to  be  suddenly  smitten  with  lunacy  at  noonday 
in  a crowded  street,  and  to  walk  along  through  a dim 
maze  of  extravagances,  — partly  conscious  of  them, 
but  unable  to  resist  the  impulse  to  give  way  to  them  ! 
A long-suppressed  nature  might  be  represented  as 
bursting  out  in  this  way,  for  want  of  any  other  safety- 
valve. 

In  America,  people  seem  to  consider  the  government 
merely  as  a political  administration ; and  they  care 
nothing  for  the  credit  of  it,  unless  it  be  the  administra- 
tion of  their  own  political  party.  In  England,  all  peo- 
ple, of  whatever  party,  are  anxious  for  the  credit  of 
their  rulers.  Our  government,  as  a knot  of  persons, 


LIVERPOOL. 


139 


1854.] 

changes  so  entirely  every  four  years,  that  the  institution 
has  come  to  be  considered  a temporary  thing. 

Looking  at  the  moon  the  other  evening,  little  R 

said  “ It  blooms  out  in  the  morning  ! ” taking  the  moon 
to  be  the  bud  of  the  sun. 

The  English  are  a most  intolerant  people.  Nobody 
is  permitted,  nowadays,  to  have  any  opinion  but  the 
prevalent  one.  There  seems  to  be  very  little  difference 
between  their  educated  and  ignorant  classes  in  this  re- 
spect ; if  any,  it  is  to  the  credit  of  the  latter,  who  do  not 
show  tokens  of  such  extreme  interest  in  the  war.  It 
is  agreeable,  however,  to  observe  how  all  Englishmen 
pull  together,  — how  each  man  comes  forward  with  his 
little  scheme  for  helping  on  the  war,  — how  they  feel 
themselves  members  of  one  family,  talking  together 
about  their  common  interest,  as  if  they  were  gathered 
around  one  fireside  ; and  then  what  a hearty  meed  of 
honor  they  award  to  their  soldiers  ! It  is  worth  facing 
death  for.  Whereas,  in  America,  when  our  soldiers 
fought  as  good  battles,  with  as  great  proportionate  loss, 
and  far  more  valuable  triumphs,  the  country  seemed 
rather  ashamed  than  proud  of  them. 

Mrs.  Heywood  tells  me  that  there  are  many  Catho- 
lics among  the  lower  classes  in  Lancashire  and  Cheshire, 
— probably  the  descendants  of  retainers  of  the  old 
Catholic  nobility  and  gentry,  who  are  more  numerous 
in  these  shires  than  in  other  parts  of  England.  The. 
present  Lord  Sefton’s  grandfather  was  the  first  of  that 
race  who  became  Protestant. 


140 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185V 


December  ^bth.  — Commodore  P called  to  see 

me  this  morning,  — a brisk,  gentlemanly,  off-hand,  but 
not  rough,  unaffected  and  sensible  man,  looking  not 
so  elderly  as  he  ought,  on  account  of  a very  well  made 
wig.  He  is  now  on  his  return  from  a cruise  in  the 
East  Indian  seas,  and  goes  home  by  the  Baltic,  with  a 
prospect  of  being  very  well  received  on  account  of  his 
treaty  with  Japan.  I seldom  meet  with  a man  who 
puts  himself  more  immediately  on  conversable  terms 
than  the  Commodore.  He  soon  introduced  his  par- 
ticular business  with  me, —it  being  to  inquire  whether 
I would  recommend  some  suitable  person  to  prepare 
his  notes  and  materials  for  the  publication  of  an  account 
of  his  voyage.  He  was  good  enough  to  say  that  he 
had  fixed  upon  me,  in  his  own  mind,  for  this  office  ; 
but  that  my  public  duties  would  of  course  prevent  me 
from  engaging  in  it.  I spoke  of  Herman  Melville,  and 
one  or  two  others  ; but  he  seems  to  have  some  acquaint- 
ance with  the  literature  of  the  day,  and  did  not  grasp 
very  cordially  at  any  name  that  I could  think  of;  nor, 
indeed,  could  I recommend  any  one  with  full  confidence. 
It  would  be  a very  desirable  task  for  a young  literary 
man,  or,  for  that  matter,  for  an  old  one  ; for  the  world 
can  scarcely  have  in  reserve  a less  hackneyed  theme  than 
Japan. 

This  is  a most  beautiful  day  of  English  winter  ; clear 
and  bright,  with  the  ground  a little  frozen,  and  the 
green  grass  along  the  waysides  at  Rock  Ferry  sprout- 
ing up  through  the  frozen  pools  of  yesterday’s  rain. 
England  is  forever  green.  On  Christmas  day,  the 
children  found  wall-flowers,  pansies,  and  pinks  in  the 
garden ; and  we  had  a beautiful  rose  from  the  garden  of 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


141 


the  hotel,  grown  in  the  open  air.  Yet  one  is  sensible 
of  the  cold  here,  as  much  as  in  the  zero  atmosphere  of 
America.  The  chief  advantage  of  the  English  climate 
is  that  we  are  not  tempted  to  heat  our  rooms  to  so  un- 
healthy a degree  as  in  New  England. 

I think  I have  been  happier  this  Christmas  than  ever 
before,  — by  my  own  fireside,  and  with  my  wife  and 
children  about  me,  — more  content  to  enjoy  what  I 
have,  — less  anxious  for  anything  beyond  it,  in  this  life. 
My  early  life  was  perhaps  a good  preparation  for  the 
declining  half  of  life  ; it  having  been  such  a blank  that 
any  thereafter  would  compare  favorably  with  it.  For 
a long,  long  while,  I have  occasionally  been  visited  with 
a singular  dream  ; and  I have  an  impression  that  I have 
dreamed  it  ever  since  I have  been  in  England.  It  is, 
that  I am  still  at  college,  — or,  sometimes,  even  at 
school,  — and  there  is  a sense  that  I have  been  there 
unconscionably  long,  and  have  quite  failed  to  make  sucii 
progress  as  my  contemporaries  have  done  ; and  I seem 
to  meet  some  of  them  with  a feeling  of  shame  and  de- 
pression that  broods  over  me  as  I think  of  it,  even  when 
awake.  This  dream,  recurring  all  through  these  twenty 
or  thirty  years,  must  be  one  of  the  effects  of  that  heavy 
seclusion  in  which  I shut  myself  up  for  twelve  years 
after  leaving  college,  when  everybody  moved  onward, 
and  left  me  behind.  How  strange  that  it  should  come 
now,  when  I may  call  myself  famous  and  prosperous ! 

when  I am  happy,  too ! 

January  3 d,  1855.  — The  progress  of  the  age  i& 
trampling  over  the  aristocratic  institutions  of  England, 
and  they  crumble  beneath  it.  This  war  has  given  the 


142 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185k 


country  a vast  impulse  towards  democracy.  The  nc 
bility  will  never  hereafter,  I think,  assume  or  be  per 
mitted  to  rule  the  nation  in  peace,  or  command  armies 
in  war,  on  any  ground  except  the  individual  ability 
which  may  appertain  to  one  of  their  number,  as  well  as 
to  a commoner.  And  yet  the  nobles  were  never 
positively  more  noble  than  now ; never,  perhaps,  so 
chivalrous,  so  honorable,  so  highly  cultivated;  but, 
relatively  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  do  not  maintain 
their  old  place.  The  pressure  of  the  war  has  tested 
and  proved  this  fact,  at  home  and  abroad.  At  this 
moment  it  would  be  an  absurdity  in  the  nobles  to 
pretend  to  the  position  which  was  quietly  conceded  to 
them  a year  ago.  This  one  year  has  done  the  work  of 
fifty  ordinary  ones ; or,  more  accurately,  it  has  made 
apparent  what  has  long  been  preparing  itself. 

January  §th.  — The  American  ambassador  called  on 
me  to-day  and  stayed  a good  while,  — an  hour  or  two. 
He  is  visiting  at  Mr.  William  Browne’s,  at  Richmond 
Hill,  having  come  to  this  region  to  bring  his  niece,  who 
is  to  be  bride’s-maid  at  the  wedding  of  an  American 

girl.  I like  Mr. . He  cannot  exactly  be  called 

gentlemanly  in  his  manners,  there  being  a sort  of  rus- 
ticity about  him  ; moreover,  he  has  a habit  of  squinting 
one  eye,  and  an  awkward  carriage  of  his  head ; but, 
withal,  a dignity  in  his  large  person,  and  a consciousness 
of  high  position  and  importance,  which  gives  him  ease 
and  freedom.  Very  simple  and  frank  in  his  address,  he 
may  be  as  crafty  as  other  diplomatists  are  said  to  be; 
but  I see  only  good  sense  and  plainness  of  speech,  — 
appreciative,  too,  and  genial  enough  to  make  himself 


LIVERPOOL. 


143 


(855o] 

conversable.  He  talked  very  freely  of  himself  and  of 
other  public  people,  and  of  American  and  English 
affairs.  He  returns  to  America,  he  says,  next  October, 
and  then  retires  forever  from  public  life,  being  sixty- 
four  years  of  age,  and  having  now  no  desire  except 
to  write  memoirs  of  his  times,  and  especially  of 
the  administration  of  Mr.  Polk.  I suggested  a doubt 
whether  the  people  would  permit  him  to  retire  ; and  he 
immediately  responded  to  my  hint  as  regards  his  pros- 
pects for  the  Presidency.  He  said  that  his  mind  was 
fully  made  up,  and  that  he  would  never  be  a candi- 
date, and  that  he  had  expressed  this  decision  to  his 
friends  in  such  a way  as  to  put  it  out  of  his  own  power 
to  change  it.  He  acknowledged  that  he  should  have 
been  glad  of  the  nomination  for  the  Presidency  in 
1852,  but  that  it  was  now  too  late,  and  that  he  was  too 
old,  — and,  in  short,  he  seemed  to  be  quite  sincere  in 
his  nolo  episcopari ; although,  really,  he  is  the  only 
Democrat,  at  this  moment,  whom  it  would  not  be 
absurd  to  talk  of  for  the  office.  As  he  talked,  his  face 
flushed,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  inwardly  excited. 
Doubtless,  it  was  the  high  vision  of  half  his  lifetime 
which  he  here  relinquished.  I cannot  question  that  he 
is  sincere ; but,  of  course,  should  the  people  insist  upon 
having  him  for  President,  he  is  too  good  a patriot  to 
refuse.  I wonder  whether  he  can  have  had  any  object 
in  saying  all  this  to  me.  He  might  see  that  it  would 
be  perfectly  natural  for  me  to  tell  it  to  General  Pierce. 
But  it  is  a very  vulgar  idea,  — this  of  seeing  craft  and 
subtlety,  when  there  is  a plain  and  honest  aspect. 

January  9 th.  — I dined  at  Mr.  William  Browned 


144 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS 


[1855. 

(M.  P.)  last  evening  with  a large  party.  The  whole 
table  and  dessert  service  was  of  silver.  Speaking  of 

Shakespeare,  Mr* said  that  the  Duke  of  Somerset, 

who  is  now  nearly  fourscore*  told  him  that  the  father 
of  John  and  Charles  Kemble  had  made  all  possible 
research  into  the  events  of  Shakespeare’s  life,  and  that 
he  had  found  reason  to  believe  that  Shakespeare  at- 
tended a certain  revel  at  Stratford,  and,  indulging  too 
much  in  the  conviviality  of  the  occasion,  he  tumbled 
into  a ditch  on  his  way  home,  and  died  there!  The 
Kemble  patriarch  was  an  aged  man  when  he  com- 
municated this  to  the  Duke  ; and  their  ages,  linked  to 
each  other,  would  extend  back  a good  way  ; scarcely  to 
the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  however.  If  I mis- 
take not,  it  was  from  the  traditions  of  Stratford  that 
Kemble  had  learned  the  above.  I do  not  remember 
ever  to  have  seen  it  in  print,  — which  is  most  singular. 

Miss  L has  an  English  rather  than  an  American 

aspect,  — being  of  stronger  outline  than  most  of  our 
young  ladies,  although  handsomer  than  English  women 
generally,  extremely  self-possessed  and  well  poised, 
without  affectation  or  assumption,  but  quietly  conscious 
of  rank,  as  much  so  as  if  she  were  an  Earl’s  daughter. 
In  truth,  she  felt  pretty  much  as  an  Earl’s  daughter 
would  do  towards  the  merchants’  wives  and  daughters 
who  made  up  the  feminine  portion  of  the  party. 

I talked  with  her  a little,  and  found  her  sensible, 
vivacious,  and  firm-textured,  rather  than  soft  and  senti- 
mental. She  paid  me  some  compliments  ; but  I do  not 
remember  paying  her  any. 

Mr.  J ’s  daughters,  two  pale,  handsome  girls,  were 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


145 


present.  One  of  them  is  to  be  married  to  a grandson 

of  Mr. , who  was  also  at  the  dinner.  He  is  a small 

young  man,  with  a thin  and  fair  mustache,  ....  and  a 
lady  who  sat  next  me  whispered  that  his  expectations 
are  £6000  per  annum . It  struck  me,  that,  being  a 
country  gentleman’s  son,  he  kept  himself  silent  and 
reserved,  as  feeling  himself  too  good  for  this  commer- 
cial dinner-party  ; but  perhaps,  and  I rather  think  so, 
he  was  really  shy  and  had  nothing  to  say,  being  only 
twenty-one,  and  therefore  quite  a boy  among  English- 
men. The  only  man  of  cognizable  rank  present,  except 

Mr. and  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool,  was  a Baronet, 

Sir  Thomas  Birch. 

January  17 th,  — S and  I were  invited  to  be 

present  at  the  wedding  of  Mr.  J ’s  daughter  this 

morning,  but  we  were  also  bidden  to  the  funeral  ser- 
vices of  Mrs.  G , a young  American  lady  ; and  we 

went  to  the  “ house  of  mourning,”  rather  than  to  the 
“ house  of  feasting.”  Her  death  was  very  sudden.  I 
crossed  to  Rock  Ferry  on  Saturday,  and  met  her  hus- 
band in  the  boat.  He  said  his  wife  was  rather  unwell, 
and  that  he  had  just  been  sent  for  to  see  her ; but  he  did 
not  seem  at  all  alarmed.  And  yet,  on  reaching  home,  he 
found  her  dead  ! The  body  is  to  be  conveyed  to  Ameri- 
ca, and  the  funeral  service  was  read  over  her  in  her  house, 
only  a few  neighbors  and  friends  being  present.  We 
were  shown  into  a darkened  room,  where  there  was  a dim 
gas-light  burning,  and  a fire  glimmering,  and  here  and 
there  a streak  of  sunshine  struggling  through  the  drawn 

curtains.  Mr.  G looked  pale,  and  quite  overcome 

with  grief,  — this,  I suppose,  being  his  first  sorrow,  — * 
VOL.  i.  7 


j 


146 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185 


and  he  has  a young  baby  on  his  hands,  and  no  doubt 
feels  altogether  forlorn  in  this  foreign  land.  The  clergy- 
man entered  in  his  canonicals,  and  we  walked  in  a little 
procession  into  another  room,  where  the  coffin  was 

placed.  Mr.  G sat  down  and  rested  his  head  on 

the  coffin : the  clergyman  read  the  service ; then  knelt 
down,  as  did  most  of  the  company,  and  prayed  with 
great  propriety  of  manner,  but  with  no  earnestness,  — 

and  we  separated.  Mr.  G is  a small,  smooth,  and 

pretty  young  man,  not  emphasized  in  any  way  ; but 
grief  threw  its  awfulness  about  him  to-day  in  a degree 
which  I should  not  have  expected. 

January  20 th.  — Mr.  Steele,  a gentleman  of  Rock 
Ferry,  showed  me  this  morning  a pencil-case  formerly 
belonging  to  Dr.  Johnson.  It  is  six  or  seven  inches 
long,  of  large  calibre,  and  very  clumsily  manufactured 
of  iron,  perhaps  plated  in  its  better  days,  but  now  quite 
bare.  Indeed,  it  looks  as  rough  as  an  article  of  kitchen 
furniture.  The  intaglio  on  the  end  is  a lion  rampant. 
On  the  whole,  it  well  became  Dr.  Johnson  to  have  used 
such  a stalwart  pencil-case.  It  had  a six-inch  measure 
on  a part  of  it,  so  that  it  must  have  been  at  least  eight 
inches  long.  Mr.  Steele  says  he  has  seen  a cracked 
earthern  teapot,  of  large  size,  in  which  Miss  Williams 
used  to  make  tea  for  Dr.  Johnson. 


God  himself  cannot  compensate  us  for  being  born  for 
any  period  short  of  eternity.  All  the  misery  endured 
here  constitutes  a claim  for  another  life,  and,  still  more, 
all  the  happiness ; because  all  true  happiness  involves 
something  more  than  the  earth  owns,  and  needs  some- 


LIVERPOOL. 


147 


1855.  J 

thing  more  than  a mortal  capacity  for  the  enjoyment 
of  it. 

After  receiving  an  injury  on  the  head,  a person  fancied 
all  the  rest  of  his  life  that  he  heard  voices  flouting,  jeer- 
ing, and  upbraiding  him. 

February  19 th.  — I dined  with  the  Mayor  at  the 
Town  Hall  last  Friday  evening.  I sat  next  to  Mr.  W. 

J , an  Irish- American  merchant,  who  is  in  very  good 

standing  here.  He  told  me  that  he  used  to  be  very 
well  acquainted  with  General  Jackson,  and  that  he  was 
present  at  the  street  fight  between  him  and  the  Bentons, 
and  helped  to  take  General  Jackson  off  the  ground. 
Colonel  Benton  shot  at  him  from  behind ; but  it  was 
Jesse  Benton’s  ball  that  hit  him  and  broke  his  arm.  I 
did  not  understand  him  to  infer  any  treachery  or 
cowardice  from  the  circumstance  of  Colonel  Benton’s 
shooting  at  Jackson  from  behind,  but  suppose  it  occurred 
in  the  confusion  and  excitement  of  a street  fight.  Mr. 
W.  J seems  to  think  that,  after  all,  the  reconcilia- 

tion between  the  old  General  and  Benton  was  merely 
external,  and  that  they  really  hated  one  another  as  be- 
fore. I do  not  think  so. 

These  dinners  of  the  Mayors  are  rather  agreeable 
than  otherwise,  except  for  the  annoyance,  in  my  case, 
of  being  called  up  to  speak  to  a toast,  and  that  is  less 
disagreeable  than  at  first.  The  suite  of  rooms  at  the 
Town  House  is  stately  and  splendid,  and  all  the  Mayors, 
as  far  as  I have  seen,  exercise  hospitality  in  a manner 
worthy  of  the  chief  magistrates  of  a great  city.  They 
are  supposed  always  to  spend  much  more  than  their 


148  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

salary  (which  is  £2000)  in  these  entertainments.  The 
town  provides  the  wines,  I am  told,  and  it  might  be  ex- 
pected that  they  should  be  particularly  good,  — at  least, 
those  which  improve  by  age,  for  a quarter  of  a century 
should  be  only  a moderate  age  for  wine  from  the  cellars 
of  centuries-long  institutions,  like  a corporate  borough. 
Each  Mayor  might  lay  in  a supply  of  the  best  vintage 
he  could  find,  and  trust  his  good  name  to  posterity  to 
the  credit  of  that  wine ; and  so  he  would  be  kindly  and 
warmly  remembered  long  after  his  own  nose  had  lost 
its  rubicundity.  In  point  of  fact,  the  wines  seem  to  be 
good,  but  not  remarkable.  The  dinner  was  good,  and 
very  handsomely  served,  with  attendance  enough,  both 
in  the  hall  below  — where  the  door  was  wide  open  at 
the  appointed  hour,  notwithstanding  the  cold,  — and  at 
table  ; some  being  in  the  rich  livery  of  the  borough,  and 
some  in  plain  clothes.  Servants,  too,  were  stationed  at 
various  points  from  the  hall  to  the  reception-room ; and 
the  last  one  shouted  forth  the  name  of  the  entering 
guest.  There  were,  I should  think,  about  fifty  guests 

at  this  dinner Two  bishops  were  present.  The 

Bishops  of  Chester  and  New  South  Wales,  dressed  in  a 
kind  of  long  tunics,  with  black  breeches  and  silk  stock- 
ings, insomuch  that  I first  fancied  they  were  Catholics. 
Also  Dr.  McNeil,  in  a stiff-collared  coat,  looking  more 
like  a general  than  a divine.  There  were  two  officers 
in  blue  uniforms  ; and  all  the  rest  of  us  were  in  black, 
with  only  two  white  waistcoats,  — my  own  being  one,  — 
and  a rare  sprinkling  of  white  cravats.  How  hideously 
a man  looks  in  them ! I should  like  to  have  seen  such 
assemblages  as  must  have  gathered  in  that  reception- 
room,  and  walked  with  stately  tread  to  the  dining-hall, 


1855,] 


LIVERPOOL. 


149 


in  times  past,  — the  Mayor  and  other  civic  dignities  in 
their  robes,  noblemen  in  their  state  dresses,  the  Consul 
in  his  olive-leaf  embroidery,  everybody  in  some  sort 
of  bedizenment,  — and  then  the  dinner  would  have 
been  a magnificent  spectacle,  worthy  of  the  gilded  hall, 
the  rich  table-service,  and  the  powdered  and  gold-laced 
servitors.  At  a former  dinner  I remember  seeing  a 
gentleman  in  small-clothes,  with  a dress-sword ; but  all 
formalities  of  the  kind  are  passing  away.  The  Mayor’s 
dinners,  too,  will  no  doubt  be  extinct  before  many 
years  go  by.  I drove  home  from  the  Woodside  Ferry 
in  a cab  with  Bishop  Burke  and  two  other  gentlemen. 
The  Bishop  is  nearly  seven  feet  high. 

After  writing  the  foregoing  account  of  a civic  banquet, 
where  I ate  turtle-soup,  salmon,  woodcock,  oyster  patties, 
and  I know  not  what  else,  I have  been  to  the  News- 
room and  found  the  Exchange  pavement  densely  thronged 
with  people  of  all  ages  and  of  all  manner  of  dirt  and 
rags.  They  were  waiting  for  soup-tickets,  and  waiting 
very  patiently  too,  without  outcry  or  disturbance,  or  even 
sour  looks,  — only  patience  and  meekness  in  their  faces. 
Well,  I don’t  know  that  they  have  a right  to  be  im- 
patient of  starvation ; but  still  there  does  seem  to  be  an 
insolence  of  riches  and  prosperity,  which  one  day  or 
another  will  have  a downfall.  And  this  will  be  a pity, 
too. 

On  Saturday  I went  with  my  friend  Mr.  Bright  to 
Otterpool  and  to  Larkhill  to  see  the  skaters  on  the  pri- 
vate waters  of  those  two  seats  of  gentlemen  ; and  it  is  a 
wonder  to  behold  — and  it  is  always  a new  wonder  to 
me  — how  comfortable  Englishmen  know  how  to  make 
themselves ; locating  their  dwellings  far  within  private 


150  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l8fA 

grounds,  with  secure  gateways  and  porters’  lodges,  and 
the  smoothest  roads  and  trimmest  paths,  and  shaven 
lawns,  and  clumps  of  trees,  and  every  bit  of  the  ground, 
every  hill  and  dell,  made  the  most  of  for  convenience 
and  beauty,  and  so  well  kept  that  even  winter  cannot 
cause  disarray ; and  all  this  appropriated  to  the  same 
family  for  generations,  so  that  I suppose  they  come  to 
believe  it  created  exclusively  and  on  purpose  for  them. 
And,  really,  the  result  is  good  and  beautiful.  It  is  a 
home,  — an  institution  which  we  Americans  have  not ; 
but  then  I doubt  whether  anybody  is  entitled  to  a home 
in  this  world,  in  so  full  a sense. 

The  day  was  very  cold,  and  the  skaters  seemed  to 
enjoy  themselves  exceedingly.  They  were,  I suppose, 
friends  of  the  owners  of  the  grounds,  and  Mr.  Bright 
said  they  were  treated  in  a jolly  way,  with  hot  lun- 
cheons. The  skaters  practise  skating  more  as  an  art,  and 
can  perform  finer  manoeuvres  on  the  ice,  than  our  New 
England  skaters  usually  can,  though  the  English  have 
so  much  less  opportunity  for  practice.  A beggar-woman 
was  haunting  the  grounds  at  Otterpool,  but  I saw  no- 
body give  her  anything.  I wonder  how  she  got  inside 
of  the  gate. 

Mr.  W.  J spoke  of  General  Jackson  as  having 

come  from  the  same  part  of  Ireland  as  himself,  and  per- 
haps of  the  same  family.  I wonder  whether  he  meant 
to  say  that  the  General  was  born  in  Ireland,  — that  hav- 
ing been  suspected  in  America. 

February  21  sL — Yesterday  two  companies  of  work- 
people came  to  our  house  in  Rock  Park,  asking  assist* 


LIVERPOOL. 


151 


1855.] 

ance,  being  out  of  work  and  with  no  resource  other  than 
charity.  There  were  a dozen  or  more  in  each  party* 
Their  deportment  was  quiet  and  altogether  unexcep- 
tionable, — no  rudeness,  no  gruffness,  nothing  of  men- 
ace. Indeed,  such  demonstrations  would  not  have 
been  safe,  as  they  were  followed  about  by  two  police- 
men ; but  they  really  seem  to  take  their  distress  as  their 
own  misfortune  and  God's  will,  and  impute  it  to  nobody 
as  a fault.  This  meekness  is  very  touching,  and  makes 
one  question  the  more  whether  they  have  all  their 
rights.  There  have  been  disturbances,  within  a day  or 
two,  in  Liverpool,  and  shops  have  been  broken  open, 
and  robbed  of  bread  and  money  ; but  this  is  said  to  have 
been  done  by  idle  vagabonds,  and  not  by  the  really 
hungry  work-people.  These  last  submit  to  starvation 
gently  and  patiently,  as  if  it  were  an  every-day  matter 
with  them,  or,  at  least,  nothing  but  what  lay  fairly  with- 
in their  horoscope.  I suppose,  in  fact,  their  stomachs 
have  the  physical  habit  that  makes  hunger  not  intoler- 
able, because  customary.  If  they  had  been  used  to  a 
full  meat  diet,  their  hunger  would  be  fierce-  like  that  of 
ravenous  beasts  ; but  now  they  are  trained  to  it. 

I think  that  the  feeling  of  an  American,  divided,  as  I 
am,  by  the  ocean  from  his  country,  has  a continual  and 
immediate  correspondence  with  the  national  feeling  at 
home ; and  it  seems  to  be  independent  of  any  external 
communication.  Thus,  my  ideas  about  the  Russian  war 
vary  in  accordance  with  the  state  of  the  public  mind  at 
home,  so  that  I am  conscious  whereabouts  public  sym- 
pathy  is* 


152 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[l  855. 


March  1th . — J and  I walked  to  Tranmere,  and 

passed  an  old  house  which  I suppose  to  be  Tranmere 
Hall.  Our  way  to  it  was  up  a hollow  lane,  with  a bank 
and  hedge  on  each  side,  and  with  a few  thatched  stone 
cottages,  centuries  old,  their  ridge-poles  crooked  and 
the  stones  time-worn,  scattered  along.  At  one  point 
there  was  a wide,  deep  well,  hewn  out  of  the  solid  red 
freestone,  and  with  steps,  also  hewn  in  solid  rock,  lead- 
ing down  to  it.  These  steps  were  much  hollowed  by 
the  feet  of  those  who  had  come  to  the  well ; and  they 
reach  beneath  the  water,  which  is  very  high.  The  well 
probably  supplied  water  to  the  old  cotters  and  retainers 
of  Tranmere  Hall  five  hundred  years  ago.  The  Hall 
stands  on  the  verge  of  a long  hill  which  stretches  be- 
hind Tranmere  and  as  far  as  Birkenhead. 

It  is  an  old  gray  stone  edifice,  with  a good  many 
gables,  and  windows  with  mullions,  and  some  of  them 
extending  the  whole  breadth  of  the  gable.  In  some 
parts  of  the  house,  the  windows  seem  to  have  been  built 
up;  probably  in  the  days  when  daylight  was  taxed. 
The  form  of  the  Hall  is  multiplex,  the  roofs  sloping 
down  and  intersecting  one  another,  so  as  to  make  the 
general  result  indescribable.  There  were  two  sun-dials 
on  different  sides  of  the  house,  both  the  dial-plates  of 
which  were  of  stone  ; and  on  one  the  figures,  so  far  as  I 
could  see,  were  quite  worn  off,  but  the  gnomon  still 
cast  the  shadow  over  it  in  such  a way  that  I could  judge 
that  it  was  about  noon.  The  tfther  dial  had  some  half- 
worn  hour-marks,  but  no  gnomon.  The  chinks  of  the 
stones  of  the  house  were  very  weedy,  and  the  building 
looked  quaint  and  venerable  ; but  it  is  now  converted 
into  a farm-house,  with  the  farm-yard  and  outbuildings 


LIVERPOOL. 


153 


1855.] 

closely  appended.  A village,  too,  has  grown  up  about 
it,  so  that  it  seems  out  of  place  among  modem  stuccoed 
dwellings,  such  as  are  erected  for  tradesmen  and  other 
moderate  people  who  have  their  residences  in  the  neigh- 
borhood  of  a great  city.  Among  these  there  are  a few 
thatched  cottages,  the  homeliest  domiciles  that  ever  mor- 
tals lived  in,  belonging  to  the  old  estate.  Directly 
across  the  street  is  a Wayside  Inn,  “ licensed  to  sell 
wine,  spirits,  ale,  and  tobacco.”  The  street  itself  has 
been  laid  out  since  the  land  grew  valuable  by  the  in- 
crease of  Liverpool  and  Birkenhead ; for  the  old  Hal) 
would  never  have  been  built  on  the  verge  of  a public 
way. 

March  21th.  — I attended  court  to  day,  at  St. 
George’s  Hall,  with  my  wrife,  Mr.  Bright,  and  Mr. 
Channing,  sitting  in  the  High  Sheriff’s  seat.  It  was  the 
civil  side,  and  Mr.  Justice  Cresswell  presided.  The  law- 
yers, as  far  as  aspect  goes,  seemed  to  me  inferior  to  an 
American  bar,  judging  from  their  countenances,  whether 
as  intellectual  men  or  gentlemen.  Their  wigs  and 
gowns  do  not  impose  on  the  spectator,  though  they 
strike  him  as  an  imposition.  Their  date  is  past.  Mr. 
Warren,  of  the  “ Ten  Thousand  a Year  ” was  in  court, — 
a pale,  thin,  intelligent  face,  evidently  a nervous  man, 
more  unquiet  than  anybody  else  in  court,  — always 
restless  in  his  seat,  whispering  to  his  neighbors,  settling 
his  wig,  perhaps  with  an  idea  that  people  single  him  out. 
St.  George’s  Hall  — the  interior  hall  itself,  I mean  — 
is  a spacious,  lofty,  and  most  rich  and  noble  apartment, 
and  very  satisfactory.  The  pavement  is  made  of  mo- 
saic tiles,  and  has  a beautiful  effect. 

7* 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


154 


[1865. 


April  1th . — I dined  at  Mr.  J.  P.  Hey  wood’s  on 

Thursday,  and  met  there  Mr.  and  Mrs. of  Smith- 

ell’s  Hall.  The  hall  is  an  old  edifice  of  some  five  hun- 
dred years,  and  Mrs. says  there  is  a bloody  foot- 

step at  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase.  The  tradition  is 
that  a certain  martyr,  in  Bloody  Mary’s  time,  being  ex- 
amined before  the  occupant  of  the  Hall,  and  committed 
to  prison,  stamped  his  foot,  in  earnest  protest  against 
the  injustice  with  which  he  was  treated.  Blood  issued 
from  his  foot,  which  slid  along  the  stone  pavement,  leav- 
ing a long  foot-mark,  printed  in  blood.  And  there  it 
has  remained  ever  since,  in  spite  of  the  scrubbings  of  all 

succeeding  generations.  Mrs. spoke  of  it  with 

much  solemnity,  real  or  affected.  She  says  that  they 
now  cover  the  bloody  impress  with  a carpet,  being 
unable  to  remove  it.  In  the  History  of  Lancashire, 
which  I looked  at  last  night,  there  is  quite  a different 
account,  — according  to  which  the  footstep  is  not  a 
bloody  one,  but  is  a slight  cavity  or  inequality  in  the 
surface  of  the  stone,  somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a man’s 
foot  with  a peaked  shoe.  The  martyr’s  name  was 
George  Marsh.  He  was  a curate,  and  was  afterwards 

burnt.  Mrs. asked  me  to  go  and  see  the  Hall 

and  the  footmark ; and  as  it  is  in  Lancashire,  and  not  a 
great  way  off,  and  a curious  old  place,  perhaps  I may. 


April  \Zth.  — The  Earl  of  , whom  I saw  the 

other  day  at  St.  George’s  Hall,  has  a somewhat  elderly 
look,  — a pale  and  rather  thin  face,  which  strikes  one 
as  remarkably  short,  or  compressed  from  top  to  bottom. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  great  intelligence,  and  sensitiveness 
too,  I should  think,  but  a cold,  disagreeable  expression. 


LIVERPOOL. 


155 


1655.] 

I should  take  him  to  be  a man  of  not  very  pleasant  tem- 
per,— not  genial.  He  has  no  physical  presence  nor 
dignity,  yet  one  sees  him  to  be  a person  of  rank  and 
consequence.  But,  after  all,  there  is  nothing  about  him 
which  it  need  have  taken  centuries  of  illustrious  nobility 
to  produce,  especially  in  a man  of  remarkable  ability,  as 

Lord certainly  is.  S , who  attended  court  all 

through  the  Hapgood  trial,  and  saw  Lord for  hours 

together  every  day,  has  come  to  conclusions  quite  differ- 
ent from  mine.  She  thinks  him  a perfectly  natural  person, 
without  any  assumption,  any  self-consciousness,  any  scorn 
of  the  lower  world.  She  was  delighted  with  his  ready 
appreciation  and  feeling  of  what  was  passing  around 
him,  — his  quick  enjoyment  of  a joke,  — the  simplicity 
and  unaffectedness  of  his  emotion  at  whatever  incidents 
excited  his  interest,  — the  genial  ^acknowledgment  of 
sympathy,  causing  him  to  look  round  and  exchange 
glances  with  those  near  him,  who  were  not  his  individ- 
ual friends,  but  barristers  and  other  casual  persons.  He 
seemed  to  her  all  that  a nobleman  ought  to  be,  entirely 
simple  and  free  from  pretence  and  self-assertion,  which 
persons  o.f  lower  rank  can  hardly  help  bedevilling  them- 
selves with.  I saw  him  only  for  a very  few  moments, 
so  cannot  put  my  observation  against  hers,  especially  as 
I was  influenced  by  what  I had  heard  the  Liverpool 
people  say  of  him. 

I do  not  know  whether  I have  mentioned  that  the 
handsomest  man  I have  seen  in  England  was  a young 
footman  of  Mr.  Heywood’s.  In  his  rich  livery,  he  was 
a perfect  Joseph  Andrews.- 

In  my  Romance,  the  original  emigrant  to  America 


156 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


may  have  carried  away  with  him  a family  secret,  where- 
by it  was  in  his  power,  had  he  so  chosen,  to  have  brought 
about  the  ruin  of  the  family » This  secret  he  transmits 
to  his  American  progeny,  by  whom  it  is  inherited 
throughout  all  the  intervening  generations.  At  last, 
the  hero  of  the  Romance  comes  to  England,  and  finds, 
that,  by  means  of  this  secret,  he  still  has  it  in  his  power 
to  procure  the  downfall  of  the  family.  It  would  be 
something  similar  to  the  story  of  Meleager,  whose  fate 
depended  on  the  firebrand  that  his  mother  had  snatched 
from  the  flames. 


April  24:th.  — On  Saturday  I was  present  at  a 
dejeuner  on  board  the  Donald  McKay ; the  principal 
guest  being  Mr.  Layard,  M.  P.  There  were  several 
hundred  people,  quite  filling  the  between  decks  of  the 
ship,  which  was  converted  into  a saloon  for  the  occa- 
sion. I sat  next  to  Mr.  Layard,  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  so  had  a good  opportunity  of  seeing  and  get- 
ting acquainted  with  him.  He  is  a man  in  early  mid- 
dle age,  — of  middle  stature,  with  an  open,  frank,  intel- 
ligent, kindly  face.  His  forehead  is  not  expansive,  but 
is  prominent  in  the  perceptive  regions,  and  retreats  a 
good  deal.  His  mouth  is  full,  — I liked  him  from  the 
first.  He  was  very  kind  and  complimentary  to  me,  and 
made  me  promise  to  go  and  see  him  in  London. 

It  would  have  been  a very  pleasant  entertainment, 
only  that  my  pleasure  in  it  was  much  marred  by  having 
to  acknowledge  a toast  in  honor  of  the  President.  How- 
ever, such  things  do  not  trouble  me  nearly  so  much  as 
they  used  to  do,  and  I came  through  it  tolerably  enough. 
Mr.  Layard’s  speech  was  the  great  affair  of  the  day. 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


157 


He  speaks  with  much  fluency  (though  he  assured  me 
that  he  had  to  put  great  force  upon  himself  to  speak 
publicly),  and,  as  he  warms  up,  seems  to  engage  with  his 
whole  moral  and  physical  man,  — quite  possessed  with 
what  he  has  to  say.  His  evident  earnestness  and  good 
faith  make  him  eloquent,  and  stand  him  instead  of  ora- 
torical graces.  His  views  of  the  position  of  England  and 
the  prospects  of  the  war  were  as  dark  as  well  could 
be ; and  his  speech  was  exceedingly  to  the  purpose,  full 
of  common  sense,  and  with  not  one  word  of  clap-trap. 
Judging  from  its  effect  upon  the  audience,  he  spoke  the 
voice  of  the  whole  English  people,  — although  an  Eng- 
lish Baronet,  who  sat  next  below  me,  seemed  to  dissent, 
or  at  least  to  think  that  it  was  not  exactly  the  thing  for 
a stranger  to  hear.  It  concluded  amidst  great  cheering. 
Mr.  Layard  appears  to  be  a true  Englishman,  with  a 
moral  force  and  strength  of  character, -and  earnestness  of 
purpose,  and  fulness  of  common  sense,  such  as  have 
always  served  England’s  turn  in  her  past  successes ; but 
rather  fit  for  resistance  than  progress.  No  doubt,  he  is 
a good  and  very  able  man ; but  I question  whether  he 
could  get  England  out  of  the  difficulties  which  he  sees  so 
clearly,  or  could  do  much  better  than  Lord  Palmerston, 
whom  he  so  decries. 


April  25th,  — Taking  the  deposition  of  sailors  yes- 
terday, in  a case  of  alleged  ill-usage  by  the  officers  of 
a vessel,  one  of  the  witnesses  was  an  old  seaman  of 
sixty.  In  reply  to  some  testimony  of  his,  the  captain 
said,  “ You  were  the  oldest  man  in  the  ship,  and  we 
honored  you  as  such.”  The  mate  also  said  that  he 


158  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855 

never  could  have  thought  of  striking  an  old  man  like 
that.  Indeed,  the  poor  old  fellow  had  a kind  of  dignity 
and  venerableness  about  him,  though  he  confessed  to 
having  been  drunk,  and  seems  to  have  been  a mischief- 
maker,  — what  they  call  a sea-preacher,  — - promoting 
discontent  and  grumbling.  He  must  have  been  a very 
handsome  man  in  his  youth,  having  regular  features 
of  a noble  and  beautiful  cast.  His  beard  was  gray  ; 
but  his  dark  hair  had  hardly  a streak  of  white,  and  was 
abundant  all  over  his  head.  He  was  deaf,  and  seemed 
to  sit  in  a kind  of  seclusion,  unless  when  loudly  ques- 
tioned or  appealed  to.  Once  he  broke  forth  from  a 
deep  silence  thus,  — “ I defy  any  man  ! ” and  then  was 
silent  again.  It  had  a strange  effect,  this  general  de- 
fiance, which  he  meant,  I suppose,  in  answer  to  some 
accusation  that  he  thought  was  made  against  him.  His 
general  behavior  throughout  the  examination  was  very 
decorous  and  proper ; and  he  said  he  had  never  but 
once  hitherto  been  before  a consul,  and  that  was  in 
1819,  when  a mate  had  ill-used  him,  and,  “ being  a young 
man  then,  I gave  him  a beating,”  — whereupon  his 
face  gleamed  with  a quiet  smile,  like  faint  sunshine  on 
an  old  ruin.  “ By  many  a tempest  has  his  beard  been 
shook  ” ; and  I suppose  he  must  soon  go  into  a work- 
house,  and  thence,  shortly,  to  his  grave.  He  is  now  in 
a hospital,  having,  as  the  surgeon  certifies,  some  ribs 
fractured  ; but  there  does  not  appear  to  have  been  any 
violence  used  upon  him  aboard  the  ship  of  such  a nature 
as  to  cause  this  injury,  though  he  swears  it  was  a blow 
from  a rope,  and  nothing  else.  What  struck  me  in  the 
case  was  the  respect  and  rank  that  his  age  seemed  to 
give  him,  in  the  view  of  the  officers  ; and  how,  as  the 


LIVERPOOL. 


159 


1855.] 

captain’s  expression  signified,  it  lifted  him  out  of  his  low 
position,  and  made  him  a person  to  be  honored.  The 
dignity  of  his  manner  is  perhaps  partly  owing  to  the 
ancient  mariner,  with  his  long  experience,  being  an 
oracle  among  the  forecastle  men. 

May  3 d.  — It  rains  to-day,  after  a very  long  period 
of  east  wind  and  dry  weather.  The  east  wind  here, 
blowing  across  the  island,  seems  to  be  the  least  damp  of 
all  the  winds  ; but  it  is  full  of  malice  and  mischief,  of 
an  indescribably  evil  temper,  and  stabs  one  dike  a qold, 
poisoned  dagger.  I never  spent  so  disagreeable  a spring 
as  this,  although  almost  every  day  for  a month  has 
been  bright. 

Friday,  May  1 1th. — A few  weeks  ago,  a sailor,  a 
most  pitiable  object,  came  to  my  office  to  complain  of 
cruelty  from  his  captain  and  mate.  They  had  beaten 
him  shamefully,  of  which  he  bore  grievous  marks  about 
his  face  and  eyes,  and  bruises  on  his  head  and  other 
parts  of  his  person ; and  finally  the  ship  had  sailed, 
leaving  him  behind.  I never  in  my  life  saw  so  forlorn 
a fellow,  so  ragged,  so  wretched  ; and  even  his  wits 
seemed  to  have  been  beaten  put  of  him,  if  perchance 
he  ever  had  any.  He  got  an  order  for  the  hospital ; 
and  there  he  has  been,  off  and  on,  ever  since,  till  yester- 
day, when  I received  a message  that  he  was  dying,  and 
wished  to  see  the  Consul ; so  I went  with  Mr.  Wilding 
to  the  hospital.  We  were  ushered  into  the  waiting-room, 
— a kind  of  parlor,  with  a fire  in  the  grate,  and  a centre- 
table,  whereon  lay  one  or  two  medical  journals,  with 
wood  engravings  ; and  there  was  a young  man,  who 


1G0  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

seemed  to  be  an  official  of  the  house,  reading.  Shortly 
the  surgeon  appeared,  — a brisk,  cheerful,  kindly  sort  of 
person,  whom  I have  met  there  on  previous  visits.  He 
told  us  that  the  man  was  dying,  and  probably  would  not 
be  able  to  communicate  anything,  but,  nevertheless, 
ushered  us  up  to  the  highest  floor,  and  into  the  room 
where  he  lay.  It  was  a large,  oblong  room,  with  ten 
or  twelve  beds  in  it,  each  occupied  by  a patient.  The 
surgeon  said  that  the  hospital  was  often  so  crowded 
that  they  were  compelled  to  lay  some  of  the  patients  on 
the  floor.  The  man  whom  we  came  to  see  lay  on  his 
bed  in  a little  recess  formed  by  a projecting  window  ; 
so  that  there  was  a kind  of  seclusion  for  him  to  die  in. 
He  seemed  quite  insensible  to  outward  things,  and  took 
no  notice  of  our  approach,  nor  responded  to  what  was 
said  to  him,  — lying  on  his  side,  breathing  with  short 
gasps,  — his  apparent  disease  being  inflammation  of  the 
chest,  although  the  surgeon  said  that  he  might  be  found 
to  have  sustained  internal  injury  by  bruises.  He  was 
restless,  tossing  his  head  continually,  mostly  with  his 
eyes  shut,  and  much  compressed  and  screwed  up,  but 
sometimes  opening  them  ; and  then  they  looked  brighter 
and  darker  than  when  I first  saw  them.  I think  his 
face  was  not  at  any  time  so  stupid  as  at  his  first  inter- 
view with  me ; but  whatever  intelligence  he  had  was 
rather  inward  than  outward,  as  if  there  might  be  life 
and  consciousness  at  a depth  within,  while  as  to  exter- 
nal matters  he  was  in  a mist.  The  surgeon  felt  his 
wrist,  and  said  that  there  was  absolutely  no  pulsation, 
and  that  he  might  die  at  any  moment,  or  might  perhaps 
live  an  hour,  but  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  his  being 
$ble  to  communicate  with  me,  He  was  quite  restless, 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


161 


nevertheless,  and  sometimes  half  raised  himself  in  bed, 
sometimes  turned  himself  quite  over,  and  then  lay  gasp- 
ing for  an  instant.  His  woollen  shirt  being  thrust  up  on 
his  arm,  there  appeared  a tattooing  of  a ship  and  anchor, 
and  other  nautical  emblems,  on  both  of  them,  which 
another  sailor-patient,  on  examining  them,  said  must 
have  been  done  years  ago.  This  might  be  of  some  im- 
portance, because  the  dying  man  had  told  me,  when  I 
first  saw  him,  that  he  was  no  sailor,  but  a farmer,  and 
that,  this  being  his  first  voyage,  he  had  been  beaten  by 
the  captain  for  not  doing  a sailor’s  duty,  which  he  had 
had  no  opportunity  of  learning.  These  sea-emblems 
indicated  that  he  was  probably  a seaman  of  some  years’ 
service. 

While  we  stood  in  the  little  recess,  such  of  the  other 
patients  as  were  convalescent  gathered  near  the  foot 
of  the  bed  ; and  the  nurse  came  and  looked  on,  and 
hovered  about  us,  — a sharp-eyed,  intelligent  woman 
of  middle  age,  with  a careful  and  kind  expression,  neg- 
lecting nothing  that  was  for  the  patient’s  good,  yet 
taking  his  death  as  coolly  as  any  other  incident  in  her 
daily  business.  Certainly,  it  was  a very  forlorn  death- 
bed; and  I felt  — what  I have  heretofore  been  inclined 
to  doubt  — that  it  might  be  a comfort  to  have  persons 
whom  one  loves,  to  go  with  us  to  the  threshold  of  the 
other  world,  and  leave  us  only  when  we  are  fairly 
across  it.  This  poor  fellow  had  a wife  and  two  chil- 
dren on  the  other  side  of  the  water. 

At  first  he  did  not  utter  any  sound;  but  by  and 
by  he  moaned  a little,  and  gave  tokens  of  being  more 
sensible  to  outward  concerns,  — not  quite  so  misty  and 
dreamy  as  hitherto.  We  had  been  talking  all  the 

K 


162 


ENGLISH  NOTEBOOKS. 


[1855. 


while  — myself  in  a whisper,  but  the  surgeon  in  his 
ordinary  tones  — about  his  state,  without  his  paying  any 
attention.  But  now  the  surgeon  put  his  mouth  down 
to  the  man’s  face  and  said,  “ Do  you  know  that  you  are 
dying?  ” At  this  the  patient’s  head  began  to  move  upon 
the  pillow ; and  I thought  at  first  that  it  was  only 
the  restlessness  that  he  had  shown  all  along ; but  soon 
it  appeared  to  be  an  expression  of  emphatic  dissent,  a 
negative  shake  of  the  head.  He  shook  it  with  all  his 
might,  and  groaned  and  mumbled,  so  that  it  was  very 
evident  how  miserably  reluctant  he  was  to  die,  Soon 
after  this  he  absolutely  spoke.  “ O,  I want  you  to  get 
me  well  II  want  to  get  away  from  here  ! ” in  a groan- 
ing and  moaning  utterance.  The  surgeon’s  question 
had  revived  him,  but  to  no  purpose ; for,  being  told  that 
the  Consul  had  come  to  see  him,  and  asked  whether  he 
had  anything  to  communicate,  he  said  only,  “ O,  I want 
him  to  get  me  well ! ” and  the  whole  life  that  was  left 
in  him  seemed  to  be  unwillingness  to  die.  This  did 
not  last  long ; for  he  soon  relapsed  into  his  first  state, 
only  with  his  face  a little  more  pinched  and  screwed 
up,  and  his  eyes  strangely  sunken  and  lost  in  his  head ; 
and  the  surgeon  said  that  there  would  be  no  use  in  my 
remaining.  So  I took  my  leave.  Mr.  Wilding  had 
brought  a deposition  of  the  man’s  evidence,  which  he 
had  clearly  made  at  the  Consulate,  for  him  to  sign,  and 
this  we  left  with  the  surgeon,  in  case  there  should  be 
such  an  interval  of  consciousness  and  intelligepce  before 
death  as  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to  sign  it.  But 
of  this  there  is  no  probability. 

I have  just  received  a note  from  the  hospital,  stating 


LIVERPOOL. 


1G 


*1855.] 

that  the  sailor,  Daniel  Smith,  died  about  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  after  I saw  him. 

May  \&th.  — The  above-mentioned  Daniel  Smith 
had  about  him  a bundle  of  letters,  which  I have  exam- 
ined. They  are  all  very  yellow,  stained  with  sea- 
water, smelling  of  bad  tobacco-smoke,  and  much  worn 
at  the  folds.  Never  were  such  ill-written  letters,  nor 
such  incredibly  fantastic  spelling.  They  seem  to  be 
from  various  members  of  his  family,  — most  of  them 
from  a brother,  who  purports  to  have  been  a deck-hand 
in  the  coasting  and  steamboat  trade  between  Charleston 
and  other  ports ; others  from  female  relations ; one 
from  his  father,  in  which  he  inquires  how  long  his  son 
has  been  in  jail,  and  when  the  trial  is  to  come  on, — 
the  offence,  however,  of  which  he  was  accused,  not 
being  indicated.  But  from  the  tenor  of  his  brother  s 
letters,  it  would  appear  that  he  was  a small  farmer  in 
the  interior  of  South  Carolina,  sending  butter,  eggs, 
and  poultry  to  be  sold  in  Charleston  by  his  brother, 
and  receiving  the  returns  in  articles  purchased  there. 
This  was  his  own  account  of  himself;  and  he  affirmed, 
in  his  deposition  before  me,  that  he  had  never  had  any 
purpose  of  shipping  for  Liverpool,  or  anywhere  else; 
but  that,  going  on  board  the  ship  to  bring  a man’s 
trunk  ashore,  he  was  compelled  to  remain  and  serve  as 
a sailor.  This  was  a hard  fate,  certainly,  and  a strange 
thing  to  happen  in  the  United  States  at  this  day, — 
that  a free  citizen  should  be  absolutely  kidnapped,  car- 
ried to  a foreign  country,  treated  with  savage  cruelty 
during  the  voyage,  and  left  to  die  on  his  arrival.  Yet 
all  this  has  unquestionably  been  done,  and  will  probably 
go  unpunished. 


164 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


The  seed  of  the  long-stapled  cotton,  now  cultivated 
in  America,  was  sent  there  in  1786  from  the  Bahama 
Islands,  by  some  of  the  royalist  refugees,  who  had 
settled  there.  The  inferior  short-stapled  cotton  had 
been  previously  cultivated  for  domestic  purposes.  The 
seeds  of  every  other  variety  have  been  tried  without 
success.  The  kind  now  grown  was  first  introduced 
into  Georgia.  Thus  to  the  refugees  America  owes  as 
much  of  her  prosperity  as  is  due  to  the  cotton-crops, 
and  much  of  whatever  harm  is  to  result  from  slavery. 


May  22 d.  — Captain  J says  that  he  saw,  in  his 

late  voyage  to  Australia  and  India,  a vessel  commanded 
by  an  Englishman,  who  had  with  him  his  wife  and 
thirteen  children.  This  ship  was  the  home  of  the 
family,  and  they  had  no  other.  The  thirteen  children 
had  all  been  born  on  board,  and  had  been  brought 
up  on  board,  and  knew  nothing  of  dry  land,  except  by 
occasionally  setting  foot  on  it. 

Captain  J is  a very  agreeable  specimen  of  the 

American  shipmaster,  — a pleasant,  gentlemanly  man, 
not  at  all  refined,  and  yet  with  fine  and  honorable 
sensibilities.  Very  easy  in  his  manners  and  conversa- 
tion, yet  gentle,  — talking  on  freely,  and  not  much 
minding  grammar;  but  finding  a sufficient  and  pic- 
turesque expression  for  what  he  wishes  to  say ; very 
cheerful  and  vivacious ; accessible  to  feeling,  as  yes- 
terday, when  talking  about  the  recent  death  of  his 
mother.  His  voice  faltered,  and  the  tears  came  into 
his  eyes,  though  before  and  afterwards  he  smiled  mer- 
rily, and  made  us  smile ; fond  of  his  wife,  and  carrying 
her  about  the  world  with  him,  and  blending  her  with 


LIVERPOOL. 


165 


1S55.J 

all  his  enjoyments ; an  excellent  and  sagacious  man  of 
business ; liberal  in  his  expenditure ; proud  of  bis  ship 
and  flag ; always  well  dressed,  with  some  little  touch 
of  sailor-like  flashiness,  but  not  a whit  too  much ; 
slender  in  figure,  with  a handsome  face,  and  rather 
profuse  brown  beard  and  whiskers ; active  and  alert ; 
about  thirty-two.  A daguerreotype  sketch  of  any  con- 
versation of  his  would  do  him  no  justice,  for  its  slang, 
its  grammatical  mistakes,  its  mistaken  words  (as 
“ portable  ” for  “ portly  ”),  would  represent  a vulgar 
man,  whereas  the  impression  he  leaves  is  by  no  means 
that  of  vulgarity ; but  he  is  a character  quite  perfect 
within  itself,  fit  for  the  deck  and  the  cabin,  and  agree^ 
able  in  the  drawing-room,  though  not  amenable  alto- 
gether to  its  rules.  Being  so  perfectly  natural,  he  is 
more  of  a gentleman  for  those  little  violations  of  rule, 
which  most  men,  with  his  opportunities,  might  escape. 

The  men  whose  appeals  to  the  Consul's  charity  are 
the  hardest  to  be  denied  are  those  who  have  no 
country,  — Hungarians,  Poles,  Cubans,  Spanish- Ameri- 
cans, and  French  republicans.  All  exiles  for  liberty 
come  to  me,  as  if  the  representative  of  America  were 
their  representative.  Yesterday,  came  an  old  French 
soldier,  and  showed  his  wounds ; to-day,  a Spaniard,  a 
friend  of  Lopez,  — bringing  his  little  daughter  with 
him.  He  said  he  was  starving,  and  looked  so.  The 
little  girl  was  in  good  condition  enough,  and  decently 
dressed.  — May  23 d. 


May  30 th.  — The  two  past  days  have  been  Whit-* 


166 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

suntide  holidays ; and  they  have  been  celebrated  at 
Tranmere  in  a manner  very  similar  to  that  of  the  old 
“ Election  ” in  Massachusetts,  as  I remember  it  a good 
many  years  ago,  though  the  festival  has  now  almost 
or  quite  died  out.  Whitsuntide  was  kept  up  on  our 
side  of  the  water,  I am  convinced,  under  pretence  of 
rejoicings  at  the  election  of  Governor.  It  occurred  at 
precisely  the  same  period  of  the  year,  — the  same  week  ; 
the  only  difference  being,  that  Monday  and  Tuesday 
are  the  Whitsun  festival  days,  whereas,  in  Massachu- 
setts, Wednesday  was  “ Election  day,”  and  the  acme  of 
the  merrymaking. 

I passed  through  Tranmere  yesterday  forenoon,  and 
lingered  awhile  to  see  the  sports.  The  greatest  pecu- 
liarity of  the  crowd,  to  my  eye,  was  that  they  seemed 
not  to  have  any  best  clothes,  and  therefore  had  put  on 
no  holiday  suits,  — a grimy  people,  as  at  all  times, 
heavy,  obtuse,  with  thick  beer  in  their  blood.  Coarse, 
rough-complexioned  women  and  girls  were  intermin- 
gled, — the  girls  with  no  maiden  trimness  in  their 
attire,  large  and  blowsy.  Nobody  seemed  to  have 
been  washed  that  day.  All  the  enjoyment  was  of  an 
exceedingly  sombre  character,  so  far  as  I saw  it,  though 
there  was  a richer  variety  of  sports  than  at  similar 
festivals  in  America.  There  were  wooden  horses,  re- 
volving in  circles,  to  be  ridden  a certain  number  of 
rounds  for  a penny ; also  swinging  cars  gorgeously 
painted,  and  the  newest  named  after  Lord  Kaglan ; 
and  four  cars  balancing  one  another,  and  turned  by  a 
winch  ; and  people  with  targets  and  rifles,  — the  prin- 
cipal aim  being  to  hit  an  apple  bobbing  on  a string 
before  the  target ; other  guns  for  shooting  at  the  distance 


LIVERPOOL. 


1G7 


1855.] 

of  a foot  or  two,  for  a prize  of  filberts ; and  a game 
much  in  fashion,  of  throwing  heavy  sticks  at  earthen 
mugs  suspended  on  lines,  three  throws  for  a penny. 
Also,  there  was  a posture-master,  showing  his  art  in  the 
centre  of  a ring  of  miscellaneous  spectators,  and  hand- 
ing round  his  hat  after  going  through  all  his  attitudes. 
The  collection  amounted  to  only  one  halfpenny,  and,  to 
eke  it  out,  I threw  in  three  more.  There  were  some 
large  booths  with  tables  placed  the  whole  length,  at 
which  sat  men  and  women  drinking  and  smoking  pipes ; 
orange-girls,  a great  many,  selling  the  worst  possible 
oranges,  which  had  evidently  been  boiled  to  give  them 
a show  of  freshness.  There  were  likewise  two  very 
large  structures,  the  walls  made  of  boards  roughly 
patched  together,  and  roofed  with  canvas,  which  seemed 
to  have  withstood  a thousand  storms.  Theatres  were 
there,  and  in  front  there  were  pictures  of  scenes  which 
were  to  be  represented  within ; the  price  of  admission 
being  twopence  to  one  theatre,  and  a penny  to  the 
other.  But  small  as  the  price  of  tickets  was,  I could 
not  see  that  anybody  bought  them.  Behind  the  thea- 
tres, close  to  the  board  wall,  and  perhaps  serving  as  the 
general  dressing-room,  was  a large  windowed  wagon, 
in  which  I suppose  the  company  travel  and  liye  to- 
gether. Never,  to  my  imagination,  was  the  mysterious 
glory  that  has  surrounded  theatrical  representation  ever 
since  my  childhood  brought  down  into  such  dingy 
reality  as  this.  The  tragedy  queens  were  the  same 
coarse  and  homely  women  and  girls  that  surrounded 
me  on  the  green.  Some  of  the  people  had  evidently 
been  drinking  more  than  was  good  for  them ; but  their 
drunkenness  was  silent  and  stolid,  with  no  madness  in 
it,  No  ebullition  of  any  sort  was  apparent. 


1G8 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

May  31sL  — Last  Sunday  week,  for  the  first  time,  I 
heard  the  note  of  the  cuckoo.  “ Cuck-oo  — cuek-oo” 
it  says,  repeating  the  word  twice,  not  in  a brilliant 
metallic  tone,  but  low  and  flute-like,  without  the  ex- 
cessive sweetness  of  the  flute,  — without  an  excess 
of  saccharine  juice  in  the  sound.  There  are  said  to  be 
always  two  cuckoos  seen  together.  The  note  is  very 
soft  and  pleasant.  The  larks  I have  not  yet  heard  in 
the  sky ; though  it  is  not  infrequent  to  hear  one  singing 
in  a cage,  in  the  streets  of  Liverpool. 

Brewers’  draymen  are  allowed  to  drink  as  much  of 
their  master’s  beverage  as  they  like,  and  they  grow 
very  brawny  and  corpulent,  resembling  their  own  horses 
in  size,  and  presenting,  one  would  suppose,  perfect 
pictures  of  physical  comfort  and  well-being.  But 
the  least  bruise,  or  even  the  hurt  of  a finger,  is  liable  to 
turn  to  gangrene  or  erysipelas,  and  become  fatal. 

When  the  wind  blows  violently,  however  clear  the 
sky,  the  English  say,  “ It  is  a stormy  day.”  And,  on 
the  other  hand,  when*  the  air  is  still,  and  it  does  not 
actually  rain,  however  dark  and  lowering  the  sky  may 
be,  they  say,  “ The  weather  is  fine  ! ” 

June  2 d.  — The  English  women  of  the  lower  classes 
have  a grace  of  their  own,  not  seen  in  each  individual, 
but  nevertheless  belonging  to  their  order,  which  is  not 
to  be  found  in  American  women  of  the  corresponding 
class.  The  other  day,  in  the  police  court,  a girl  was 
put  into  the  witness-box,  whose  native  graces  of  this 
sort  impressed  me  a good  deal.  She  was  coarse,  and 


LIVERPOOL. 


169 


1855.] 

her  dress  was  none  of  the  cleanest,  and  nowise  smart. 
She  appeared  to  have  been  up  all  night,  too,  drinking 
at  the  Tranmere  wake,  and  had  since  ridden  in  a cart, 
covered  up  with  a rug.  She  described  herself  as  a 
servant-girl,  out  of  place ; and  her  charm  lay  in  all  her 
manifestations,  — her  tones,  her  gestures,  her  look,  her 
way  of  speaking  and  what  she  said,  being  so  appropri- 
ate and  natural  in  a girl  of  that  class  ; nothing  affected ; 
no  proper  grace  thrown  away  by  attempting  to  appear 
ladylike,  — which  an  American  girl  would  have  at- 
tempted, — and  she  would  also  have  succeeded  in  a 
certain  degree.  If  each  class  would  but  keep  within 
itself,  and  show  its  respect  for  itself  by  aiming  at 
nothing  beyond,  they  would  all  be  more  respectable. 
But  this  kind  of  fitness  is  evidently  not  to  be  expected 
in  the  future ; and  something  else  must  be  substituted 
for  it. 

These  scenes  at  the  police  court  are  often  well 
worth  witnessing.  The  controlling  genius  of  the  court, 
except  when  the  stipendiary  magistrate  presides,  is  the 
clerk,  who  is  a man  learned  in  the  law.  Nominally  the 
cases  are  decided  by  the  aldermen,  who  sit  in  rotation, 
but  at  every  important  point  there  comes  a nod  or 
a whisper  from  the  clerk ; and  it  is  that  whisper  which 
sets  the  defendant  free  or  sends  him  to  prison.  Never- 
theless, I suppose  the  alderman’s  common  sense  and 
native  shrewdness  are  not  without  their  efficacy  in  pro- 
ducing a general  tendency  towards  the  right ; and,  no 
doubt,  the  decisions  of  the  police  court  are  quite  as 
often  just  as  those  of  any  other  court  whatever. 

June  11  th.  — I walked  with  J yesterday  to  Bob' 

8 


VOL.  I. 


170  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [Jo55. 

bington  Church.  When  I first  saw  this  cnurch,  nearly 
two  years  since,  it  seemed  to  me  the  fulfilment  of  my 
ideal  of  an  old  English  country  church.  It  is  not  so 
satisfactory  now,  although  certainly  a venerable  edifice. 
There  used  some  time  ago  to  be  ivy  all  over  the  tower ; 
and  at  my  first  view  of  it,  there  was  still  a little  re- 
maining on  the  upper  parts  of  the  spire.  But  the  main 
roots,  I believe,  were  destroyed,  and  pains  were  taken 
to  clear  away  the  whole  of  the  ivy,  so  that  now  it  5s 
quite  bare,  — nothing  but  homely  gray  stone,  with 
marks  of  age,  but  no  beauty.  The  most  curious  thing 
about  the  church  is  the  font.  It  is  a massive  pile,  com- 
posed of  five  or  six  layers  of  freestone  in  an  octagon 
shape,  placed  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  projecting 
side  porch  and  the  wall  of  the  church,  and  standing 
under  a stained  glass  window.  The  base  is  six  or 
seven  feet  across,  and  it  is  built  solidly  up  in  successive 
steps,  to  the  height  of  about  six  feet,  — an  octagonal 
pyramid,  with  the  basin  of  the  font  crowning  the  pile 
hewn  out  of  the  solid  stone,  and  about  a foot  in  diam- 
eter and  the  same  in  depth.  There  was  water  in  it 
from  the  recent  rains,  — water  just  from  heaven,  and 
therefore  as  holy  as  any  water  it  ever  held  in  old 
Romish  times.  The  aspect  of  this  aged  font  is  ex- 
tremely venerable,  with  moss  in  the  basin  and  all  over 
the  stones ; grass,  and  weeds  of  various  kinds,  and  little 
shrubs,  rooted  in  the  chinks  of  the  stones  and  between 
the  successive  steps. 

At  each  entrance  of  Rock  Park,  where  we  live,  there 
is  a small  Gothic  structure  of  stone,  each  inhabited  by  a 
policeman  and  his  family  ; very  small  dwellings  indeed, 


LIVERPOOL. 


171 


iS5&J 

with  the  main  apartment  opening  directly  out-of-doors ; 
and  when  the  door  is  open,  one  can  see  the  household 
fire,  the  good  wife  at  work,  perhaps  the  table  set,  and  a 
throng  of  children  clustering  round,  and  generally  over- 
flowing the  threshold.  The  policeman  walks  about 
the  Park  in  stately  fashion,  with  his  silver-laced  blue 
uniform  and  snow-white  gloves,  touching  his  hat  to  gem 
tlemen  who  reside  in  the  Park.  In  his  public  capacity 
he  has  rather  an  awful  aspect,  but  privately  he  is  a 
humble  man  enough,  glad  of  any  little  job,  and  of  old 
clothes  for  his  many  children,  or,  I believe,  for  himself. 
One  of  the  two  policemen  is  a shoemaker  and  cobbler. 
His  pay,  officially,  is  somewhere  about  a guinea  a 
week. 

The  Park,  just  now,  is  very  agreeable  to  look  at, 
shadowy  with  trees  and  shrubs,  and  with  glimpses  of 
green  leaves  and  flower-gardens  through  the  branches 
and  twigs  that  line  the  iron  fences.  After  a shower  the 
hawthorn  blossoms  are  delightfully  fragrant.  Golden 
tassels  of  the  laburnum  are  abundant. 

I may  have  mentioned  elsewhere  the  traditional 
prophecy,  that,  when  the  ivy  should  reach  the  top  of 
Bebbington  spire,  the  tower  was  doomed  to  fall.  It 
has  still,  therefore,  a chance  of  standing  for  centuries. 
Mr.  Turner  tells  me  that  the  font  now  used  is  inside  of 
the  church,  but  the  one  outside  is  of  unknown  antiquity, 
and  that  it  was  customary,  in  papistical  times,  to  have 
the  font  without  the  church. 

There  is  a little  boy  often  on  board  the  Rock  Ferry 
steamer  with  an  accordion,  — an  instrument  I detest; 
but  nevertheless  it  becomes  tolerable  in  his  hands,  not 


172  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

so  much  for  its  music,  as  for  the  earnestness  and  interest 
with  which  he  plays  it.  His  body  and  the  accordion 
together  become  one  musical  instrument  on  which  his 
soul  plays  tunes,  for  he  sways  and  vibrates  with  the 
music  from  head  to  foot  and  throughout  his  frame, 
half  closing  his  eyes  and  uplifting  his  face,  as  painters 
represent  St.  Cecilia  and  other  famous  musicians ; and 
sometimes  he  swings  his  accordion  in  the  air,  as  if  in  a 
perfect  rapture.  After  all,  my  ears,  though  not  very 
nice,  are  somewhat  tortured  by  his  melodies,  especially 
when  confined  within  the  cabin.  The  boy  is  ten  years 
old,  perhaps,  and  rather  pretty ; clean,  too,  and  neatly 
dressed,  very  unlike  all  other  street  and  vagabond  chil- 
dren whom  I have  seen  in  Liverpool-  People  give 
him  their  halfpence  more  readily  than  to  any  other 
musicians  who  infest  the  boat. 

J , the  other  day,  was  describing  a soldier-crab  to 

his  mother,  he  being  much  interested  in  natural  history; 
and  endeavoring  to  give  as  strong  an  idea  as  possible 
of  its  warlike  characteristics,  and  power  to  harm  those 
who  molest  it.  Little  R — — sat  by,  quietly  listening 
and  sewing,  and  at  last,  lifting  her  head,  she  remarked, 
“ I hope  God  did  not  hurt  hisself,  when  he  was  making 
him  ! ” 

LEAMINGTON. 

June  21  st. — We  left  Rock  Ferry  and  Liverpool 
on  Monday  the  18th  by  the  rail  for  this  place ; a 
very  dim  and  rainy  day,  so  that  we  had  no  pleasant 
prospects  of  the  country ; neither  would  the  scenery 
along  the  Great  Western  Railway  have  been  in  any 
case  very  striking,  though  sunshine  would  have  made 
the  abundant  verdure  and  foliage  warm  and  genial. 


LEAMINGTON. 


173 


I855.J 

But  a railway  naturally  finds  its  way  through  all  the 
common  places  of  a country,  and  is  certainly  a most 
unsatisfactory  mode  of  travelling,  the  only  object  being 
to  arrive.  However,  we  had  a whole  carriage  to  our- 
selves, and  the  children  enjoyed  the  earlier  part  of  the 
journey  very  much.  We  skirted  Shrewsbury,  and  I 
think  I saw  the  old  tower  of  a church  near  the  station, 
perhaps  the  same  that  struck  Falstaff’s  “ long  hour.” 
As  we  left  the  town  I saw  the  Wrekin,  a round,  pointed 
hill  of  regular  shape,  and  remembered  the  old  toast,  “ To 
all  friends  round  the  Wrekin ! ” As  we  approached 
Birmingham,  the  country  began  to  look  somewhat 
Brummagernish,  with  its  manufacturing  chimneys,  and 
pennons  of  flame  quivering  out  of  their  tops ; its  forges, 
and  great  heaps  of  mineral  refuse ; its  smokiness  and 
other  ugly  symptoms.  Of  Birmingham  itself  we  saw 
little  or  nothing,  except  the  mean  and  new  brick  lodging- 
houses,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  Passing  through 
Warwick,  we  had  a glimpse  of  the  castle,  — an  ivied 
wall  and  two  turrets,  rising  out  of  imbosoming  foliage ; 
one’s  very  idea  of  an  old  castle.  We  reached  Leaming- 
ton at  a little  past  six,  and  drove  to  the  Clarendon 
Hotel,  — a very  spacious  and  stately  house,  by  far  the 
most  splendid  hotel  I have  yet  seen  in  England.  The 
landlady,  a courteous  old  lady  in  black,  showed  my  wife 
our  rooms,  and  we  established  ourselves  in  an  immensely 
large  and  lofty  parlor,  with  red  curtains  and  ponderous 
furniture,  perhaps  a very  little  out  of  date.  The  waiter 
brought  me  the  book  of  arrivals,  containing  the  names  of 
all  visitors  for  from  three  to  five  years  back.  During  two 
years  I estimated  that  there  had  been  about  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  persons  only,  and  while  we  were  there,  1 


174 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855, 

saw  nobody  but  ourselves  to  support  the  great  hotel. 
Among  the  names  were  those  of  princes,  earls,  count- 
esses, and  baronets ; and  when  the  people  of  the  house 

heard  from  R -s  nurse  that  I too  was  a man  of  office, 

and  held  the  title  of  Honorable  in  my  own  country,  they 
greatly  regretted  that  I entered  myself  as  plain  “ Mis- 
'ter  ” in  the  book.  We  found  this  hotel  very  comfortable, 
and  might  doubtless  have  made  it  luxurious,  had  we 
chosen  to  go  to  five  times  the  expense  of  similar  luxuries 
in  America ; but  we  merely  ordered  comfortable  things, 
and  so  came  off  at  no  very  extravagant  rate,  — and 
with  great  honor,  at  all  events,  in  the  estimation  of  the 
waiter. 

During  the  afternoon  we  found  lodgings,  and  estab- 
lished ourselves  in  them  before  dark. 

This  English  custom  of  lodgings,  of  which  we  had 
some  experience  at  Rhyl  last  year,  has  its  advantages  ; 
but  is  rather  uncomfortable  for  strangers,  who,  in  first 
settling  themselves  down,  find  that  they  must  undertake 
all  the  responsibility  of  housekeeping  at  an  instant’s 
warning,  and  cannot  get  even  a cup  of  tea  till  they 
have  made  arrangements  with  the  grocer..  Soon,  how- 
ever, there  comes  a sense  of  being  at  home,  and  by  our 
exclusive  selves,  which  never  can  be  attained  at  hotels 
nor  boarding-houses.  Our  house  is  tvell  situated  and 
respectably  furnished,  with  the  dinginess,  however, 
which  is  inseparable  from  lodging-houses,  — as  if  others 
had  used  these  things  before  and  would  use  them  again 
after  we  had  gone,  — a well-enough  adaptation,  but  a 
lack  of  peculiar  appropriateness  ; and  I think  one  pute 
off  real  enjoyment  from  a sense  of  not  being  truly  fitted. 


COVENTRY. 


175 


1855.] 

July  1$£. — -On  Friday  I took  the  rail  with  J for 

Coventry.  It  was  a bright  and  very  warm  day,  op- 
pressively so,  indeed  ; though  I think  that  there  is  never 
in  this  English  climate  the  pervading  warmth  of  an 
American  summer  day.  The  sunshine  may  be  exces- 
sively hot,  but  an  overshadowing  cloud  or  the  shade  of 
a tree  or  of  a building  at  once  affords  relief ; and  if  the 
slightest  breeze  stirs,  you  feel  the  latent  freshness  of  the 
air. 

Coventry  is  some  nine  or  ten  miles  from  Leamington. 
The  approach  to  it  from  the  railway  presents  nothing 
very  striking,  — a few  church  towers,  and  one  or  two 
(all  steeples ; and  the  houses  first  seen  are  of  modern 
and  unnoticeable  aspect.  Getting  into  the  interior  of 
the  town,  however,  you  find  the  streets  very  crooked, 
and  some  of  them  very  narrow.  I saw  one  place  where 
it  seemed  possible  to  shake  hands  from  one  jutting, 
storied  old  house  to  another.  There  were  whole  streets 
of  the  same  kind  of  houses,  one  story  impending  over 
another,  such  as  used  to  be  familiar  to  me  in  Salem, 
and  in  some  streets  of  Boston.  In  fact,  the  whole  as- 
pect of  the  town  — its  irregularity  and  continual  indi- 
rectness — reminded  me  very  much  of  Boston,  as  I used 
to  see  it,  in  rare  visits  thither,  when  a child. 

These  Coventry  houses,  however,  many  of  them, 
are  much  larger  than  any  of  similar  style  that  I have 
seen  elsewhere,  and  they  spread  into  greater  bulk  as 
they  ascend,  by  means  of  one  story  jutting  over  the 
other.  Probably  the  New-Englanders  continued  to  fol- 
low this  fashion  of  architecture  after  it  had  been  aban- 
doned in  the  mother  country.  The  old  house  built 
by  Philip  English,  in  Salem,  dated  about  1692  ; and  it 


176  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

was  in  this  style,  — many  gabled,  and  impending.  Here 
the  edifices  of  such  architecture  seem  to  be  Elizabethan, 
and  of  earlier  date.  A woman  in  Stratford  told  us  that 
the  rooms,  very  low  on  the  ground  floor,  grew  loftier 
from  story  to  story  to  the  attic.  The  fashion  of  win- 
dows, in  Coventry,  is  such  as  I have  not  hitherto  seen. 
In  the  highest  story,  a window  of  the  ordinary  height 
extends  along  the  whole  breadth  of  the  house,  ten,  fif- 
teen, perhaps  twenty  feet,  just  like  any  other  window  of 
a common-place  house,  except  for  this  inordinate  width. 
One  does  not  easily  see  what  the  inhabitants  want  of  so 
much  window-light ; but  the  fashion  is  very  general, 
and  in  modern  houses,  or  houses  that  have  been  mod- 
ernized, this  style  of  window  is  retained.  Thus  young 
people  who  grow  up  amidst  old  people  contract  quaint 
and  old-fashioned  manners  and  aspect. 

I imagine  that  these  ancient  towns  — such  as  Chester 
and  Stratford,  Warwick  and  Coventry  — contain  even 
a great  deal  more  antiquity  than  meets  the  eye.  You 
see  many  modern  fronts  ; but  if  you  peep  or  penetrate 
inside,  you  find  an  antique  arrangement,  — old  rafters, 
intricate  passages,  and  ancient  staircases,  which  have 
put  on  merely  a new  outside,  and  are  likely  still  to  prove 
good  for  the  usual  date  of  a new  house.  They  put  such 
an  immense  and  stalwart  ponderosity  into  their  frame- 
works, that  I suppose  a house  of  Elizabeth’s  time,  if  re- 
newed, has  at  least  an  equal  chance  of  durability  with 
one  that  is  new  in  every  part.  All  the  hotels  in  Coven- 
try, so  far  as  I noticed  them,  are  old,  with  new  fronts ; 
and  they  have  an  archway  for  the  admission  of  vehicles 
into  the  court-yard,  and  doors  opening  into  the  rooms  of  the 
building  on  each  side  of  the  arch.  Maids  *md  waiters 


COVENTRY. 


177 


1855.] 

are  seen  darting  across  the  arched  passage  from  door 
to  door,  and  it  requires  a guide  (in  my  case,  at  least) 
to  show  you  the  way  to  the  coffee-room  or  the  bar.  I 
have  never  been  up  stairs  in  any  of  them,  but  can  con- 
ceive of  infinite  bewilderment  of  zigzag  corridors  be- 
tween staircase  and  chamber. 

It  was  fair-day  in  Coventry,  and  this  gave  what  no 
doubt  is  an  unusual  bustle  to  the  streets.  In  fact,  I 
have  not  seen  such  crowded  and  busy  streets  in  any 
English  town  ; various  kinds  of  merchandise  being  for 
sale  in  the  open  air,  and  auctioneers  disposing  of  miscel- 
laneous wares,  pretty  much  as  they  do  at  musters  and 
other  gatherings  in  the  United  States.  The  oratory  of 
the  American  auctioneer,  however,  greatly  surpasses 
that  of  the  Englishman  in  vivacity  and  fun.  But  this 
movement  and  throng,  together  with  the  white  glow  of 
the  sun  on  the  pavements,  make  the  scene,  in  my  recol- 
lection, assume  an  American  aspect,  and  this  is  strange 
in  so  antique  and  quaint  a town  as  Coventry. 

We  rambled  about  without  any  definite  aim,  but 
found  our  way,  I believe,  to  most  of  the  objects  that 
are  worth  seeing.  St.  Michael’s  Church  was  most 
magnificent,  — so  old,  yet  enduring ; so  huge,  so  rich ; 
with  such  intricate  minuteness  in  its  finish,  that,  look  as 
long  as  you  will  at  it,  you  can  always  discover  some- 
thing new  directly  before  your  eyes.  I admire  this  in 
Gothic  architecture,  — that  you  cannot  master  it  all  at 
once,  that  it  is  not  a naked  outline ; but,  as  deep  and 
rich  as  human  nature  itself,  always  revealing  new  ideas* 
It  is  as  if  the  builder  had  built  himself  and  his  age  up 
into  it,  and  as  if  the  edifice  had  life.  Grecian  temples 
are  less  interesting  to  me,  being  so  cold  and  crystalline. 


178 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


I think  this  is  the  only  church  I have  seen  where  there 
are  any  statues  still  left  standing  in  the  niches  of  the 
exterior  walls.  We  did  not  go  inside.  The  steeple  of 
St.  Michael's  is  three  hundred  and  three  feet  high,  and 
no  doubt  the  clouds  often  envelop  the  tip  of  the  spire. 
Trinity,  another  church,  with  a tall  spire,  stands  near 
St.  Michael's,  but  did  not  attract  me  so  much  ; though  I, 
perhaps,  might  have  admired  it  equally,  had  I seen  it 
first  or  alone.  We  certainly  know  nothing  of  church- 
building in  America,  and  of  all  English  things  that  I 
have  seen,  methinks  the  churches  disappoint  me  least. 
I feel,  too,  that  there  is  something  much  more  wonder- 
ful in  them  than  I have  yet  had  time  to  know  and  ex- 
perience. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  searching  about  every- 
where in  quest  of  Gothic  architecture,  we  found  our  way 
into  St.  Mary’s  Hall.  The  doors  were  wide  open  ; it 
seemed  to  be  public,  — there  was  a notice  on  the  wall 
desiring  visitors  to  give  nothing  to  attendants  for  showing 
it,  and  so  we  walked  in.  I observed,  in  the  guide-books, 
that  we  should  have  obtained  an  order  for  admission  from 
some  member  of  the  town  council ; but  we  had  none,  and 
found  no  need  of  it.  An  old  woman,  and  afterwards  an 
old  man,  both  of  whom  seemed  to  be  at  home  on  the 
premises,  told  us  that  we  might  enter,  and  troubled 
neither  themselves  nor  us  any  further. 

St.  Mary’s  Hall  is  now  the  property  of  the  Corpora- 
tion of  Coventry,  and  seems  to  be  the  place  where  the 
Mayor  and  Council  hold  their  meetings.  It  was  built 
by  one  of  the  old  guilds  or  fraternities  of  merchants  and 

tradesmen The  woman  shut  the  kitchen  door 

when  I approached,  so  that  I did  not  see  the  great  fire- 


COVENTRY. 


179 


1855.] 

places  and  huge  cooking-utensils  which  are  said  to  be 
there.  Whether  these  are  ever  used  nowadays,  and 
whether  the  Mayor  of  Coventry  gives  such  hospitable 
banquets  as  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool,  I do  not  know. 

We  went  to  the  Red  Lion,  and  had  a luncheon  of 
cold  lamb  and  cold  pigeon-pie.  This  is  the  best  way 
of  dining  at  English  hotels,  — to  call  the  meal  a luncheon, 
in  which  case  you  will  get  as  good  or  better  a variety 
than  if  it  were  a dinner,  and  at  less  than  half  the  cost. 
Having  lunched,  we  again  wandered  about  town, 
and  entered  a quadrangle  of  gabled  houses,  with  a 
church  and  its  churchyard  on  one  side.  This  proved 
to  be  St.  John’s  Church,  and  a part  of  the  houses  were 
the  locality  of  Bond’s  Hospital,  for  the  reception  of  ten 
poor  men,  and  the  remainder  was  devoted  to  the  Bablake 
School.  Into  this  latter  I peered,  with  a real  American 
intrusiveness,  which  I never  found  in  myself  before, 
but  which  I must  now  assume,  or  miss  a great  many 
things  which  I am  anxious  to  see.  Running  along  the 
front  of  the  house,  under  the  jut  of  the  impending  story, 
there  was  a cloistered  walk,  with  windows  opening  on 
the  quadrangle.  An  arched  oaken  door,  with  long  iron 
hinges,  admitted  us  into  a school-room  about  twenty 
feet  square,  paved  with  brick  tiles,  blue  and  red.  Ad- 
joining this  there  is  a larger  school-room,  which  we  did 
not  enter,  but  peeped  at,  through  one  of  the  inner  win- 
dows, from  the  cloistered  walk.  In  the  room  which 
we  entered,  there  were  seven  scholars’  desks,  and  an 
immense  arched  fireplace,  with  seats  on  each  side,  under 
the  chimney,  on  a stone  slab  resting  on  a brick  pedestal. 
The  opening  of  the  fireplace  was  at  least  twelve  feet 


180 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


in  width.  On  one  side  of  the  room  were  pegs  for  fifty- 
two  boys’  hats  and  clothes,  and  there  was  a boy’s  coat, 
of  peculiar  cut,  hanging  on  a peg,  with  the  number 
“ 50  ” in  brass  upon  it.  The  coat  looked  ragged  and 
shabby.  An  old  school-book  was  lying  on  one  of  the 
desks,  much  tattered,  and  without  a title  ; but  it  seemed 
to  treat  wholly  of  Saints’  days  and  festivals  of  the 
Church.  A flight  of  stairs,  with  a heavy  balustrade  of 
carved  oak,  ascended  to  a gallery,  about  eight  or  nine 
feet  from  the  lower  floor,  which  runs  along  two  sides  of 
the  room,  looking  down  upon  it.  The  room  is  without 
a ceiling,  and  rises  into  a peaked  gable,  about  twenty 
feet  high.  There  is  a large  clock  in  it,  and  it  is  lighted 
by  two  windows,  each  about  ten  feet  wide,  — one  in  the 
gallery,  and  the  other  beneath  it.  Two  benches  or 
settles,  with  backs,  stood  one  on  each  side  of  the  fire- 
place. An  old  woman  in  black  passed  through  the  room 
while  I was  making  my  observations,  and  looked  at  me, 
but  said  nothing.  The  school  was  founded  in  1563,  by 
Thomas  Whealby,  Mayor  of  Coventry ; the  revenue  is 
about  £ 900,  and  admits  children  of  the  working-classes 
at  eleven  years  old,  clothes  and  provides  for  them,  and 
finally  apprentices  them  for  seven  years.  We  saw  some 
of  the  boys  playing  in  the  quadrangle,  dressed  in  long 
blue  coats  or  gowns,  with  cloth  caps  on  their  heads.  I 
know  not  how  the  atmosphere  of  antiquity,  and  massive 
continuance  from  age  to  age,  which  was  the  charm  to 
me  in  this  scene  of  a charity-school-room,  can  be  thrown 
over  it  in  description.  After  noting  down  these  matters, 
I looked  into  the  quiet  precincts  of  Bond’s  Hospital, 
which,  no  doubt,  was  more  than  equally  interesting ; 
but  the  old  men  were  lounging  about  or  lolling  at  length, 


TO  THE  LAKES. 


181 


1855.] 

looking  very  drowsy,  and  I had  not  the  heart  nor  the  face 
to  intrude  among  them.  There  is  something  altogether 
strange  to  an  American  in  these  charitable  institutions, 
— in  the  preservation  of  antique  modes  and  customs  which 
is  effected  by  them,  insomuch  that,  doubtless  without  at 
all  intending  it,  the  founders  have  succeeded  in  pre- 
serving a model  of  their  own  long-past  age  down  into 
the  midst  of  ours,  and  how  much  later  nobody  can  know. 

We  were  now  rather  tired,  and  went  to  the  railroad, 
intending  to  go  home  ; but  we  got  into  the  wrong  train, 
and  were  carried  by  express,  with  hurricane  speed,  to 
Bradon,  where  we  alighted,  and  waited  a good  while  for 
the  return  train  to  Coventry.  At  Coventry  again  we 
had  more  than  an  hour  to  wait,  and  therefore  wandered 
wearily  up  into  the  city,  and  took  another  look  at  its 
bustling  streets,  in  which  there  seems  to  be  a good  em- 
blem of  what  England  itself  really  is,  — with  a great 
deal  of  antiquity  in  it,  and  which  is  now  chiefly  a modi- 
fication of  the  old.  The  new  things  are  based  and  sup- 
ported on  the  sturdy  old  things,  and  often  limited  arid 
impeded  by  them ; but  this  antiquity  is  so  massive  that 
there  seems  to  be  no  means  of  getting  rid  of  it  without 
tearing  society  to  pieces. 

July  2d.  — To-day  I shall  set  out  on  my  return  to 
Liverpool,  leaving  my  family  here. 

TO  THE  LAKES. 

July  4 th.  — I left  Leamington  on  Monday,  shortly 
after  twelve,  having  been  accompanied  to  the  rail- 
way station  by  U and  J , whom  I sent  away 

before  the  train  started.  While  I was  waiting,  a rather 


182 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


gentlemanly,  well-to-do,  English-looking  man  sat  down 
by  me,  and  began  to  talk  of  the  Crimea,  of  human  affairs 
in  general,  of  God  and  his  Providence,  of  the  com- 
ing troubles  of  the  world,  and  of  spiritualism,  in  a 
strange  free  way  for  an  Englishman,  or,  indeed,  for  any 
man.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  an  enthusiast 
of  some  hue  or  other.  He  being  bound  for  Birming- 
ham and  I for  Rugby,  we  soon  had  to  part ; but  he 
asked  my  name,  and  told  me  his  own,  which  I did  not 
much  attend  to,  and  immediately  forgot. 

[Here  follows  a long  account  of  a visit  to  Lichfield 
and  Uttoxeter,  condensed  in  “ Our  Old  Home.”] 

July  §t,h.  — The  day  after  my  arrival,  by  way  of 
Lichfield  and  Uttoxeter,  to  Liverpool,  the  door  of  the 
Consulate  opened,  and  in  came  the  very  sociable  per- 
sonage who  accosted  me  at  the  railway  station  at  Leam- 
ington. He  was  on  his  way  towards  Edinburgh,  to  de- 
liver a course  of  lectures  or  a lecture,  and  had  called, 
he  said,  to  talk  with  me  about  spiritualism,  being  de- 
sirous of  having  the  judgment  of  a sincere  mind  on  the 
subject.  In  his  own  mind,  I should  suppose,  he  is  past 
the  stage  of  doubt  and  inquiry ; for  he  told  me  that  in 
every  action  of  his  life  he  is  governed  by  the  counsels 
received  from  the  spiritual  world  through  a medium. 
I did  not  inquire  whether  this  medium  (who  is  a small 
boy)  had  suggested  his  visit  to  me.  My  remarks  to 
him  were  quite  of  a sceptical  character  in  regard  to  the 
faith  to  which  he  had  surrendered  himself.  He  has 
formerly  lived  in  America,  and  had  had  a son  born  there. 
He  gave  me  a pamphlet  written  by  himself,  on  the  cure 
of  consumption  and  other  diseases  by  antiseptic  reme- 


1855.]  NEWBY  BRIDGE. — FOOT  OF  WINDERMERE.  183 

dies.  I hope  he  will  not  bore  me  any  more,  though  he 
seems  to  be  a very  sincere  and  good  man  ; but  these 
enthusiasts  who  adopt  such  extravagant  ideas  appear 
to  me  to  lack  imagination,  instead  of  being  misled  by  it, 
as  they  are  generally  supposed  to  be. 

* ♦ fc  • • 

NEWBY  BRIDGE. FOOT  OF  WINDERMERE. 

July  13 tk.  — I left  Liverpool  on  Saturday  last, 
by  the  London  and  Northwestern  Railway,  for  Leam- 
ington, spent  Sunday  there,  and  started  on  Mon- 
day for  the  English  lakes,  with  the  whole  family. 
We  should  not  have  taken  this  journey  just  now, 
but  I had  an  official  engagement  which  it  was  con- 
venient to  combine  with  a pleasure-excursion.  The 
first  night  we  arrived  at  Chester,  and  put  up  at  the 
Albion  Hotel,  where  we  found  ourselves  very  com- 
fortable. We  took  the  rail  at  twelve  the  next  day, 
and  went  as  far  as  Milnethorpe  station,  where  we 
engaged  seats  in  an  old-fashioned  stage-coach,  and 
came  to  Newby  Bridge.  I suppose  there  are  not 
many  of  these  coaches  now  running  on  any  road  in 
Great  Britain  ; but  this  appears  to  be  the  genuine 
machine,  in  all  respects,  and  especially  in  the  round, 
ruddy  coachman,  well  moistened  with  ale,  good-na- 
tured, courteous,  and  with  a proper  sense  of  his  dignity 

and  important  position.  U , J , and  I mounted 

atop,  S , nurse,  and  R got  inside,  and  we 

bowled  off  merrily  towards  the  hearts  of  the  hills.  It  was 
more  than  half  past  nine  when  we  ai rived  at  Newby 
Bridge,  and  alighted  at  the  Swan  Hotel,  where  we  now 
are. 


184 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


It  is  a very  agreeable  place ; not  striking  as  to 
scenery,  but  with  a pleasant  rural  aspect.  A stone 
bridge  of  five  arches  crosses  the  river  Severn  (which  is 
the  communication  between  Windermere  Lake  and 
Morecambe  Bay)  close  to  the  house,  which  sits  low  and 
well  sheltered  in  the  lap  of  hills,  — an  old-fashioned  inn, 
where  the  landlord  and  his  people  have  a simple  and 
friendly  way  of  dealing  with  their  guests,  and  yet  pro- 
vide them  with  all  sorts  of  facilities  for  being  comfort- 
able. They  load  our  supper  and  breakfast  tables  with 
trout,  cold  beef,  ham,  toast,  and  muffins  ; and  give  us 
three  fair  courses  for  dinner,  and  excellent  wine,  the 
cost  of  all  which  remains  to  be  seen.  This  is  not  one 
of  the  celebrated  stations  among  the  lakes  ; but  twice  a 
day  the  stage-coach  passes  from  Milnethorpe  towards 
Ulverton,  and  twice  returns,  and  three  times  a little 
steamer  passes  to  and  fro  between  our  hotel  and  the 
head  of  the  lake.  Young  ladies,  in  broad-brimmed  hats, 
stroll  about,  or  row  on  the  river  in  the  light  shallops, 
of  which  there  are  abundance  ; sportsmen  sit  on  the 
benches  under  the  windows  of  the  hotel,  arranging  their 
fishing-tackle  ; phaetons  and  post-chaises,  with  postil- 
ions in  scarlet  jackets  and  white  breeches,  with  one 
high-topped  boot,  and  the  other  leathered  far  up  on  the 
leg  to  guard  against  friction  between  the  horses,  dash 
up  to  the  door.  Morning  and  night  comes  the  stage- 
coach, and  we  inspect  the  outside  passengers,  almost 
face  to  face  with  us,  from  our  parlor-windows,  up  one 

pair  of  stairs.  Little  boys,  and  J among  them,  spend 

hours  on  hours  fishing  in  the  clear,  shallow  river  for 
the  perch,  chubs,  and  minnows  that  may  be  seen  flash- 
ing, like  gleams  of  light,  over  the  flat  stones  with  which 


1855.]  NEWBY  BKIDGE. — FOOT  OF  WINDERMEEE.  185 


the  bottom  is  paved.  I cannot  answer  for  the  other 
boys,  but  J catches  nothing. 

There  are  a good  many  trees  on  the  hills  and  round- 
about, and  pleasant  roads  loitering  along  by  the  gentle 
river-side,  and  it  has  been  so  sunny  and  warm  since  we 
came  here  that  we  shall  have  quite  a genial  recollec- 
tion of  the  place,  if  we  leave  it  before  the  skies  have 
time  to  frown.  The  day  after  we  came,  we  climbed  a 
high  and  pretty  steep  hill,  through  a path  shadowed 
with  trees  and  shrubbery,  up  to  a tower,  from  the  -sum- 
mit of  which  we  had  a wide  view  of  mountain  scenery 
and  the  greater  part  of  Windermere.  This  lake  is  a 
lovely  little  pool  among  the  hills,  long  and  narrow, 
beautifully  indented  with  tiny  bays  and  headlands  ; and 
when  we  saw  it,  it  was  one  smile  (as  broad  a smile  as 
its  narrowness  allowed)  with  really  brilliant  sunshine. 
All  the  scenery  we  have  yet  met  with*  is  in  excellent 
taste,  and  keeps  itself  within  very  proper  bounds,  — 
never  getting  too  wild  and  rugged  to  shock  the  sensibili- 
ties of  cultivated  people,  as  American  scenery  is  apt  to 
do.  On  the  rudest  surface  of  English  earth,  there  is 
seen  the  effect  of  centuries  of  civilization,  so  that  you 
do  not  quite  get  at  naked  Nature  anywhere.  And  then 
every  point  of  beauty  is  so  well  known,  and  has  been 
described  so  much,  that  one  must  needs  look  through 
other  people’s  eyes,  and  feels  as  if  he  were  seeing  a pic- 
ture rather  than  a reality.  Man  has,  in  short,  entire 
possession  of  Nature  here,  and  I should  think  young 
men  might  sometimes  yearn  for  a fresher  draught. 
But  an  American  likes  it. 


186 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


FURNESS  ABBEY. 

Yesterday,  July  12  th,  we  took  a phaeton  and  went 
to  Furness  Abbey,  — a drive  of  about  sixteen  miles, 
passing  along  the  course  of  the  Leam  to  Morecambe 
Bay,  and  through  Ulverton  and  other  villages.  These 
villages  all  look  antique,  and  the  smallest  of  them  gen- 
erally are  formed  of  such  close,  contiguous  clusters 
of  houses,  and  have  such  narrow  and  crooked  streets, 
that  they  give  you  an  idea  of  a metropolis  in  miniature. 
The  houses  along  the  road  (of  which  there  are  not  many, 
except  in  the  villages)  are  almost  invariably  old,  built 
of  stone,  and  covered  with  a light  gray  plaster ; gen- 
erally they  have  a little  flower-garden  in  front,  and, 
often,  honeysuckles,  roses,  or  some  other  sweet  and 
pretty  rustic  adornment,  are  flowering  over  the  porch. 
I have  hardly  had  such  images  of  simple,  quiet,  rustic 
comfort  and  beauty,  as  from  the  look  of  these  houses  ; 
and  the  whole  impression  of  our  winding  and  undu- 
lating road,  bordered  by  hedges,  luxuriantly  green,  and 
not  too  closely  clipped,  accords  with  this  aspect.  There 
is  nothing  arid  in  an  English  landscape ; and  one  cannot 
but  fancy  that  the  same  may  be  true  of  English  rural 
life.  The  people  look  wholesome  and  well-to-do,  — 
not  specimens  of  hard,  dry,  sunburnt  muscle,  like  our 
yeomen,  — and  are  kind  and  civil  to  strangers,  some- 
times making  a little  inclination  of  the  head  in  passing. 
Miss  Martineau,  however,  does  not  seem  to  think  well 
of  their  mental  and  moral  condition. 

We  reached  Furness  Abbey  about  twelve.  There  is 
a railway  station  close  by  the  ruins ; and  a new  hotel 
stands  within  the  precincts  of  the  abbey  grounds ; and 


FURNESS  ABBEY. 


187 


<855. 1 

continually  there  is  the  shriek,  the  whiz,  the  rumble, 
the  bell-ringing,  denoting  the  arrival  of  the  trains ; 
and  passengers  alight,  and  step  at  once  (as  their 
choice  may  be)  into  the  refreshment-room,  to  get  a 
glass  of  ale  or  a cigar,  — or  upon  the  gravelled  paths 
of  the  lawn,  leading  to  the  old  broken  walls  and  arches 
of  the  abbey.  The  ruins  are  extensive,  and  the  en- 
closure of  the  abbey  is  stated  to  have  covered  a space 
of  sixty-five  acres.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  them. 
The  most  interesting  part  is  that  which  was  formerly 
the  church,  and  which,  though  now  roofless,  is  still 
surrounded  by  walls,  and  retains  the  remnants  of  the 
pillars  that  formerly  supported  the  intermingling  curves 
of  the  arches.  The  floor  is  all  overgrown  with  grass, 
strewn  with  fragments  and  capitals  of  pillars.  It  was  a 
great  and  stately  edifice,  the  length  of  the  nave  and 
choir  having  been  nearly  three  hundred  feet,  and  that 
of  the  transept  more  than  half  as  much.  The  pillars 
along  the  nave  were  alternately  a round,  solid  one 
and  a clustered  one.  Now,  what  remains  of  some  of 
them  is  even  with  the  ground ; others  present  a stump 
just  high  enough  to  form  a seat;  and  others  are, 
perhaps,  a man’s  height  from  the  ground,  — and  all 
are  mossy,  and  with  grass  and  weeds  rooted  into  their 
chinks,  and  here  and  there  a tuft  of  flowers,  giving 
its  tender  little  beauty  to  their  decay.  The  material 
of  the  edifice  is  a soft  red  stone,  and  it  is  now 
extensively  overgrown  with  a lichen  of  a very  light 
gray  hue,  which,  at  a little  distance,  makes  the  walls 
look  as  if  they  had  long  ago  been  whitewashed,  and 
now  had  partially  returned  to  their  original  color. 
The  urches  of  the  nave  and  transept  were  noble  and 


188  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  |1855. 

immense  ; there  were  four  of  them  together,  supporting 
a tower  which  has  long  since  disappeared,  — arches 
loftier  than  I ever  conceived  to  have  -been  made  by 
man.  Very  possibly,  in  some  cathedral  that  I have 
seen,  or  am  yet  to  see,  there  may  be  arches  as  stately 
as  these ; but  I doubt  whether  they  can  ever  show 
to  such  advantage  in  a perfect  edifice  as  they  do  in 
this  ruin,  — most  of  them  broken,  only  one,  as  far  as 
1 recollect,  still  completing  its  sweep.  In  this  state 
they  suggest  a greater  majesty  and  beauty  than  any 
finished  human  work  can  show ; the  crumbling  traces 
of  the  half-obliterated  design  producing  somewhat  of 
the  effect  of  the  first  idea  of  anything  admirable,  when 
it  dawns  upon  the  mind  of  an  artist  or  a poet,  — an 
idea  which,  do  what  he  may,  he  is  sure  to  fall  short  of 
in  his  attempt  to  embody  it. 

In  the  middle  of  the  choir  is  a much  dilapidated 
monument  of  a cross-legged  knight  (a  crusader,  of 
course)  in  armor,  very  rudely  executed  ; and,  against 
the  wall,  lie  two  or  three  more  bruised  and  battered 
warriors,  with  square  helmets  on  their  heads  and  visors 
down.  Nothing  can  be  uglier  than  these  figures ; 
the  sculpture  of  those  days  seems  to  have  been  far 
behind  the  architecture.  And  yet  they  knew  how  to 
put  a grotesque  expression  into  the  faces  of  their 
images,  and  we  saw  some  fantastic  shapes  and  heads  at 
the  lower  points  of  arches  which  would  do  to  copy 
into  Punch.  In  the  chancel,  just  at  the  point  below 
where  the  high  altar  stands,  was  the  burial-place  of 
the  old  Barons  of  Kendal.  The  broken  crusader, 
perhaps,  represents  one  of  them  ; and  some  of  their 
stalwart-  bones  might  be  found  by  digging  down. 


FURNESS  ABBEY. 


l89 


1855.] 

Against  the  wall  of  the  choir,  near  the  vacant  ^pace 
where  the  altar  was,  are  some  stone  seats  with  canopies 
richly  carved  in  stone,  all  quite  perfectly  preserved, 
where  the  priests  used  to  sit  at  intervals,  during  the 
celebration  of  mass.  Conceive  all  these  shattered  walls, 
with  here  and  there  an  arched  door,  or  the  great 
arched  vacancy  of  a window ; these  broken  stones 
and  monuments  scattered  about ; these  rows  of  pillars 
up  and  down  the  nave ; these  arches,  through  which 
a giant  might  have  stepped,  and  not  needed  to  bow  his 
head,  unless  in  reverence  to  the  sanctity  of  the  place, 
— conceive  it  all,  with  such  verdure  and  embroidery 
of  flowers  as  the  gentle,  kindly  moisture  of  the  Eng- 
lish climate  procreates  on  all  old  things,  making  them 
more  beautiful  than  new,  — conceive  it  with  the  grass 
for  sole  pavement  of  the  long  and  spacious  aisle,  and 
the  sky  above  for  the  only  roof.  The  sky,  to  be  sure, 
is  more  majestic  than  the  tallest  of  those  arches ; and 
yet  these  latter,  perhaps,  make  the  stronger  impression 
of  sublimity,  because  they  translate  the  sweep  of  the 
sky  to  our  finite  comprehension.  It  was  a most  beau- 
tiful, warm,  sunny  day,  and  the  ruins  had  all  the  pic- 
torial advantage  of  bright  light  and  deep  shadows. 
I must  not  forget  that  birds  flew  in  and  out  among  the 
recesses,  and  chirped  and  warbled,  and  made  them- 
selves at  home  there.  Doubtless,  the  birds  of  the 
present  generation  are  the  posterity  of  those  who  first 
settled  in  the  ruins,  after  the  Reformation  ; and  perhaps 
the  old  monks  of  a still  earlier  day  may  have  watched 
them  building  about  the  abbey,  before  it  was  a ruin  at 
all. 

We  had  an  old  description  of  the  place  with  us,  aided 


190 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185! 


by  which  we  traced  out  the  principal  part  of  the  edifice, 
such  as  the  church,  as  already  mentioned,  and,  contigu- 
ous to  this,  the  Chapter-house,  which  is  better  preserved 
than  the  church ; also  the  kitchen,  and  the  room  where 
the  monks  met  to  talk ; and  the  range  of  wall,  where 
their  cells  probably  were.  I never  before  had  given 
myself  the  trouble  to  form  any  distinct  idea  of  what  an 
abbey  or  monastery  was,  — a place  where  holy  rites 
were  daily  and  continually  to  be  performed,  with  places 
to  eat  and  sleep  contiguous  and  convenient,  in  order 
that  the  monks  might  always  be  at  hand  to  perform 
those  rites.  They  lived  only  to  worship,  and  therefore 
lived  under  the  same  roof  with  their  place  of  worship, 
which,  of  course,  was  the  principal  object  in  the  edifice, 
and  hallowed  the  whole  of  it.  We  found,  too,  at  one 
end  of  the  ruins,  what  is  supposed  to  have  been  a 
school-house  for  the  children  of  the  tenantry  or  villeins 
of  the  abbey.  All  round  this  room  is  a bench  of  stone 
against  the  wall,  and  the  pedestal  also  of  the  master’s 
seat.  There  are,  likewise,  the  ruins  of  the  mill ; and 
the  mill-stream,  which  is  just  as  new  as  ever  it  was, 
still  goes  murmuring  and  babbling,  and  passes  under 
two  or  three  old  bridges,  consisting  of  a low  gray  arch 
overgrown  with  grass  and  shrubbery.  That  stream 
was  the  most  fleeting  and  vanishing  thing  about  the 
ponderous  and  high-piled  abbey ; and  yet  it  has  out- 
lasted everything  else,  and  might  still  outlast  another 
such  edifice,  and  be  none  the  worse  for  wear. 

There  is  not  a great  deal  of  ivy  upon  the  walls,  and 
though  an  ivied -wall  is  a beautiful  object,  yet  it  is  better 
not  to  have  too  much,  — else  it  is  but  one  wall  of  un- 
broken verdure,  on  which  you  can  see  none  of  the  sculp- 


1855.] 


FURNESS  ABBEY. 


191 


tural  ornaments,  nor  any  of  the  hieroglyphics  of  Time. 
A sweep  of  ivy  here  and  there,  with  the  gray  wall  every- 
where showing  through,  makes  the  better  picture  ; and 
I think  that  nothing  is  so  effective  as  the  little  bunches 
of  flowers,  a mere  handful,  that  grow  in  spots  where  the 
seeds  have  been  carried  by  the  wind  ages  ago. 

I have  made  a miserable  botch  of  this  description  ; it 
is  no  description,  but  merely  an  attempt  to  preserve 
something  of  the  impression  it  made  on  me,  and  in  this 
I do  not  seem  to  have  succeeded  at  all.  I liked  the 
contrast  between  the  sombreness  of  the  old  walls,  and 
the  sunshine  falling  through  them,  and  gladdening  the 
grass  that  floored  the  aisles ; also,  I liked  the  effect 
of  so  many  idle  and  cheerful  people,  strolling  into  the 
haunts  of  the  dead  monks,  and  going  babbling  about,  and 
peering  into  the  dark  nooks  ; and  listening  to  catch  some 
idea  of  what  the  building  was  from  a clerical-looking 
personage,  who  was  explaining  it  to  a party  of  his  friends. 
I don’t  know  how  well  acquainted  this  gentleman  might 
be  with  the  subject ; but  he  seemed  anxious  not  to  im- 
part his  knowledge  too  extensively,  and  gave  a pretty 
direct  rebuff  to  an  honest  man  who  ventured  an  inquiry 
of  him.  I think  that  the  railway,  and  the  hotel  within 
the  abbey  grounds,  add  to  the  charm  of  the  place.  A 
moonlight,  solitary  visit  might  be  very  good,  too,  in  its 
way  ; but  I believe  that  one  great  charm  and  beauty  of 
antiquity  is,  that  we  view  it  out  of  the  midst  of  quite  an- 
other mode  of  life ; and  the  more  perfectly  this  can  be 
done,  the  better.  It  can  never  be  done  more  perfectly 
than  at  Furness  Abbey,  which  is  in  itself  a very  sombre 
scene,  and  stands,  moreover,  in  the  midst  of  a melan- 
choly valley,  the  Saxon  name  of  which  means  the  Vale 
of  the  Deadly  Nightshade. 


192 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

The  entrance  to  the  stable-yard  of  the  hotel  is  be- 
neath a pointed  arch  of  Saxon  architecture,  and  on  one 
side  of  this  stands  an  old  building,  looking  like  a chapel, 
but  which  may  have  been  a porter’s  lodge.  The  Abbot’s 
residence  was  in  this  quarter ; and  the  clerical  person- 
age, before  alluded  to,  spoke  of  those  as  the  oldest  part 
of  the  ruins. 

About  half  a mile  on  the  hither  side  of  the  abbey 
stands  the  village  of  Dalton,  in  which  is  a castle  built  on 
a Roman  foundation,  and  which  was  afterwards  used  by 
the  abbots  (in  their  capacity  of  feudal  lords)  as  a pris- 
on. The  abbey  was  founded  about  1027  by  King 
Stephen,  before  he  came  to  the  throne  ; and  the  faces 
of  himself  and  of  his  queen  are  still  to  be  seen  on  one 
of  the  walls. 

We  had  a very  agreeable  drive  home  (our  drive 
hither  had  been  uncomfortably  sunny  and  hot),  and  we 

stopped  at  Ulverston  to  buy  a pair  of  shoes  for  J 

and  some  drawing-books  and  stationery.  As  we  passed 
through  the  little  town  in  the  morning,  it  was  all  alive 
with  the  bustle  and  throng  of  the  weekly  market ; and 
though  this  had  ceased  on  our  return,  the  streets  still 
looked  animated,  because  the  heat  of  the  day  drew  most 
of  the  population,  I should  imagine,  out-of-doors.  Old 
men  look  very  antiquated  here  in  their  old-fashioned 
coats  and  breeches,  sunning  themselves  by  the  wayside. 

We  reached  home  somewhere  about  eight  o’clock,  — 
home  I see  I have  called  it ; and  it  seems  as  homelike  a 
spot  as  any  we  have  found  in  England,  — the  old  inn, 
close  by  the  bridge,  beside  the  clear  river,  pleasantly 
overshadowed  by  trees.  It  is  entirely  English,  and  like 
nothing  that  one  sees  in  America  ; and  yet  I feel  as  if 


FURNESS  ABBEY. 


193 


1855.] 

I might  have  lived  here  a long  while  ago,  and  had  now 
come  back  because  I retained  pleasant  recollections  of 

it.  The  children,  too,  make  themselves  at  home.  J 

spends  his  time  from  morning  to  night  fishing  for  min- 
nows or  trout,  and  catching  nothing  at  all,  and  U 

rind  R have  been  riding  between  fields  and  barn  in 

ft  hay-cart.  The  roads  give  us  beautiful  walks  along 
tiie  river-side,  or  wind  away  among  the  gentle  hills  ; and 
\t  we  had  nothing  else  to  look  at  in  these  walks,  the 
hedges  and  stone  fences  would  afford  interest  enough,  so 
jnany  ana  pretty  are  the  flowers,  roses,  honeysuckles, 
and  otner  sweet  things,  and  so  abundantly  does  the 
moss  and  ivy  grow  among  the  old  stones  of  the  fences, 
which  would  never  have  a single  shoot  of  vegetation  on 
them  in  America  tirl  the  very  end  of  time.  But  here, 
no  sooner  is  a stone  fence  built,  than  Nature  sets  to 
work  to  make  it  a part  of  herself.  She  adopts  it  and 
adorns  it,  as  if  it  were  her  own  child.  A little  sprig  of 
ivy  may  be  seen  creeping  up  the  side,  and  clinging  fast 
with  its  many  feet ; a tuft  ot  grass  roots  itself  between 
two  of  the  stones,  where  a little  dust  from  the  road  has 
been  moistened  into  soil  for  it : a small  bunch  of  fern 
grows  in  another  such  crevice  ; a deep,  soft,  green  moss 
spreads  itself  over  the  top  and  all  along  che  sides  of  the 
fence  ; and  wherever  nothing  else  will  grow,  lichens  ad- 
here to  the  stones  and  variegate  their  hues.  Finally,  a 
great  deal  of  shrubbery  is  sure  to  cluster  along  its  ex- 
tent, and  take  away  all  hardness  from  the  outline  ; and 
so  the  whole  stone  fence  looks  as  if  God  had  had  at 
feast  as  much  to  do  with  it  as  man.  The  trunks  of  the 
trees,  ! oo,  exhibit  a similar  parasitical  vegetation.  Para- 
sit  cal  is  an  unkind  phrase  to  bestow  on  this  beautiful 

9 


VOL.  I. 


M 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


194 


[1855. 


love  and  kindness  which  seems  to  exist  here  between 
one  plant  and  another  ; the  strong  thing  being  always 
ready  to  give  support  and  sustenance,  and  the  weak 
thing  to  repay  with  beauty,  so  that  both  are  the  richer, 
— as  in  the  case  of  ivy  and  woodbine,  clustering  up  the 
trunk  of  a tall  tree,  and  adding  Corinthian  grace  to  its 
lofty  beauty. 

Mr.  W our  landlord,  has  lent  us  a splendid  work 

with  engravings,  illustrating  the  antiquities  of  Furness 
Abbey.  I gather  from  it  that  the  hotel  must  have  been 
rebuilt  or  repaired  from  an  old  manor-house,  which  was 
itself  erected  by  a family  of  Prestons,  after  the  Refor 
mation,  and  was  a renewal  from  the  Abbot’s  residence, 
Much  of  the  edifice  probably,  as  it  exists  now,  may  have 
been  part  of  the  original  one ; and  there  are  bas-reliefs 
of  Scripture  subjects,  sculptured  in  stone,  and  fixed  in 
the  wall  of  the  dining-room,  which  have  been  there 
since  the  Abbot’s  time.  This  author  thinks  that  what 
we  had  supposed  to  be  the  school-house  (on  the  author- 
ity of  an  old  book)  was  really  the  building  for  the  recep- 
Von  of  guests,  with  its  chapel.  He  says  that  the  tall 
arches  in  the  church  are  sixty  feet  high.  The  Earl  of 
Burlington,  I believe,  is  the  present  proprietor  of  the 
abbey. 

THE  LAKES. 

July  1 6th.  — On  Saturday,  we  left  Newby  Bridge, 
and  came  by  steamboat  up  Windermere  Lake  to  Low- 
wood  Hotel,  where  we  now  are.  The  foot  of  the  lake 
is  just  above  Newby  Bridge,  and  it  widens  from  that 
point,  but  never  to  such  a breadth  that  objects  are  not 
pretty  distinctly  visible  from  shore  to  shore.  The 
steamer  stops  at  two  or  three  places  in  the  course  of  its 


THE  LAKES. 


195 


1855.] 

voyage,  the  principal  one  being  Bowness,  which  has  a 
little  bustle  and  air  of  business  about  it  proper  to  the 
principal  port  of  the  lake.  There  are  several  small 
yachts,  and  many  skiffs  rowing  about.  The  banks  are 
everywhere  beautiful,  and  the  water,  in  one  portion,  is 
strewn  with  islands ; few  of  which  are  large  enough  to 
be  inhabitable,  but  they  all  seem  to  be  appropriated, 
and  kept  in  the  neatest  order.  As  yet,  I have  seen  no 
wildness ; everything  is  perfectly  subdued  and  polished 
and  imbued  with  human  taste,  except,  indeed,  the  out- 
lines of  the  hills,  which  continue  very  much  the  same 
as  God  made  them.  As  we  approached  the  head  of  the 
lake,  the  congregation  of  great  hills  in  the  distance  be- 
came very  striking.  The  shapes  of  these  English  moun- 
tains are  certainly  far  more  picturesque  than  those 
which  I have  seen  in  Eastern  America,  where  their  sum- 
mits are  almost  invariably  rounded,  as  I remember 
them.  They  are  great  hillocks,  great  bunches  of  earth, 
similar  to  one  another  in  their  developments.  Here 
they  have  variety  of  shape,  rising  into  peaks,  falling  in 
abrupt  precipices,  stretching  along  in  zigzag  outlines, 
and  thus  making  the  most  of  their  not  very  gigantic 
masses,  and  producing  a remarkable  effect. 

We  arrived  at  the  Low  wood  Hotel,  which  is  very 
near  the  head  of  the  lake,  not  long  after  two  o’clock. 
It  stands  almost  on  the  shore  of  Windermere,  with  only 
a green  lawn  between,  — an  extensive  hotel,  covering  a 
good  deal  of  ground ; but  low,  and  rather  village-inn- 
like  than  lofty.  We  found  the  house  so  crowded  as  to 
afford  us  no  very  comfortable  accommodations,  either 
as  to  parlor  or  sleeping-rooms,  and  we  find  nothing  like 
the  home-feeling  into  which  we  at  once  settled  down  at 


196 


ENGLISH  NOTE  BOOKS. 


[1855. 

Newby  Bridge.  There  is  a very  pretty  vicinity,  and  a 
fine  view  of  mountains  to  the  northwest,  sitting  to^ 
gether  in  a family  group,  sometimes  in  full  sunshine, 
sometimes  with  only  a golden  gleam  on  one  or  two  of 
them,  sometimes  all  in  a veil  of  cloud,  from  which 
here  and  there  a great,  dusky  head  raises  itself,  while 
you  are  looking  at  a dim  obscurity.  Nearer,  there  are 
high,  green  slopes,  well  wooded,  but  with  such  decent 
and  well-behaved  wood  as  you  perceive  has  grown  up 
under  the  care  of  man ; still  no  wildness,  no  rugged- 
ness, — as  how  should  there  be,  when,  every  half-mile 
or  so,  a porter’s  lodge  or  a gentleman’s  gateway  indi- 
cates that  the  whole  region  is  used  up  for  villas.  On 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake  there  is  a mimic  castle, 
which  I suppose  I might  have  mistaken  for  a real  one 
two  years  ago.  It  is  a great,  foolish  toy  of  gray  stone. 

A steamboat  comes  to  the  pier  as  many  as  six  times 
a day,  and  stage-coaches  and  omnibuses  stop  at  the 
door  still  oftener,  communicating  with  Ambleside  and 
the  town  of  Windermere,  and  with  the  railway,  which 
opens  London  and  all  the  world  to  us.  We  get  no 
knowledge  of  our  fellow-guests,  all  of  whom,  like  our- 
selves, live  in  their  own  circles,  and  are  just  as  remote 
from  us  as  if  the  lake  lay  between.  The  only  words  I 
have  spoken  since  arriving  here  have  been  to  my  own 
family  or  to  a waiter,  save  to  one  or  two  young  pedes- 
trians who  met  me  on  a walk,  and  asked  me  the  distance 
to  Low  wood  Hotel.  “ Just  beyond  here,”  said  I,  and  1 
might  stay  for  months  without  occasion  to  speak  again. 

Yesterday  forenoon  J and  I walked  to  Amble- 

side,— distant  barely  two  miles.  It  is  a little  town, 
chiefly  of  modern  aspect,  built  on  a very  uneven  hill- 


i 85V>. J THE  LAKES.  197 

side,  and  with  very  irregular  streets  and  lanes,  which 
bewilder  the  stranger  as  much  as  those  of  a larger  city. 
Many  of  the  houses  look  old,  and  are  probably  the  .cot- 
tages and  farm-houses  which  composed  the  rude  village 
a century  ago ; but  there  are  stuccoed  shops  and  dwell- 
ings, such  as  may  have  been  built  within  a year  or  two ; 
and  three  hotels,  one  of  which  has  the  look  of  a good 
old  village  inn  ; and  the  others  are  fashionable  or  com- 
mercial establishments.  Through  the  midst  of  the  vil- 
lage comes  tumbling  and  rumbling  a mountain  streamlet, 
rushing  through  a deep,  rocky  dell,  gliding  under  an 
old  stone  arch,  and  turning,  when  occasion  calls,  the 
great  block  of  a water-mill.  This  is  the  only  very  strik- 
ing feature  of  the  village,  — the  stream  taking  its  rough 
pathway  to  the  lake  as  it  used  to  do  before  the  poets 
had  made  this  region  fashionable. 

In  the  evening,  just  before  eight  o'clock,  I took  a walk 
alone,  by  a road  which  goes  up  the  hill,  back  of  our 
hotel,  and  which  I supposed  might  be  the  road  to  the 
town  of  Windermere.  But  it  went  up  higher  and  high- 
er, and  for  the  mile  or  two  that  it  led  me  along,  winding 
up,  I saw  no  traces  of  a town  ; but  at  last  it  turned  into 
a valley  between  two  high  ridges,  leading  quite  away 
from  the  lake,  within  view  of  which  the  town  of  Win- 
dermere is  situated.  It  was  a very  lonely  road,  though 
as  smooth,  hard,  and  well  kept  as  any  thoroughfare  in 
the  suburbs  of  a city  ; hardly  a dwelling  on  either  side, 
except  one,  half  barn,  half  farm-house,  and  one  gentle- 
man's gateway,  near  the  beginning  of  the  road,  and 
another  more  than  a mile  above.  At  two  or  three 
points  there  were  stone  barns,  which  are  here  built 
with  great  solidity.  At  one  place  there  was  a painted 


198  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

board,  announcing  that  a field  of  five  acres  was  to  be 
sold,  and  referring  those  desirous  of  purchasing  to  a 
solicitor  in  London.  The  lake  country  is  but  a London 
suburb.  Nevertheless,  the  walk  was  lonely  and  lovely  ; 
the  copses  and  the  broad  hillside,  the  glimpses  of  the 
lake,  the  great  misty  company  of  pikes  and  fells,  beguiled 
me  into  a sense  of  something  like  solitude;  and  the 
bleating  of  the  sheep,  remote  and  near,  had  a like  ten- 
dency. Gaining  the  summit  of  the  hill,  I had  the  best 
view  of  Windermere  which  I have  yet  attained,  — the 
best,  I should  think,  that  can  be  had,  though,  being 
towards  the  south,  it  brings  the  softer  instead  of  the 
more  striking  features  of  the  landscape  into  view.  But 
it  shows  nearly  the  whole  extent  of  the  lake,  all  the 
way  from  Lowwood,  beyond  Newby  Bridge,  and  I 
think  there  can  hardly  be  anything  more  beautiful  in 
the  world.  The  water  was  like  a strip  and  gleam  of 
sky,  fitly  set  among  lovely  slopes  of  earth.  It  was  no 
broader  than  many  a river,  and  yet  you  saw  at  once 
that  it  could  be  no  river,  its  outline  being  so  different 
from  that  of  a running  stream,  not  straight  nor  winding, 
but  stretching  to  one  side  or  the  other,  as  the  shores 
made  room  for  it. 

This  morning  it  is  raining,  and  we  are  not  very  com- 
fortable nor  contented,  being  all  confined  to  our  little 
parlor,  which  has  a broken  window,  against  which  I 
have  pinned  The  Times  to  keep  out  the  chill  damp 

air.  U has  been  ill,  in  consequence  of  having  been 

overheated  at  Newby  Bridge.  We  have  no  books, 
except  guide-books,  no  means  of  amusement,  nothing 
to  do.  There  are  no  newspapers,  and  I shall  remember 
Lowwood  not  very  agreeably.  As  far  as  we  are  con- 


THE  LAKES. 


199 


i'S55.] 

cerned,  it  is  a scrambling,  ill-ordered  hotel,  with  insuffi- 
cient attendance,  wretched  sleeping  accommodations, 
a pretty  fair  table,  but  German-silver  forks  and  spoons  ; 
our  food  does  not  taste  very  good,  and  yet  there  is 
really  no  definite  fault  to  be  found  with  it. 

Since  writing  the  above,  I have  found  the  first  volume 
of  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  and  two  of  G.  P.  R.  James’s 
works,  in  the  coffee-room.  The  days  pass  heavily  here, 
and  leave  behind  them  a sense  of  having  answered  no 
very  good  purpose.  They  are  long  enough,  at  all  events, 
for  the  sun  does  not  set  till  after  eight  o’clock,  and  rises 
I know  not  when.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  dis- 
tinctions between  England  and  the  United  States  is 
the  ignorance  into  which  we  fall  of  whatever  is  going 
on  in  the  world  the  moment  we  get  away  from  the 
great  thoroughfares  and  centres  of  life.  In  Leamington 
we  heard  no  news  from  week’s  end  to  week’s  end,  and 
knew  not  where  to  find  a newspaper  ; and  here  the 
case  is  neither  better  nor  worse.  The  rural  people 
really  seem  to  take  no  interest  in  public  affairs  ; at  all 
events,  they  have  no  intelligence  on  such  subjects.  It 
is  possible  that  the  cheap  newspapers  may,  in  time,  find 
their  way  into  the  cottages,  or,  at  least,  into  the  coun- 
try taverns ; but  it  is  not  at  all  so  now.  If  they 
generally  know  that  Sebastopol  is  besieged,  it  is  the  ex- 
tent of  their  knowledge.  The  public  life  of  America  is 
lived  through  the  mind  and  heart  of  every  man  in  it ; 
here  the  people  feel  that  they  have  nothing  to  do  with 
what  is  going  forward,  and,  I suspect,  care  little  or 
nothing  about  it.  Such  things  they  permit  to  be  the 
exclusive  concern  of  the  higher  classes. 

In  front  of  our  hotel,  on  the  lawn  between  us  and  the 


200 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


lake,  there  are  two  trees,  which  we  have  hitherto 
taken  to  be  yews  ; but  on  examining  them  more  closely, 
I find  that  they  are  pine-trees,  and  quite  dead  and  dry, 
although  they  have  the  aspect  of  dark  rich  life.  But 
this  is  caused  by  the  verdure  of  two  great  ivy  vines, 
which  have  twisted  round  them  like  gigantic  snakes, 
and,  clambering  up  and  throttling  the  life  out  of  them, 
have  put  out  branches,  and  made  crowns  of  thick 
green  leaves,  so  that,  at  a little  distance,  it  is  quite  im- 
possible not  to  take  them  for  genuine  trees.  The  trunks 
of  the  ivy  vines  must  be  more  than  a foot  in  circum- 
ference, and  one  feels  they  have  stolen  the  life  that  be- 
longed to  the  pines.  The  dead  branches  of  one  of  the 
pines  stick  out  horizontally  through  the  ivy  boughs. 
The  other  shows  nothing  but  the  ivy,  and  in  shape  a 
good  deal  resembles  a poplar.  When  the  pine  trunks 
shall  have  quite  crumbled  away,  the  ivy  stems  will 
doubtless  have  gained  sufficient  strength  to  sustain  them- 
selves independently. 

July  19 tlu  — Yesterday  S- went  down  the  lake  in 

the  steamboat  to  take  U , baby,  and  nurse  to  Newby 

Bridge,  while  the  three  rest  of  us  should  make  a tour 
through  the  lake  region.  After  mamma's  departure, 

and  when  I had  finished  some  letters,  J and  I set 

out  on  a walk,  which  finally  brought  us  to  Bowness, 
through  much  delightful  shade  of  woods,  and  past  beau- 
tiful rivulets  or  brooklets,  and  up  and  down  many  hills. 
This  chief  harbor  of  the  lakes  seemed  alive  and  bustling 
with  tourists,  it  being  a sunny  and  pleasant  day,  so  that 
they  were  all  abroad,  like  summer  insects.  The  town 
is  a confused  and  irregular  little  place,  of  very  uneven 


(855.] 


THE  LAKES. 


201 


surface.  There  is  an  old  church  in  it,  and  two  or  three 
large  hotels.  We  stayed  there  perhaps  half  an  hour, 
and  then  went  to  the  pier,  where  shortly  a steamer  ar- 
rived, with  music  sounding,  — on  the  deck  of  which, 
with  her  back  to  us,  sat  a lady  in  a gray  travelling  dress. 

J cried  out,  “Mamma!  mamma!”  to  which  the 

lady  deigned  no  notice,  but,  he  repeating  it,  she  turned 
round,  and  was  as  much  surprised,  no  doubt,  to  see  her 
husband  and  son,  as  if  this  little  lake  had  been  the 
great  ocean,  and  we  meeting  each  other  from  opposite 
shores  of  it.  We  soon  steamed  back  to  Low  wood,  and 
took  a car  thence  for  Rydal  and  Grasmere,  after  a cold 
luncheon.  At  Bowness  I met  Miss  Charlotte  Cush- 
man, who  has  been  staying  at  the  Lowwood  Hotel  with 
us  since  Monday,  without  either  party  being  aware 
of  it. 

Our  road  to  Rydal  lay  through  Ambleside,  which  is 
certainly  a very  pretty  town,  and  looks  cheerfully  in  a 
sunny  day.  We  saw  Miss  Martineau’s  residence, 
called  “ The  Knoll, ” standing  high  up  on  a hillock,  and 
having  at  its  foot  a Methodist  chapel,  for  which,  or 
whatever  place  of  Christian  worship,  this  good  lady  can 
have  no  occasion.  We  stopped  a moment  in  the  street 
below  her  house,  and  deliberated  a little  whether  to  call 
on  her ; but  concluded  we  would  not. 

After  leaving  Ambleside,  the  road  winds  in  and  out 
among  the  hills,  and  soon  brings  us  to  a sheet  (or 
napkin,  rather  than  a sheet)  of  water,  which  the  driver 
tells  us  is  Rydal  Lake  ! We  had  already  heard  that  it 
was  but  three  quarters  of  a mile  long,  and  one  quarter 
broad  ; still,  it  being  an  idea  of  considerable  size  in  our 
minds,  we  had  inevitably  drawn  its  ideal,  physical  pro- 
9* 


202 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

portions  on  a somewhat  corresponding  scale.  It  cer- 
tainly did  look  very  small ; and  I said,  in  my  American 
scorn,  that  I could  carry  it  away  easily  in  a porringer  ; 
for  it  is  nothing  more  than  a grassy-bordered  pool 
among  the  surrounding  hills  which  ascend  directly  from 
its  margin  ; so  that  one  might  fancy  it,  not  a permanent 
body  of  water,  but  a rather  extensive  accumulation  of 
recent  rain.  Moreover,  it  was  rippled  with  a breeze, 
and  so,  as  I remember  it,  though  the  sun  shone,  it 
looked  dull  and  sulky,  like  a child  out  of  humor.  Now, 
the  best  thing  these  small  ponds  can  do  is  to  keep 
perfectly  calm  and  smooth,  and  not  attempt  to  show  off 
any  airs  of  their  own,  but  content  themselves  with 
serving  as  a mirror  for  whatever  of  beautiful  or  pic- 
turesque there  may  be  in  the  scenery  around  them. 
The  hills  about  Rydal  Water  are  not  very  lofty,  but  are 
sufficiently  so  as  objects  of  every-day  view,  — objects  to 
live  with  ; and  they  are  craggier  than  those  we  have 
hitherto  seen,  and  bare  of  wood,  which  indeed  would 
hardly  grow  on  some  of  their  precipitous  sides. 

On  the  roadside,  as  we  reach  the  foot  of  the  lake, 
stands  a spruce  and  rather  large  house  of  modern 
aspect,  but  with  several  gables  and  much  overgrown 
with  ivy,  — a very  pretty  and  comfortable  house,  built, 
adorned,  and  cared  for  with  commendable  taste.  We 
inquired  whose  it  was,  and  the  coachman  said  it  was 
“ Mr.  Wordsworth’s,”  and  that  “ Mrs.  Wordsworth  was 
still  residing  there.”  So  we  were  much  delighted  to 
have  seen  his  abode,  and  as  we  were  to  stay  the  niglit 
at  Grasmere,  about  two  miles  farther  on,  we  deter- 
mined to  come  back  and  inspect  it  as  particularly  as 
should  be  allowable.  Accordingly,  after  taking  rooms 


THE  LAKES. 


203 


1855.] 

at  Brown’s  Hotel,  we  drove  back  in  our  return  car, 
and,  reaching  the  head  of  Rydal  Water,  alighted  to  walk 
through  this  familiar  scene  of  so  many  years  of  Words- 
worth’s life.  We  ought  to  have  seen  De  Quincey’s 
former  residence  and  Hartley  Coleridge’s  cottage,  I 
believe,  on  our  way,  but  were  not  aware  of  it  at  the 
time.  Near  the  lake  there  is  a stone-quarry,  and  a 
cavern  of  some  extent,  artificially  formed,  probably  by 
taking  out  the  stone.  Above  the  shore  of  the  lake,  not 
a great  way  from  Wordsworth’s  residence,  there  is 
a flight  of  steps  hewn  in  a rock  and  ascending  to  a 
rock  seat  where  a good  view  of  the  lake  may  be 
attained;  and,  as  Wordsworth  has  doubtless  sat  there 
hundreds  of  times,  so  did  we  ascend  and  sit  down, 
and  look  at  the  hills  and  at  the  flags  on  the  lake’s 
shore. 

Reaching  the  house  that  had  been  pointed  out  to  us 
as  Wordsworth’s  residence,  we  began  to  peer  about  at 
its  front  and  gables,  and  over  the  garden  wall,  on  both 
sides  of  the  road,  quickening  our  enthusiasm  as  much 
as  we  could,  and  meditating  to  pilfer  some  flower  or 
ivy-leaf  from  the  house  or  its  vicinity,  to  be  kept  as 
sacred  memorials.  At  this  juncture  a man  approached, 
who  announced  himself  as  the  gardener  of  the  place, 
and  said,  too,  that  this  was  not  Wordsworth’s  house  at 
all,  but  the  residence  of  Mr.  Ball,  a Quaker  gentleman ; 
but  that  his  ground  adjoined  Wordsworth’s,  and  that 
he  had  liberty  to  take  visitors  through  the  latter.  How 
absurd  it  would  have  been  if  we  .had  carried  away  ivv- 
leaves  and  tender  recollections  from  this  domicile  of  a 
respectable  Quaker  ! The  gardener  was  an  intelligent 
man,  of  pleasant,  sociable,  and  respectful  address  ; and 


204  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

as  we  went  along  he  talked  about  the  poet,  whom  he 
had  known,  and  who,  he  said,  was  very  familiar  with  the 
country  people.  He  led  us  through  Mr.  Ball’s  grounds, 
up  a steep  hillside,  by  winding,  gravelled  walks,  with 
summer-houses  at  points  favorable  for  them.  It  was  a 
very  shady  and  pleasant  spot,  containing  about  an  acre 
of  ground,  and  all  turned  to  good  account  by  the  man- 
ner of  laying  it  out ; so  that  it  seemed  more  than  it 
really  is.  In  one  place,  on  a small,  smooth  slab  of 
slate,  let  into  a rock,  there  is  an  inscription  by  Words- 
worth, which  I think  I have  read  in  his  works,  claiming 
kindly  regards  from  those  who  visit  the  spot  after  his 
departure,  because  many  trees  had  been  spared  at  his 
intercession.  His  own  grounds,  or  rather  his  orna- 
mental garden,  is  separated  from  Mr.  Ball’s  only  by  a 
wire  fence,  or  some  such  barrier,  and  the  gates  have  no 
fastening,  so  that  the  whole  appears  like  one  posses- 
sion, and  doubtless  was  so  as  regarded  the  poet’s  walks 
and  enjoyments.  We  approached  by  paths  so  winding 
that  I hardly  know  how  the  house  stands  in  relation  to 
the  road  ; but,  after  much  circuity,  we  really  did  see 
Wordsworth’s  residence,  — an  old  house  with  an  uneven 
ridge-pole,  built  of  stone,  no  doubt,  but  plastered  over 
with  some  neutral  tint,  — a house  that  would  not  have 
been  remarkably  pretty  in  itself,  but  so  delightfully 
situated,  so  secluded^  so  hedged  about  with  shrubbery, 
and  adorned  with  flowers,  so  ivy-grown  on  one  side,  so 
beautified  with  the  personal  care  of  him  who  lived  in 
it  and  loved  it,  that  it  seemed  the  very  place  for  a 
poet’s  residence ; and  as  if,  while  he  lived  so  long  in  it, 
his  poetry  had  manifested  itself  in  flowers,  shrubbery, 
and  ivy.  I never  smelt  such  a delightful  fragrance  of 


1355.] 


THE  LAKES. 


205 


flowers  as  there  was  all  through  the  garden.  In  front 
of  the  house  there  is  a circular  terrace  of  two  ascents, 
in  raising  which  Wordsworth  had  himself  performed 
much  of  the  labor;  and  here  there  are  seats,  from 
which  we  obtained  a fine  view  down  the  valley  of  the 
Rothay,  with  Windermere  in  the  distance,  — a view  of 
several  miles,  and  which  we  did  not  suppose  could  be 
seen,  after  winding  among  the  hills  so  far  from  the 
lake.  It  is  very  beautiful  and  picture-like.  While  we 

sat  here,  S happened  to  refer  to  the  ballad  of  little 

Barbara  Lewthwaite,  and  J began  to  repeat  the 

poem  concerning  her,  and  the  gardener  said  that  “ little 
Barbara  ” had  died  not  a great  while  ago,  an  elderly 
woman,  leaving  grown-up  children  behind  her.  Her 
marriage-name  was  Thompson,  and  the  gardener  be- 
lieved there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  her  character. 

There  is  a summer-house  at  one  extremity  of  the 
grounds,  in  deepest  shadow,  but  with  glimpses  of 
mountain  views  through  trees  which  shut  it  in,  and 
which  have  spread  intercepting  boughs  since  Words- 
worth died.  It  is  lined  with  pine-cones,  in  a pretty 
way  enough,  but  of  doubtful  taste.  I rather  wonder 
that  people  of  real  taste  should  help  nature  out,  and 
beautify  her,  or  perhaps  rather  prettify  her  so  much  as 
they  do,  — opening  vistas,  showing  one  thing,  hiding 
another,  making  a scene  picturesque,  whether  or  no. 
I cannot  rid  myself  of  the  feeling  that  there  is  some- 
thing false  — a kind  of  humbug  — in  all  this.  At  any 
rate,  the  traces  of  it  do  not  contribute  to  my  enjoyment, 
and,  indeed,  it  ought  to  be  done  so  exquisitely  as  to 
leave  no  trace.  But  I ought  not  to  criticise  in  any 
way  a spot  which  gave  me  so  much  pleasure,  and 


206  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

where  it  is  good  to  think  of  Wordsworth  in  quiet,  past 
days,  walking  in  his  home-shadow  of  trees  which 
lie  knew,  and  training  flowers,  and  trimming  shrubs, 
and  chanting  in  an  undertone  his  own  verses  up  and 
down  the  winding  walks. 

The  gardener  gave  J a cone  from  the  summer- 
house, which  had  fallen  on  the  seat,  and  S got 

some  mignonette,  and  leaves  of  laurel  and  ivy,  and  we 
wended  our  way  back  to  the  hotel.  Wordsworth  was 
not  the  owner  of  this  house ; it  being  the  property  of 
Lady  Fleming.  Mrs.  Wordsworth  still  lives  there, 
and  is  now  at  home. 

Five  o'clock.  — All  day  it  has  been  cloudy  and  show- 
ery, with  thunder  now  and  then ; the  mists  hang  low 
on  the  surrounding  hills,  adown  which,  at  various 
points,  we  can  see  the  snow-white  fall  of  little  stream- 
lets (“  forces  ” they  call  them  here)  swollen  by  the 
rain.  An  overcast  day  is  not  so  gloomy  in  the  hill- 
country  as  in  the  lowlands ; there  are  more  breaks, 
more  transfusion  of  skylight  through  the  gloom,  as 
has  been  the  case  to-day,  and  as  I found  in  Lenox ; 
we  get  better  acquainted  with  clouds  by  seeing  at 
what  height  they  lie  on  the  hillsides,  and  find  that 
the  difference  betwixt  a fair  day  and  a cloudy  and 
rainy  one  is  very  superficial,  after  all.  Nevertheless, 
rain  is  rain,  and  wets  a man  just  as  much  among 
the  mountains  as  anywhere  else ; so  we  have  been 
kept  within  doors  all  day,  till  an  hour  or  so  ago,  when 

J and  I went  down  to  the  village  in  quest  of  the 

post-office. 

We  took  a path  that  leads  from  the  hotel  across  the 
fields,  and,  coming  into  a wood,  crosses  the  Rothay  by 


THE  LAKES. 


207 


1855.] 

a one-arched  bridge  and  passes  the  village  church. 
The  Rothay  is  very  swift  and  turbulent  to-day,  and 
hurries  along  with  foam-specks  on  its  surface,  filling 
its  banks  from  brim  to  brim,  — a stream  perhaps  twenty 
feet  wide,  perhaps  more ; for  I am  willing  that  the 
good  little  river  should  have  all  it  can  fairly  claim.  It 
is  the  St.  Lawrence  of  several  of  these  English  lakes* 
through  which  it  flows,  and  carries  off*  their  superfluous 
waters.  In  its  haste,  and  with  its  rushing  sound,  it 
was  pleasant  both  to  see  and  hear;  and  it  sweeps  by 
one  side  of  the  old  churchyard  where  Wordsworth  lies 
buried,  — the  side  where  his  grave  is  made.  The 
church  of  Grasmere  is  a very  plain  structure,  with  a 
low  body,  on  one  side  of  which  is  a small  porch  with  a 
pointed  arch.  The  tower  is  square  and  looks  ancient ; 
but  the  whole  is  overlaid  with  plaster  of  a buff*  or 
pale  yellow  hue.  It  was  originally  built,  I suppose, 
of  rough  shingly  stones,  as  many  of  the  houses  here- 
abouts are  now,  and,  like  many  of  them,  the  plaster  is 
used  to  give  a finish.  We  found  the  gate  of  the  church- 
yard wide  open ; and  the  grass  was  lying  on  the  graves, 
having  probably  been  mowed  yesterday.  It  is  but  a 
small  churchyard,  and  with  few  monuments  of  any  pre- 
tension in  it,  most  of  them  being  slate  headstones, 
standing  erect.  From  the  gate  at  which  we  entered, 
a distinct  foot-track  leads  to  the  corner  nearest  the 
river-side,  and  I turned  into  it  by  a sort  of  instinct, 
the  more  readily  as  I saw  a tourist-looking  man  ap- 
proaching from  that  point,  and  a woman  looking  among 
the  gravestones.  Both  of  these  persons  had  gone  by 

the  time  I came  up,  so  that  J and  I were  left  to 

find  Wordsworth’s  grave  all  by  ourselves. 


208  * 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


At  this  corner  of  the  churchyard,  there  is  a haw- 
thorn bush  or  tree,  the  extrernest  branches  of  which 
stretch  as  far  as  where  Wordsworth  lies.  This  whole 
corner  seems  to  be  devoted  to  himself  and  his  family 
and  friends ; and  they  all  lie  very  closely  together,  side 
by  side,  and  head  to  foot,  as  room  could  conveniently 
be  found.  Hartley  Coleridge  lies  a little  behind,  in  the 
direction  of  the  church,  his  feet  being  towards  Words- 
worth’s head,  who  lies  in  the  row  of  those  of  his  owi? 
blood.  I found  out  Hartley  Coleridge’s  grave  sooner 
than  Wordsworth’s  ; for  it  is  of  marble,  and,  though 
simple  enough,  has  more  of  sculptured  device  about  it, 
having  been  erected,  as  I think  the  inscription  states, 
by  his  brother  and  sister.  Wordsworth  has  only  the 
very  simplest  slab  of  state,  with  “ William  Wordsworth  ” 
and  nothing  else  upon  it.  As  I recollect  it,  it  is  the 
midmost  grave  of  the  row.  It  is  or  has  been  well  grass- 
grown,  but  the  grass  is  quite  worn  away  from  the  top, 
though  sufficiently  luxuriant  at  the  sides.  It  looks  as 
if  people  had  stood  upon  it,  and  so  does  the  grave  next 
to  it,  which  I believe  is  of  one  of  his  children.  I plucked 
some  grass  and  weeds  from  it,  and  as  he  was  buried 
within  so  few  years  they  may  fairly  be  supposed  to 
have  drawn  their  nutriment  from  his  mortal  remains, 
and  I gathered  them  from  just  above  his  head.  There 
is  no  fault  to  be  found  with  his  grave,  — within  view 
of  the  hills,  within  sound  of  the  river,  murmuring  near 
by,  — no  fault  except  that  he  is  crowded  so  closely  with 
his  kindred  ; and,  moreover,  that,  being  so  old  a church- 
yard, the  earth  over  him  must  all  have  been  human 
once.  He  might  have  had  fresh  earth  to  himself ; but 
he  chose  this  grave  deliberately.  No  very  stately  and 


THE  LAKES. 


209 


1855.] 

broad-based  monument  can  ever  be  erected  over  it 
without  infringing  upon,  covering,  and  overshadowing 
the  graves,  not  only  of  his  family,  but  of  individuals 
who  probably  were  quite  disconnected  with  him.  But 
it  is  pleasant  to  think  and  know  — were  it  but  on  the 
evidence  of  this  choice  of  a resting-place  - — that  he  did 
not  care  for  a stately  monument. 

After  leaving  the  churchyard,  we  wandered  about  in 
quest  of  the  post-office,  and  for  a long  time  without 
success.  This  little  town  of  Grasmere  seems  to  me  as. 
pretty  a place  as  ever  I met  with  in  my  life.  It  is  quite 
shut  in  by  hills  that  rise  up  immediately  around  it,  like 
a neighborhood  of  kindly  giants.  These  hills  descend 
steeply  to  the  verge  of  the  level  on  which  the  village 
stands,  and  there  they  terminate  at  once,  the  whole  site 
of  the  little  town  being  as  even  as  a floor.  I call  it  a 
village ; but  it  is  no  village  at  all,  — all  the  dwellings 
standing  apart,  each  in  its  own  little  domain,  and  each,  I 
believe,  with  its  own  little  lane  leading  to  it,  independent- 
ly of  the  rest.  Most  of  these  are  old  cottages,  plastered 
white,  with  antique  porches,  and  roses  and  other  vines 
trained  against  them,  and  shrubbery  growing  about  them  ; 
and  some  are  covered  with  ivy.  There  are  a few  edi- 
fices of  more  pretension  and  of  modern  build,  but  not  so 
Strikingly  so  as  to  put  the  rest  out  of  countenance.  The 
post-office,  when  we  found  it,  proved  to  be  an  ivied  cot- 
tage, with  a good  deal  of  shrubbery  round  it,  having  its 
own  pathway,  like  the  other  cottages.  The  whole  looks 
like  a real  seclusion,  shut  out  from  the  great  world  by 
these  encircling  hills,  on  the  sides  of  which,  whenever 
they  are  not  too  steep,  you  see  the  division  lines  of 
property,  and  tokens  of  cultivation,  — taking  from  them 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


210 


[1855. 


their  pretensions  to  savage  majesty,  but  bringing  them 
nearer  to  the  heart  of  man. 

Since  writing  the  above,  I have  been  again  with 

S- to  see  Wordsworth’s  grave,  and,  finding  the  door 

of  the  church  open,  we  went  in.  A woman  and  little 
girl  were  sweeping  at  the  farther  end,  and  the  woman 
came  towards  us  out  of  the  cloud  of  dust  which  she  had 
raised.  We  were  surprised  at  the  extremely  antique 
appearance  of  the  church.  It  is  paved  with  bluish-gray 
flagstones,  over  which  uncounted  generations  have  trod- 
den, leaving  the  floor  as  well  laid  as  ever.  The  walls 
are  very  thick,  and  the  arched  windows  open  through 
them  at  a considerable  distance  above  the  floor.  There 
is  no  middle  aisle  ; but  first  a row  of  pews  next  either 
wall,  and  then  an  aisle  on  each  side  of  the  pews,  occupy- 
ing the  centre  of  the  church,  — then,  two  side  aisles, 
but  no  middle  one.  And  down  through  the  centre  of 
the  church  runs  a row  of  five  arches,  very  rude  and 
round-headed,  all  of  rough  stone,  supported  by  rough 
and  massive  pillars,  or  rather  square,  stone  blocks, 
which  stand  in  the  pews,  and  stood  in  the  same  places, 
probably,  long  before  the  wood  of  those  pews  began  to 
grow.  Above  this  row  of  arches  is  another  row,  built 
upon  the  same  mass  of  stone,  and  almost  as  broad,  but 
lower ; and  on  this  upper  row  rests  the  framework, 
the  oaken  beams,  the  black  skeleton  of  the  roof.  It  is 
a very  clumsy  contrivance  for  supporting  the  roof,  and 
if  it  were  modern,  we  certainly  should  condemn  it  as 
very  ugly  ; but  being  the  relic  of  a simple  age  it  comes 
in  well  with  the  antique  simplicity  of  the  whole  struct- 
ure. The  roof  goes  up,  barn-like,  into  its  natural  an- 
gb\  and  all  the  rafters  and  cross-beams  are  visible. 


THE  LAKES. 


211 


1855.] 

There  is  an  old  font ; and  in  the  chancel  is  a niche, 
where  (judging  from  a similar  one  in  Furness  Abbey) 
the  holy  water  used  to  be  placed  for  the  priest’s  use 
while  celebrating  mass.  Around  the  inside  of  the 
porch  is  a stone  bench,  against  the  wall,  narrow  and 
uneasy,  but  where  a great  many  people  had  sat,  who 
now  have  found  quieter  resting-places. 

The  woman  was  a very  intelligent-looking  person, 
not  of  the  usual  English  ruddiness,  but  rather  thin  and 
somewhat  pale,  though  bright  of  aspect.  Her  way  of 
talking  was  very  agreeable.  She  inquired  if  we  wished 
to  see  Wordsworth’s  monument,  and  at  once  showed  it 
to  us,  — a ^lab  of  white  marble  fixed  against  the  upper 
end  of  the  central  row  of  stone  arches,  with  a pretty  long 
inscription,  and  a profile  bust,  in  bas-relief,  of  his  aged 
countenance.  The  monument  is  placed  directly  over 
Wordsworth’s  pew,  and  could  best  be  seen  and  read 
from  the  very  corner  seat  where  he  used  to  sit.  The 
pew  is  one.of  those  occupying  the  centre  of  the  church, 
and  is  just  across  the  aisle  from  the  pulpit,  and  is  the 
best  of  all  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  and  hearing  the 
clergyman,  and  likewise  as  convenient  as  any,  from  its 
neighborhood  to  the  altar.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
aisle,  beneath  the  pulpit,  is  Lady  Fleming’s  pew.  This 
and  one  or  two  others  are  curtained,  Wordsworth’s 
was  not.  I think  I can  bring  up  his  image  in  that 
corner  seat  of  his  pew  — a white-headed,  tall,  spare 
man,  plain  in  aspect  — better  than  in  any  other  situa- 
tion. The  woman  said  that  she  had  known  him  very 
well,  and  that  he  had  made  some  verses  on  a sister  of 
hers.  She  repeated  the  first  lines,  something  about  a 
lamb,  but  neither  S nor  I remembered  them. 


212 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

On  the  walls  of  the  chancel  there  are  monuments  to 
the  Flemings,  and  painted  escutcheons  of  their  arms  ; 
and  along  the  side  walls  also,  and  on  the  square  pillars 
of  the  row  of  arches,  there  are  other  monuments,  gener- 
ally of  white  marble,  with  the  letters  of  the  inscription 
blackened.  On  these  pillars,  likewise,  and  in  many 
places  in  the  walls,  were  hung  verses  from  Scripture, 
painted  on  boards.  At  one  of  the  doors  was  a poor-box, 
— an  elaborately  carved  little  box,  of  oak,  with  the 
date  1648,  and  the  name  of  the  church  — St.  Oswald’s  — 
upon  it.  The  whole  interior  of  the  edifice  was  plain, 
simple,  almost  to  grimness,  — or  would  have  been  so, 
only  that  the  foolish  church-wardens,  or  other  authority, 
have  washed  it  over  with  the  same  buff  color  with  which 
they  have  overlaid  the  exterior.  It  is  a pity ; it  lightens 
it  up,  and  desecrates  it  greatly,  especially  as  the  woman 
says  that  there  were  formerly  paintings  on  the  walls, 
now  obliterated  forever.  I could  have  stayed  in  the  old 
church  much  longer,  and  could  write  much  giore  about 
it,  but  there  must  be  an  end  to  everything.  Pacing  it 
from  the  farther  end  to  the  elevation  before  the  altar,  I 
found  that  it  was  twenty-five  paces  long. 

On  looking  again  at  the  Rothay,  I find  I did  it  some 
injustice ; for  at  the  bridge,  in  its  present  swollen 
state,  it  is  nearer  twenty  yards  than  twenty  feet  across. 
Its  waters  are  very  clear,  and  it  rushes  along  with  a 
speed  which  is  delightful  to  see,  after  an  acquaintance 
with  the  muddy  and  sluggish  Avon  and  Learn. 

Since  tea  I have  taken  a stroll  from  the  hotel  in  a 
different  direction  from  heretofore,  and  passed  the  Swan 
Inn,  where  Scott  used  to  go  daily  to  get  a draught  of 
liquor,  when  he  was  visiting  Wordsworth,  who  had  no 


1855.] 


THE  LAKES. 


213 


wine  nor  other  inspiriting  fluid  in  his  house.  It  stands 
directly  on  the  wayside,  — a small,  whitewashed  house, 
with  an  addition  in  the  rear  that  seems  to  have  been 
built  since  Scott’s  time.  On  the  door  is  the  painted 
sign  of  a swan,  and  the  name  “ Scott’s  Swan  Hotel.”  I 
walked  a considerable  distance  beyond  it,  but,  a shower 
coming  up,  I turned  back,  entered  the  inn,  and,  following 
the  mistress  into  a snug  little  room,  was  served  with  a 
glass  of  bitter  ale.  It  is  a very  plain  and  homely  inn, 
and  certainly  could  not  have  satisfied  Scott’s  wants  if 
he  had  required  anything  very  far-fetched  or  delicate 
in  his  potations.  I found  two  Westmoreland  peasants 
in  the  room,  with  ale  before  them.  One  went  away 
almost  immediately ; but  the  other  remained,  and,  enter- 
ing into  conversation  with  him,  he  told  me  that  he  was 
going  to  New  Zealand,  and  expected  to  sail  in  Septem- 
ber. I announced  myself  as  an  American,  and  he  said 
that  a large  party  had  lately  gone  from  hereabouts  to 
America ; but  he  seemed  not  to  understand  that  there 
was  any  distinction  between  Canada  and  the  States. 
These  people  had  gone  to  Quebec.  He  was  a very 
civil,  well-behaved,  kindly  sort  of  person,  of  a simple 
character,  which  I took  to  belong  to  the  class  and 
locality,  rather  than  to  himself  individually.  I could 
not  very  well  understand  all  that  he  said,  owing  to  his 
provincial  dialect ; and  when  he  spoke  to  his  own  coun- 
trymen, or  to  the  women  of  the  house,  I really  could  but 
just  catch  a word  here  and  there.  How  long  it  takes 
to  melt  English  down  into  a homogeneous  mass ! He 
told  me  that  there  was  a public  library  in  Grasmere  to 
which  he  has  access  in  common  with  the  other  inhabi- 
tants, and  a reading-room  connected  with  it,  where  h« 


214  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

reads  The  Times  in  the  evening.  There  was  no 
American  smartness  in  his  mind.  When  I left  the 
house,  it  was  showering  briskly ; but  the  drops  quite 
ceased,  and  the  clouds  began  to  break  away  before  I 
reached  my  hotel,  and  I saw  the  new  moon  over  my 
right  shoulder. 

July  21  st.  — We  left  Grasmere  yesterday,  after 
breakfast;  it  being  a delightful  morning,  with  some 
clouds,  but  the  cheerfullest  sunshine  on  great  part  of 
the  mountain-sides  and  on  ourselves.  We  returned,  in 
the  first  place,  to  Ambleside,  along  the  border  of  Gras- 
mere Lake,  which  would  be  a pretty  little  piece  of  water, 
with  its  steep  and  high  surrounding  hills,  were  it  not 
that  a stubborn  and  straight-lined  stone  fence,  running 
along  the  eastern  shore,  by  the  roadside,  quite  spoils  its 
appearance.  Ry dal  Water,  though  nothing  can  make  a 
lake  of  it,  looked  prettier  and  less  diminutive  than  at 
the  first  view ; and,  in  fact,  I find  that  it  is  impossible 
to  know  accurately  how  any  prospect  or  other  thing 
looks,  until  after  at  least  a second  view,  which  always 
essentially  corrects  the  first.  This,  I think,  is  especially 
true  in  regard  to  objects  which  we  have  heard  much 
about,  and  exercised  our  imagination  upon ; the  first 
view  being  a vain  attempt  to  reconcile  our  idea  with 
the  reality,  and  at  the  second  we  begin  to  accept  the 
thing  for  what  it  really  is.  Wordsworth’s  situation  is 
really  a beautiful  one  ; and  Nab  Scaur  behind  his  house 
rises  with  a grand,  protecting  air.  We  passed  Nab’s 
cottage,  in  which  De  Quincey  formerly  lived,  and  where 
Hartley  Coleridge  lived  and  died.  It  is  a small,  buff- 
tinted,  plastered  stone  cottage,  immediately  on  the 


THE  LAKES. 


215 


.1855.] 

roadside,  and  originally,  I should  think,  of  a very  hum- 
ble class  ; but  it  now  looks  as  if  persons  of  taste  might 
some  time  or  other  have  sat  down  in  it,  and  caused 
flowers  to  spring  up  about  it.  It  is  very  agreeably 
situated  under  the  great,  precipitous  hill,  and  with  Rydal 
Water  close  at  hand,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  An 
advertisement  of  lodgings  to  let  was  put  up  on  this  cot- 
tage. 

I question  whether  any  part  of  the  world  looks  so 
beautiful  as  England  — this  part  of  England,  at  least  — 
on  a fine  summer  morning.  It  makes  one  think  the 
more  cheerfully  of  human  life  to  see  such  a bright  uni- 
versal verdure ; such  sweet,  rural,  peaceful,  flower-bor- 
dered cottages,  — not  cottages  of  gentility,  but  dwellings 
of  the  laboring  poor ; such  nice  villas  along  the  road- 
side, so  tastefully  contrived  for  comfort  and  beauty,  and 
adorned  more  and  more,  year  after  year,  with  the  care 
and  after-thought  of  people  who  mean  to  live  in  them 
a great  while,  and  feel  as  if  their  children  might  live 
in  them  also,  — and  so  they  plant  trees  to  overshadow 
their  walks,  and  train  ivy  and  all  beautiful  vines  up 
against  their  walls,  and  thus  live  for  the  future  in  an- 
other sense  than  we  Americans  do.  And  the  climate 
helps  them  out,  and  makes  everything  moist,  and  green, 
and  full  of  tender  life,  instead  of  dry  and  arid,  as  human 
life  and  vegetable  life  is  so  apt  to  be  with  us.  Certain- 
ly, England  can  present  a more  attractive  face  than  we 
can ; even  in  its  humbler  modes  of  life,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  beautiful  lives  that  might  be  led,  one  would  think, 
by  the  higher  classes,  whose  gateways,  with  broad, 
smooth  gravelled  drives  leading  through  them,  one  sees 
every  mile  or  two  along  the  road,  winding  into  some 


21G 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

proud  seclusion.  All  this  is  passing  away,  and  society 
must  assume  new  relations ; but  there  is  no  harm  in 
believing  that  there  has  beeft  something  very  good  in 
English  life,  — good  for  all  classes  while  the  world  was 
in  a state  out  of  which  these  forms  naturally  grew. 

Passing  through  Ambleside,  our  phaeton  and  pair 
turned  towards  Ullswater,  which  we  were  to  reach 
through  the  Pass  of  Kirkstone.  This  is  some  three  or 
four  miles  from  Ambleside,  and  as  we  approached  it 
the  road  kept  ascending  higher  and  higher,  the  hills 
grew  more  bare,  and  the  country  lost  its  soft  and  de- 
lightful verdure.  At  last  the  road  became  so  steep 
that  J and  I alighted  to  walk.  This  is  the  as- 

piring road  that  Wordsworth  speaks  of  in  his  ode ; it 
passes  through  the  gorge  of  precipitous  hills,  — or  almost 
precipitous,  — too  much  so  for  even  the  grass  to  grow 
on  many  portions,  which  are  covered  with  gray  shingly 
stones  ; and  I think  this  pass,  in  its  middle  part,  must 
have  looked  just  the  same  when  the  Romans  marched 
through  it  as  it  looks  now.  No  trees  could  ever  have 
grown  on  the  steep  hillsides,  whereon  even  the  English 
climate  can  generate  no  avail  ible  soil.  I do  not  know 
that  I have  seen  anything  more  impressive  than  the 
stern  gray  sweep  of  these  naked  mountains,  with  noth- 
ing whatever  to  soften  or  adorn  them.  The  notch  of 
the  White  Mountains,  as  I remember  it  in  my  youth- 
ful days,  is  more  wonderful  and  richly  picturesque,  but 
of  quite  a different  character. 

About  the  centre  and  at  the  highest  point  of  the  pass 
stands  an  old  stone  building  of  mean  appearance,  with 
the  usual  sign  of  an  ale-house,  “ Licensed  to  retail  foreign 
spirits,  ale,  and  tobacco,”  over  the  door,  and  another  small 


1855.] 


THE  LAKES. 


217 


sign,  designating  it  as  the  highest  inhabitable  house  in 
England.  It  is  a chill  and  desolate  place  for  a residence. 
They  keep  a visitor’s  book  here,  and  we  recorded  our 
names  in  it,  and  were  not  too  sorry  to  leave  the  mean 
little  hovel,  smelling  as  it  did  of  tobacco-smoke,  and 
possessing  all  other  characteristics  of  the  humblest  ale- 
house on  the  level  earth. 

The  Kirkstone,  which  gives  the  pass  its  name,  is 
not  seen  in  approaching  from  Ambleside,  until  some 
time  after  you  begin  to  descend  towards  Brothers’ 
Water.  When  the  driver  first  pointed  it  out,  a little 
way  up  the  hill  on  our  left,  it  looked  no  more  than  a 
boulder  of  a ton  or  two  in  weight,  among  a hundred 
others  nearly  as  big ; and  I saw  hardly  any  resemblance 
to  a church  or  church  spire,  to  which  the  fancies  of 
past  generations  have  likened  it.  As  we  descended  the 
pass,  however,  and  left  the  stone  farther  and  farther 
behind,  it  continued  to  show  itself,  and  assumed  a more 
striking  and  prominent  aspect,  standing  out  clearly  re- 
lieved against  the  sky,  so  that  no  traveller  would  fail 
to  observe  it,  where  there  are  so  few  defined  objects 
to  attract  notice,  amid  the  naked  monotony  of  the 
stern  hills ; though,  indeed,  if  I had  taken  it  for  any 
sort  of  an  edifice,  it  would  rather  have  been  for  a way- 
side  inn  or  a shepherd’s  hut  than  for  a church.  We 
lost  sight  of  it,  and  again  beheld  it  more  and  more 
brought  out  against  the  sky,  by  the  turns  of  the  road, 
several  times  in  the  course  of  our  descent.  There  is 
a very  fine  view  of  Brothers’  Water,  shut  in  by  steep 
hills,  as  we  go  down  Kirkstone  Pass. 

At  about  half  past  twelve  we  reached  Patterdale, 
at  the  foot  of  Uliswater,  and  here  took  luncheon.  The 
10 


VOL.  I. 


218 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855, 

hotels  are  mostly  very  good  all  through  this  region, 
and  this  deserved  that  character.  A black-coated 
waiter,  of  more  gentlemanly  appearance  than  most 
Englishmen,  yet  taking  a sixpence  with  as  little  scruple 
as  a lawyer  would  take  his  fee ; the  mistress,  in  lady- 
like attire,  receiving  us  at  the  door,  and  waiting  upon 
us  to  the  carriage  steps;  clean,  comely  housemaids 
everywhere  at  hand,  — all  appliances,  in  short,  for  being 
comfortable,  and  comfortable,  too,  within  one’s  own  cir- 
cle. And,  on  taking  leave,  everybody  who  has  done 
anything  for  you,  or  who  might  by  possibility  have 
done  anything,  is  to  be  feed.  You  pay  the  landlord 
enough,  in  all  conscience ; and  then  you  pay  all  his 
servants,  who  have  been  your  servants  for  the  time. 
But,  to  say  the  truth,  there  is  a degree  of  the  same 
kind  of  annoyance  in  an  American  hotel,  although  it 
is  not  so  much  an  acknowledged  custom.  Here,  in 
the  houses  where  attendance  is  not  charged  in  the  bill, 
no  wages  are  paid  by  the  host  to  those  servants  — 
chambermaid,  waiter,  and  boots — who  come  into  im- 
mediate contact  with  travellers.  The  drivers  of  the 
cars,  phaetons,  and  flys  are  likewise  unpaid,  except  by 
their  passengers,  and  claim  threepence  a mile  with  the 
same  sense  of  right  as  their  masters  in  charging  for 
the  vehicles  and  horses.  When  you  come  to  under- 
stand this  claim,  not  as  an  appeal  to  your  generosity, 
but  as  an  actual  and  necessary  part  of  the  cost  of  the 
journey,  it  is  yielded  to  with  a more  comfortable  feel- 
ing ; and  the  traveller  has  really  option  enough,  as  to 
the  amount  which  he  will  give,  to  insure  civility  and 
good  behavior  on  the  driver’s  part. 

Ullswater  is  a beautiful  lake,  with  steep  hills  walling 


THE  LAKES. 


219 


1865.] 

it  about,  — so  steep,  on  the  eastern  side,  that  there 
seems  hardly  room  for  a road  to  run  along  the  base. 
We  passed  up  the  western  shore,  and  turned  off  from 
it  about  midway,  to  take  the  road  towards  Keswick. 
We  stopped,  however,  at  Lyulph’s  Tower,  while  our 
chariot  went  on  up  a hill,  and  took  a guide  to  show 
us  the  way  to  Airey  Force,  — a small  cataract,  which  is 
claimed  as  private  property,  and  out  of  which,  no  doubt, 
a pretty  little  revenue  is  raised.  I do  not  think  that 
there  can  be  any  rightful  appropriation,  as  private 
property,  of  objects  of  natural  beauty.  The  fruits  of 
the  land,  and  whatever  human  labor  can  produce  from 
it,  belong  fairly  enough  to  the  person  who  has  a deed 
or  a lease  ; but  the  beautiful  is  the  property  of  him  who 
can  hive  it  and  enjoy  it.  It  is  very  unsatisfactory  to 
think  of  a cataract  under  lock  and  key.  However,  we 
were  shown  to  Airey  Force  by  a tall  and  graceful  moun- 
tain-maid, with  a healthy  cheek,  and  a step  that  had  no 
possibility  of  weariness  in  it.  The  cascade  is  an  ir- 
regular streak  of  foamy  water,  pouring  adown  a rude 
shadowy  glen.  I liked  well  enough  to  see  it ; but  it 
is  wearisome,  on  the  whole,  to  go  the  rounds  of  what 
everybody  thinks  it  necessary  to  see.  It  makes  me  a 
little  ashamed.  It  is  somewhat  as  if  we  were  drinking 
out  of  the  same  glass,  and  eating  from  the  same  dish, 
as  a multitude  of  other  people. 

Within  a few  miles  of  Keswick,  we  passed  along  at 
the  foot  of  Saddleback,  and  by  the  entrance  of  the 
Yale  of  St.  John,  and  down  the  valley,  on  one  of  the 
slopes,  we  saw  the  Enchanted  Castle.  Thence  we 
drove  along  by  the  course  of  the  Greta,  and  soon 
arrived  at  Keswick,  which  lies  at  the  base  of  Skiddaw, 


220 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

and  among  a brotherhood  of  picturesque  eminences,  and 
is  itself  a compact  little  town,  with  a market-house, 
built  of  the  old  stones  of  the  Earl  of  Derwentwater’s 
ruined  castle,  standing  in  the  centre,  — the  principal 
street  forking  into  two  as  it  passes  it.  We  alighted 
at  the  King’s  Arms,  and  went  in  search  of  Southey’s 
residence,  which  we  found  easily  enough,  as  it  lies 
just  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  We  inquired  of  a 
group  of  people,  two  of  whom,  I thought,  did  not  seem 
to  know  much  about  the  matter ; but  the  third,  an 
elderly  man,  pointed  it  out  at  once,  * — a house  sur- 
rounded by  trees,  so  as  to  be  seen  only  partially,  and 
standing  on  a little  eminence,  a hundred  yards  or  so 
from  the  road. 

We  went  up  a private  lane  that  led  to  the  rear 
of  the  place,  and  so  penetrated  quite  into  the  back  yard 
without  meeting  anybody,  — passing  a small  kennel,  in 
which  were  two  hounds,  who  gazed  at  us,  but  neither 
growled  nor  wagged  their  tails.  The  house  is  three 
stories  high,  and  seems  to  have  a great  deal  of  room  in 
it,  so  as  not  to  discredit  its  name,  “ Greta  Hall,”  — a 
very  spacious  dwelling  for  a poet.  The  windows  were 
nearly  all  closed ; there  were  no  signs  of  occupancy,  but 

a general  air  of  neglect.  S , who  is  bolder  than  I 

in  these  matters,  ventured  through  what  seemed  a back 
garden  gate,  and  I soon  heard  her  in  conversation  with 
some  man,  who  nowr  presented  himself,  and  proved 
to  be  a gardener.  He  said  he 'had  formerly  acted 
in  that  capacity  for  Southey,  although  a gardener  had 
not  been  kept  by  him  as  a regular  part  of  his  establish- 
ment. This  was  an  old  man  with  an  odd  crookedness 
of  legs,  and  strange,  disjointed  limp.  S had  told 


THE  LAKES. 


221 


1855.] 

him  that  we  were  Americans,  and  he  took  the  idea  that 
we  had  come  this  long  distance,  over  sea  and  land,  with 
the  sole  purpose  of  seeing  Southey’s  residence,  so  that 
he  was  inclined  to  do  what  he  could  towards  exhibiting 
it.  This  was  but  little  ; the  present  occupant  (a  Mr. 
Radday,  I believe  the  gardener  called  him)  being 
away,  and  the  house  shut  up. 

But  he  showed  us  about  the  grounds,  and  allowed  us 
to  peep  into  the  windows  of  what  had  been  Southey’s 
library,  and  into  those  of  another  of  the  front  apart- 
ments, and  showed  us  the  window  of  the  chamber  in 
the  rear,  in  which  Southey  died.  The  apartments 
into  which  we  peeped  looked  rather  small  and  low,  — 
not  particularly  so,  but  enough  to  indicate  an  old  build- 
ing. They  are  now  handsomely  furnished,  and  we  saw 
over  one  of  the  fireplaces  an  inscription  about  Southey ; 
and  in  the  corner  of  the  same  room  stood  a suit 
of  bright  armor.  It  is  taller  than  the  country-houses 
of  English  gentlemen  usually  are,  and  it  is  even  stately. 
All  about,  in  front,  beside  it  and  behind,  there  is  a 
great  profusion  of  trees,  most  of  which  were  planted 
by  Southey,  who  came  to  live  here  more  than  fifty 
years  ago,  and  they  have,  of  course,  grown  much  more 
shadowy  now  than  he  ever  beheld  them  ; for  he  died 
about  fourteen  years  since.  The  grounds  are  well  laid 
out,  and  neatly  kept,  with  the  usual  lawn  and  gravelled 
walks,  and  quaint  little  devices  in  the  ornamental  way. 
These  may  be  of  later  date  than  Southey’s  time.  The 
gardener  spoke  respectfully  of  Southey,  and  of  his 
first  wife,  and  observed  that  “ it  was  a great  loss  to  the 
neighborhood  when  that  family  went  down.” 

The  house  stands  directly  above  the  Greta,  the 


222 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


murmur  of  which  is  audible  all  about  it ; for  the  Greta 
is  a swift  little  river,  and  goes  on  its  way  with  a con. 
tinual  sound,  which  has  both  depth  and  breadth.  Th& 
gardener  led  us  to  a walk  along  its  banks,  close  by  the 
Hall,  where  he  said  Southey  used  to  walk  for  hours  and 
hours  together.  He  might,  indeed,  get  there  from  his 
study  in  a moment.  There  are  two  paths,  one  above 
the  other,  well  laid  out  on  the  steep  declivity  of 
the  high  bank  ; and  there  is  such  a very  thick  shade 
of  oaks  and  elms,  planted  by  Southey  himself  over  the 
bank,  that  all  the  ground  and  grass  were  moist,  al- 
though it  had  been  a sunny  day.  It  is  a very  sombre 
walk  ; not  many  glimpses  of  the  sky  through  those 
dense  boughs.  The  Greta  is  here,  perhaps,  twenty 
yards  across,  and  very  dark  of  hue,  and  its  voice  is 
melancholy  and  very  suggestive  of  musings  and  rev- 
eries ; but  I should  question  whether  it  were  favorable 
to  any  settled  scheme  of  thought.  The  gardener  told 
us  that  there  used  to  be  a pebbly  beach  on  the  margin 
of  the  river,  and  that  it  was  Southey’s  habit  to  sit  and 
write  there,  using  a tree  of  peculiar  shape  for  a table. 
An  alteration  in  the  current  of  the  river  has  swept 
away  the  beach,  and  the  tree,  too,  has  fallen.  All  these 
things  were  interesting  to  me,  although  Southey  was 
not,  I think,  a picturesque  man,  — not  one  whose  per- 
sonal character  takes  a strong  hold  on  the  imagination. 
In  these  walks  he  used  to  wear  a pair  of  shoes  heavily 
clamped  with  iron ; very  ponderous  they  must  have 
been,  from  the  particularity  with  which  the  gardener 
mentioned  them. 

The  gardener  took  leave  of  us  at  the  front  entrance 
of  the  grounds,  and,  returning  to  the  King’s  Arms,  we 


1855.] 


THE  LAKES. 


2*23 


ordered  a one-horse  fly  for  the  fall  of  Lodore.  Our 
drive  thither  was  along  the  banks  of  Derwentwater, 
and  it  is  as  beautiful  a road,  I imagine,  as  can  be  found 
in  England  or  anywhere  else.  I like  Derwentwater 
the  best  of  all  the  lakes,  so  far  as  I have  yet  seen  them. 
Skiddaw  lies  at  the  head  of  a long  even  ridge  of  moun- 
tains, rising  into  several  peaks,  and  one  higher  than  the 
rest.  On  the  eastern  side  there  are  many  noble  emi- 
nences, and  on  the  west,  along  which  we  drove,  there 
is  a part  of  the  way  a lovely  wood,  and  nearly  the 
whole  distance  a precipitous  range  of  lofty  cliffs,  de- 
scending sheer  down  without  any  slope,  except  wThat 
has  been  formed  in  the  lapse  of  ages  by  the  fall  of 
fragments,  and  the  washing  down  of  smaller  stones. 
The  declivity  thus  formed  along  the  base  of  the  cliffs 
is  in  some  places  covered  with  trees  or  shrubs ; else- 
where it  is  quite  bare  and  barren.  The  precipitous 
parts  of  the  cliffs  are  very  grand;  the  whole  scene, 
indeed,  might  be  characterized  as  one  of  stern  grandeur 
with  an  embroidery  of  rich  beauty,  without  lauding  it 
too  much.  All  the  sternness  of  it  is  softened  by 
vegetative  beauty  wherever  it  can  possibly  be  thrown 
in ; and  there  is  not  here,  so  strongly  as  along  Winder- 
mere,  evidence  that  human  art  has  been  helping  out 
Nature.  I wish  it  were  possible  to  give  any  idea 
of  the  shapes  of  the  hills  ; with  these,  at  least,  man  has 
nothing  to  do,  nor  ever  will  have  anything  to  do.  As 
we  approached  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  and  of  the 
beautiful  valley  in  which  it  lies,  we  saw  one  hill  that 
seemed  to  crouch  down  like  a Titanic  watchdog,  with 
its  rear  towards  the  spectator,  guarding  the  entrance  to 
the  valley.  The  great  superiority  of  these  mountains 


224  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

over  those  of  New  England  is  their  variety  and 
definiteness  of  shape,  besides  the  abundance  every- 
where of  water  prospects,  which  are  wanting  among 
our  own  hills.  They  rise  up  decidedly,  and  each  is  a 
hill  by  itself,  while  ours  mingle  into  one  another,  and, 
besides,  have  such  large  bases  that  you  can  tell  neither 
where  they  begin  nor  where  they  end.  Many  of  these 
Cumberland  mountains  have  a marked  vertebral  shape, 
so  that  they  often  look  like  a group  of  huge  lions,  ly- 
ing down  with  their  backs  turned  toward  each  other. 
They  slope  down  steeply  from  narrow  ridges  ; hence 
their  picturesque  seclusions  of  valleys  and  dales,  which 
subdivide  the  lake  region  into  so  many  communities. 
Our  hills,  like  apple-dumplings  in  a dish,  have  no  such 
valleys  as  these. 

There  is  a good  inn  at  Lodore,  — a small,  primitive 
country  inn,  which  has  latterly  been  enlarged  and 
otherwise  adapted  to  meet  the  convenience  of  the  guests 
brought  thither  by  the  fame  of  the  cascade  ; but  it  is 
still  a country  inn,  though  it  takes  upon  itself  the  title 
of  hotel. 

We  found  pleasant  rooms  here,  and  established  our- 
selves for  the  night.  From  this  point  we  have  a view 
of  the  beautiful  lake,  and  of  Skiddaw  at  the  head  of  it. 
The  cascade  is  within  three  or  four  minutes’  walk, 
through  the  garden  gate,  towards  the  cliff,  at  the  base 
of  which  the  inn  stands.  The  visitor  would  need  no 
other  guide  than  its  own  voice,  which  is  said  to  be 
audible  sometimes  at  the  distance  of  four  miles.  As 
we  were  coming  from  Keswick,  we  caught  glimpses  of 
its  white  foam  high  up  the  precipice  ; and  it  is  onl) 
glimpses  that  can  be  caught  anywhere,  because  there 


THE  LAKES* 


225 


*855.] 

is  no  regular  sheet  of  falling  water.  Once,  I think,  it 
must  have  fallen  abruptly  over  the  edge  of  the  long 
line  of  precipice  that  here  extends  along  parallel  with 
the  shore  of  the  lake  ; but,  in  the  course  of  time,  it  has 
gnawed  and  sawed  its  way  into  the  heart  of  the  cliff,  — 
this  persistent  little  stream,  — so  that  now  it  has  formed 
a rude  gorge,  adown  which  it  hurries  and  tumbles  in 
the  wildest  way,  over  the  roughest  imaginable  staircase. 
Standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  fall,  you  have  a far  vista 
sloping  upward  to  the  sky,  with  the  water  every- 
where as  white  as  snow,  pouring  and  pouring  down, 
now  on  one  side  of  the  gorge,  now  on  the  other,  among 
immense  boulders,  which  try  to  choke  its  passage.  It 
does  not  attempt  to  leap  over  these  huge  rocks,  but 
finds  its  way  in  and  out  among  them,  and  finally  gets 
to  the  bottom  after  a hundred  tumbles.  It  cannot 
be  better  described  than  in  Southey’s  verses,  though  it 
is  worthy  of  better  poetry  than  that.  After  all,  I do 
not  know  that  the  cascade  is  anything  more  than  a 
beautiful  fringe  to  the  grandeur  of  the  scene ; for  it 
is  very  grand,  — this  fissure  through  the  cliff,  — with  a 
steep,  lofty  precipice  on  the  right  hand,  sheer  up  and 
down,  and  on  the  other  hand,  too,  another  lofty  preci- 
pice, with  a slope  of  its  own  ruin  on  which  trees  and 
shrubbery  have  grown.  The  right-hand  precipice,  how- 
ever, has  shelves  affording  sufficient  hold  for  small 
trees,  but  nowhere  does  it  slant.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
white  little  stream  falling  gently  downward,  and  for  the 
soft  verdure  upon  either  precipice,  and  even  along 
the  very  pathway  of  the  cascade,  it  would  be  a very 
stern  vista  up  that  gorge. 

I shall  not  try  to  describe  it  any  more.  It  has  not 


226 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


been  praised  too  much,  though  it  may  have  been  praised 
amiss.  I went  thither  again  in  the  morning,  and 
climbed  a good  way  up,  through  the  midst  of  its  rocky 
descent,  and  I think  I could  have  reached  the  top  in 
this  way.  It  is  remarkable  that  the  bounds  of  the 
water,  from  one  step  of  its  broken  staircase  to  another, 
give  an  impression  of  softness  and  gentleness;  but 
there  are  black,  turbulent  pools  among  the  great 
boulders,  where  the  stream  seems  angry  at  the  diffi' 
culties  which  it  meets  with.  Looking  upward  in  the 
sunshine,  I could  see  a rising  mist,  and  I should  not 
wonder  if  a speck  of  rainbow  were  sometimes  visible. 
I noticed  a small  oak  in  the  bed  of  the  cascade,  and 
there  is  a lighter  vegetation  scattered  about. 

At  noon  we  took  a car  for  Portinscale,  and  drove 
back  along  the  road  to  Keswick,  through  which  we 
passed,  stopping  to  get  a perhaps  of  letters  at  the  post- 
office,  and  reached  Portinscale,  which  is  a mile  from 
Keswick.  After  dinner  we  walked  over  a bridge,  and 
through  a green  lane,  to  the  church  where  Southey  is 
buried.  It  is  a white  church,  of  Norman  architecture, 
with  a low,  square  tower.  As  we  approached,  we  saw 
two  persons  entering  the  portal  and,  following  them  in, 
we  found  the  sexton,  who  was  a tall,  thin  old  man, 
with  white  hair,  and  an  intelligent,  reverent  face,  show- 
ing the  edifice  to  a stout,  red-faced,  self-important, 
good-natured  John  Bull  of  a gentleman.  Without  any 
question  on  our  part,  the  old  sexton  immediately  led 
us  to  Southey’s  monument,  which  is  placed  in  a side 
aisle,  where  there  is  not  breadth  for  it  to  stand  free 
of  the  wall ; neither  is  it  in  a very  good  light.  But 
it  seemed  to  me  a good  work  of  art,  — a recumbent 


THE  LAKES* 


227 


J855.] 

figure  of  white  marble,  on  a couch,  the  drapery  of 
which  he  has  drawn  about  him,  — being  quite  envel- 
oped in  what  may  be  a shroud.  The  sculptor  has  not 
intended  to  represent  death,  for  the  figure  lies  on  its 
side,  and  has  a book  in  its  hand,  and  the  face  is  life- 
like, and  looks  full  of  expression,  — a thin,  high- 
featured,  poetic  face,  with  a finely  proportioned  head 
and  abundant  hair.  It  represents  Southey  rightly,  at 
whatever  age  he  died,  in  the  full  maturity  of  manhood, 
when  he  was  strongest  and  richest.  I liked  the  statue, 
and  wished  that  it  lay  in  a broader  aisle,  or  in  the 
chancel,  where  there  is  an  old  tomb  of  a knight 
and  lady  of  the  Ratcliffe  family,  who  have  held  the 
place  of  honor  long  enough  to  yield  it  now  to  a poet. 
Southey’s  sculptor  was  Lough.  I must  not  forget 
to  mention  that  John  Bull,  climbing  on  a bench,  to  get 
a better  view  of  the  statue,  tumbled  off  with  a racket 
that  resounded  irreverently  through  the  church. 

The  old,  white-headed,  thin  sexton  was  a model 
man  of  his  class,  and  appeared  to  take  a loving  and 
cheerful  interest  in  the  building,  and  in  those  who, 
from  age  to  age,  have  worshipped  and  been  buried 
there.  It  is  a very  ancient  and  interesting  church. 
Within  a few  years  it  has  been  thoroughly  repaired  as 
to  the  interior,  and  now  looks  as  if  it  might  endure  ten 
more  centuries  ; and  I suppose  we  see  little  that  is 
really  ancient,  except  the  double  row  of  Norman  arches, 
of  light  freestone,  that  support  the  oaken  beams  and 
rafters  of  the  roof.  All  the  walls,  however,  are  vener- 
able, and  quite  preserve  the  identity  of  the  edifice. 
There  is  a stained-glass  window  of  modern  manufacture' 
and  in  one  of  the  side  windows,  set  amidst  plain  glas^, 


228 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

there  is  a single  piece,  five  hundred  years  old,  repre- 
senting Saint  Anthony,  very  finely  executed,  though  it 
looks  a little  faded.  Along  the  walls,  on  each  side, 
between  the  arched  windows,  there  are  marble  slabs 
affixed,  with  inscriptions  to  the  memories  of  those  who 
used  to  occupy  the  seats  beneath.  I remember  none  of 
great  antiquity,  nor  any  old  monument,  except  that  in 
the  chancel,  over  the  knight  and  lady  of  the  Rat- 
cliffe  family.  This  consists  of  a slab  of  stone,  on  four 
small  stone  pillars,  about  two  feet  high.  The  slab  is 
inlaid  with  a brass  plate,  on  which  is  sculptured  the 
knight  in  armor,  and  the  lady  in  the  costume  of  Eliza- 
beth’s time,  exceedingly  well  done  and  well  preserved, 
and  each  figure  about  eighteen  inches  in  length.  The 
sexton  showed  us  a rubbing  of  them -on  paper.  Under 
the  slab,  which,  supported  by  the  low  stone  pillars, 
forms  a canopy  for  them,  lie  two  sculptured  figures 
of  stone,  of  life  size,  and  at  full  length,  representing  the 
same  persons ; but  I think  the  sculptor  was  hardly 
equal  in  his  art  to  the  engraver. 

The  most  curious  antique  relic  in  the  church  is  the 
font.  The  bowl  is  very  capacious,  sufficiently  so  to  ad- 
mit of  the  complete  immersion  of  a child  of  two  or  three 
months  old.  On  the  outside,  in  several  compartments, 
there  are  bas-reliefs  of  Scriptural  and  symbolic  subjects, 
— such  as  the  tree  of  life,  the  word  proceeding  out 
of  God’s  mouth,  the  crown  of  thorns,  — all  in  the  quaint- 
est taste,  sculptured  by  some  hand  of  a thousand  years 
ago,  and  preserving  the  fancies  of  monkish  brains,  in 
stone.  The  sexton  was  very  proud  of  this  font  and  its 
sculpture,  and  took  a kindly  personal  interest  in  showing 
it ; and  when  we  had  spent  as  much  time  as  we  could 


THE  LAKES. 


229 


1855.] 

inside,  he  led  us  vO  Southey’s  grave  in  the  churchyard. 
He  told  us  that  he  had  known  Southey  long  and  well, 
from  early  manhood  to  old  age  ; for  he  was  only  twenty- 
nine  when  he  came  to  Keswick  to  reside.  He  had 
known  Wordsworth  too,  and  Coleridge,  and  Lovell ; and 
he  had  seen  Southey  and  Wordsworth  walking  arm  in 
arm  together  in  that  churchyard.  He  seemed  to  revere 
Southey’s  memory,  and  said  that  he  had  been  much  la- 
mented, and  that  as  many  as  a hundred  people  came  to 
the  churchyard  when  he  was  buried.  He  spoke  with 
great  praise  of  Mrs.  Southey,  his  first  wife,  telling  of  her 
charity  to  the  poor,  and  how  she  was  a blessing  to  the 
neighborhood ; but  he  said  nothing  in  favor  of  the  sec- 
ond Mrs.  Southey,  and  only  mentioned  her  selling  the 
library,  and  other  things,  after  her  husband’s  death,  and 
going  to  London.  Yet  I think  she  was  probably  a good 
woman,  and  meets  with  less  than  justice  because  she 
took  the  place  of  another  good  woman,  and  had  not 
time  and  opportunity  to  prove  herself  as  good.  As  for 
Southey  himself,  my  idea  is,  that' few  better  or  more 
blameless  men  have  ever  lived  ; but  he  seems  to  lack 
color,  passion,  warmth,  or  something  that  should  enable 
me  to  bring  him  into  close  relation  wilh  myself.  The 
graveyard  where  his  body  lies  is  not  so  rural  and  pic- 
turesque as  that  where  Wordsworth  is  buried  ; although 
Skiddaw  rises  behind  it,  and  the  Greta  is  murmuring  at 
no  very  great  distance  away.  But  the  spot  itself  has  a 
somewhat  bare  and  bold  aspect,  with  no  shadow  of  trees, 
no  shrubbery. 

Over  his  grave  there  is  a ponderous,  oblong  block  of 
slate,  a native  mineral  of  this  region,  as  hard  as  iron, 
and  which  will  doubtless  last  quite  as  long  as  Southey’s 


230  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

works  retain  any  vitality  in  English  literature.  It  is 
not  a monument  fit  for  a poet.  There  is  nothing  airy 
or  graceful  about  it,  — and,  indeed,  there  cannot  be 
many  men  so  solid  and  matter-of-fact  as  to  deserve  a 
tomb  like  that.  Wordsworth’s  grave  is  much  better, 
with  only  a simple  headstone,  and  the  grass  growing 
over  his  mortality,  which,  for  a thousand  years,  at  least, 
it  never  can  over  Southey’s.  Most  of  the  monuments 
are  of  this  same  black  slate,  and  some  erect  headstones 
are  curiously  sculptured,  and  seem  to  have  been  recent- 
ly erected. 

We  now  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  took  a car  for 
the  valley  of  Saint  John.  The  sky  seemed  to  portend 
rain  in  no  long  time,  and  Skiddaw  had  put  on  his  cap  ; 
but  the  people  of  the  hotel  and  the  driver  said  that  there 
would  be  no  rain  this  afternoon,  and  their  opinion  proved 
correct.  After  driving  a few  miles,  we  again  came 
within  sight  of  the  Enchanted  Castle.  It  stands  rather 
more  than  midway  adown  the  declivity  of  one  of  the 
ridges  that  form  the  valley  to  the  left,  as  you  go  south- 
ward, and  its  site  would  have  been  a good  one  for  a for- 
tress, intended  to  defend  the  lower  entrance  of  this 
mountain  defile.  At  a proper  distance,  it  looks  not 
unlike  the  gray  dilapidation  of  a Gothic  castle,  which 
has  been  crumbling  and  crumbling  away  for  ages,  until 
Time  might  be  supposed  to  have  imperceptibly  stolen 
its  massive  pile  from  man,  and  given  it  back  to  Nature  f 
its  towers  and  battlements  and  arched  entrances  being 
so  much  defaced  and  decayed  that  all  the  marks  of 
human  labor  had  nearly  been  obliterated,  and  the  angles 
of  the  hewn  stone  rounded  away,  while  mosses  and  weeds 
and  bushes  grow  over  it  as  freely  as  over  a natural  ledge 


THE  LAKES. 


231 


1855.] 

of  rocks.  It  is  conceivable  that  in  some  lights,  and  in  some 
states  of  the  atmosphere,  a traveller,  at  the  entrance  of  the 
valley,  might  really  imagine  that  he  beheld  a castle  here  ; 
but,  for  myself,  I must  acknowledge  that  it  required  a 
willing  fancy  to  make  me  see  it.  As  we  drew  nearer, 
the  delusion  did  not  immediately  grow  less  strong  ; but, 
at  length,  we  found  ourselves  passing  at  the  foot  of  the 
declivity,  and,  behold  ! it  was  nothing  but  an  enormous 
ledge  of  rock,  coming  squarely  out  of  the  hillside,  with 
other  parts  of  the  ledge  cropping  out  in  its  vicinity. 
Looking  back,  after  passing,  we  saw  a knoll  or  hillock, 
of  which  the  castled  rock  is  the  bare  face.  There  are 
two  or  three  stone  cottages  along  the  roadside,  beneath 
the  magic  castle,  and  within  the  enchanted  ground. 
Scott,  in  the  Bridal  of  Triermain,  locates  the  castle  in 
the  middle  of  the  valley,  and  makes  King  Arthur  ride 
around  it,  which  any  mortal  would  have  great  difficulty 
in  doing.  This  vale  of  Saint  John  has  very  striking 
scenery.  Blencathra  shuts  it  in  to  the  northward,  lying 
right  across  the  entrance ; and  on  either  side  there  are 
lofty  crags  and  declivities,  those  to  the  west  being  more 
broken  and  better  wooded  than  the  ridge  to  the  east- 
ward, which  stretches  along  for  several  miles,  steep, 
high,  and  bare,  producing  only  grass  enough  for  sheep 
pasture,  until  it  rises  into  the  dark  brow  of  Helvellyn. 
Adown  this  ridge,  seen  afar,  like  a white  ribbon,  comes 
here  and  there  a cascade,  sending  its  voice  before  it, 
which  distance  robs  of  all  its  fury,  and  makes  it  the 
quietest  sound  in  the  world  ; and  while  you  see  the 
foamy  leap  of  its  upper  course  a mile  or  two  away,  you 
may  see  and  hear  the  self-same  little  brook  babbling 
through  a field,  and  passing  under  the  arch  of  a rustic 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


232 


[1855 


bridge  beneath  your  feet.  It  is  a deep  seclusion,  with 
mountains  and  crags  on  all  sides. 

About  a mile  beyond  the  castle  we  stopped  at  a lit- 
tle wayside  inn,  the  King’s  Head,  and  put  up  for  the 
night.  This,  I believe,  is  the  only  inn  which  I have 
found  in  England  — the  only  one  where  I have  eaten  • 
and  slept  — that  does  not  call  itself  a hotel.  It  is  very 
primitive  in  its  arrangements,  — a long, low,  whitewashed, 
unadorned,  and  ugly  cottage  of  two  stories.  At  one 
extremity  is  a barn  and  cow-house,  and  next  to  these 
the  part  devoted  to  the  better  class  of  guests,  where  we 
had  our  parlor  and  chambers,  contiguous  to  which  is  the 
kitchen  and  common  room,  paved  with  flagstones, — 
and,  lastly,  another  barn  and  stable ; all  which  depart- 
ments are  not  under  separate  roofs,  but  under  the  same 
long  contiguity,  and  forming  the  same  building.  Our 
parlor  opens  immediately  upon  the  roadside,  without  any 
vestibule.  The  house  appears  to  be  of  some  antiquity, 
with  beams  across  the  low  ceilings ; but  the  people 
made  us  pretty  comfortable  at  bed  and  board,  and  fed 
us  with  ham  and  eggs,  veal  steaks,  honey,  oatcakes, 
gooseberry  tarts,  and  such  cates  and  dainties,  — making 
a moderate  charge  for  all.  The  parlor  was  adorned 
with  rude  engravings.  I remember  only  a plate  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  at  three  stages  of  his  life  ; and 
there  were  minerals,  delved,  doubtless,  out  of  the  hearts 
of  the  mountains,  upon  the  mantel-piece.  The  chairs 
were  of  an  antiquated  fashion,  and  had  very  capacious 
seats.  We  were  waited  upon  by  two  women,  who 
looked  and  acted  not  unlike  the  country-folk  of  New 
England,  — say,  of  New  Hampshire,  — except  that 
tfiese  may  have  been  more  deferential. 


1855] 


THE  LAKES. 


233 


While  we  remained  here,  I took  various  walks  tc 
get  a glimpse  of  Helvellyn,  and  a view  of  Thirlmere, 
— which  is  rather  two  lakes  than  one,  being  so  narrow 
at  one  point  as  to  be  crossed  by  a foot-bridge.  Its 
shores  are  very  picturesque,  coming  down  abruptly 
upon  it,  and  broken  into  crags  and  prominences,  which 
view  their  shaggy  faces  in  its  mirror;  and  Helvellyn 
slopes  steeply  upward,  from  its  southern  shore,  into 
the  clouds.  On  its  eastern  bank,  near  the  foot-bridge, 
stands  Armboth  House,  which  Miss  Martineau  says  is 
haunted ; and  I saw  a painted  board  at  the  entrance  of 
the  road  which  leads  to  it  advertising  lodgings  there. 
The  ghosts,  of  course,  pay  nothing  for  their  accommoda- 
tions. 

At  noon,  on  the  day  after  our  arrival,  J and  I 

went  to  visit  the  Enchanted  Castle  ; and  we  were  so  ven- 
turesome as  to  turn  aside  from  the  road,  and  ascend  the 
declivity  towards  its  walls,  which  indeed  we  hoped  to  sur- 
mount. It  proved  a very  difficult  undertaking,  the  site 
of  the  fortress  being  much  higher  and  steeper  than  we 
had  supposed ; but  we  did  clamber  upon  what  we  took 
for  the  most  elevated  portion,  when  lo ! we  found  that 
we  had  only  taken  one  of  the  outworks,  and  that  there 
was  a gorge  of  the  hill  betwixt  us  and  the  main  walls  ; 
while  the  citadel  rose  high  above,  at  more  than  twice 

the  elevation  which  we  had  climbed.  J ■ wished  to 

go  on,  and  I allowed  him  to  climb,  till  he  appeared  to 
have  reached  so  steep  and  lofty  a height  that  he  looked 
hardly  bigger  than  a monkey,  and  I should  not  at  all 
have  wondered  had  he  come  rolling  down  to  the  base 
of  the  rock  where  I sat.  But  neither  did  he  get  actually 
within  the  castle,  though  he  might  have  done  so  but  for 


234 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[j  855. 


a high  stone  fence,  too  difficult  for  him  to  climb,  which 
runs  from  the  rock  along  the  hillside.  The  sheep  proba- 
bly go  thither  much  oftener  than  any  other  living  thing, 
and  to  them  we  left  the  castle  of  Saint  John,  with  a 
shrub  waving  from  its  battlements,  instead  of  a banner. 

After  dinner  we  ordered  a car  for  Ambleside,  and 
while  it  was  getting  ready,  I went  to  look  at  the  river 
of  Saint  John,  which,  indeed,  flows  close  beside  our 
inn,  only  just  across  the  road,  though  it  might  well  be 
overlooked  unless  you  specially  sought  for  it.  It  is  a 
brook  brawling  over  the  . stones,  very  much  as  brooks 
do  in  New  England,  only  we  never  think  of  calling 
them  rivers  there.  I could  easily  have  made  a leap 
from  shore  to  shore,  and  J — — scrambled  across  on  no 
better  footing  than  a rail.  I believe  I have  complained 
of  the  want  of  brooks  in  other  parts  of  England,  but 
there  is  no  want  of  them  here,  and  they  are  always  in- 
teresting, being  of  what  size  they  may. 

We  drove  down  the  valley,  and  gazed  at  the  vast 
slope  of  Helvellyn,  and  at  Thirlmere  beneath  it,  and  at 
Eagle’s  Crag  and  Raven’s  Crag,  which  beheld  them- 
selves in  it,  and  we  cast  many  a look  behind  at  Blen- 
cathra,  and  that  noble  brotherhood  of  mountains  out  of 
the  midst  of  which  we  came.  But,  to  say  the  truth,  I 
was  weary  of  fine  scenery,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
had  eaten  a score  of  mountains,  and  quaffed  as  many 
lakes,  all  in  the  space  of  two  or  three  days,  — and  the 
natural  consequence  was  a surfeit.  There  was  scarcely 
a single  place  in  all  our  tour  where  I should  not  have 
been  glad  to  spend  a month ; but,  by  flitting  so  quickly 
from  one  point  to  another,  I lost  all  the  more  recondite 
beauties,  and  had  come  away  without  retaining  even 


235 


1855.]  THE  LAKES. 

the  surface  of  much  that  I had  seen.  I am  slow 
to  feel,  — slow,  I suppose,  to  comprehend,-  and,  like  the 
anaconda,  I need  to  lubricate  any  object  a great  deal 
before  I can  swallow  it  and  actually  make  it  my  own. 
Yet  I shall  always  enjoy  having  made  this  journey, 
and  shall  wonder  the  more  at  England,  which  compre- 
hends so  much,  such  a rich  variety,  within  its  narrow 
bounds.  If  England  were  all  the  world,  it  still  would 
have  been  worth  while  for  the  Creator  to  have  made 
it,  and  mankind  would  have  had  no  cause  to  find  fault 
with  their  abode ; except  that,  there  is  not  room  enough 
for  so  many  as  might  be  happy  here. 

We  left  the  great  inverted  arch  of  the  valley  behind 
us,  looking  back  as  long  as  we  could  at  Blencathra, 
and  Skiddaw  over  its  shoulder,  and  the  clouds  were 
gathering  over  them  at  our  last  glimpse.  Passing  by 
Dunmail  Raise  (which  is  a mound  of  stones  over  an 
old  British  king),  we  entered  Westmoreland,  and  soon 
had  the  vale  of  Grasmere  before  us,  with  the  church 
where  Wordsworth  lies,  and  Nab  Scaur  and  Rydal 
Water  farther  on.  At  Ambleside  we  took  another  car 
for  Newby  Bridge,  whither  we  drove  along  the  eastern 
shore  of  Windermere.  The  superb  scenery  through 
which  we  had  been  passing  made  what  we  now  saw 
look  tame,  although  a week  ago  we  should  have  thought 
it  more  than  commonly  interesting.  Hawkshead  is  the 
only  village  on  our  road,  — a small,  whitewashed  old 
town,  with  a whitewashed  old  Norman  church,  low, 
and  with  a low  tower,  on  the  same  pattern  with  others 
that  we  have  seen  hereabouts.  It  was  between  seven 
and  eight  o’clock  when  we  reached  Newby  Bridge, 
and  heard  U ’s  voice  greeting  us,  and  saw  her 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


23fc 


[1855. 


head,  crowned  with  a wreath  of  flowers,  looking  down  at 
us,  out  of  the  window  of  our  parlor. 

And  to-day,  July  23d,  I have  written  this  most 
incomplete  and  unsatisfactory  record  of  what  we  have 
done  and  seen  since  Wednesday  last.  I am  pretty  well 
convinced  that  all  attempts  at  describing  scenery,  espe- 
cially mountain  scenery,  are  sheer  nonsense.  For  one 
thing,  the  point  of  view  being  changed,  the  whole  de- 
scription, which  you  made  up  from  the  previous  point 
of  view,  is  immediately  falsified.  And  when  you  have 
done  your  utmost,  such  items  as  those  setting  forth  the 
scene  in  a play,  — “ a mountainous  country,  in  the  dis- 
tance a cascade  tumbling  over  a precipice,  and  in  front 
a lake  ; on  one  side  an  ivy-covered  cottage,” — this  dry 
detail  brings  the  matter  before  one’s  mind’s  eyes  more 
effectually  than  all  the  art  of  word-painting. 

July  21th.  — We  are  still  at  Newby  Bridge,  and 
nothing  has  occurred  of  remarkable  interest,  nor  have 
we  made  any  excursions,  beyond  moderate  walks.  Two 
days  have  been  rainy,  and  to-day  there  is  more  rain. 
We  find  such  weather  as  tolerable  here  as  it  would 
probably  be  anywhere  ; but  it  passes  rather  heavily  with 
the  children,  — and  for  myself,  I should  prefer  sunshine, 
though  Mr.  White’s  books  afford  me  some  entertain- 
ment, especially  an  odd  volume  of  Ben  Jonson’s  plays, 
containing  “ Volpone,”  “ The  Alchemist,”  u Bartholo- 
mew Fair  ” and  others.  “ The  Alchemist  ” is  certainly 
a great  play.  We  watch  all  arrivals  and  other  events 
from  our  parlor  window,  — a stage-coach  driving  up 
four  times  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  with  its  forlorn 
outsiders,  all  saturated  with  rain ; the  steamer,  from 


THE  LAKES. 


237 


1855.] 

the  head  of  the  lake,  landing  a crowd  of  passengers, 
who  stroll  up  to  the  hotel,  drink  a glass  of  ale,  lean 
over  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  gaze  at  the  flat  stones 
which  pave  the  bottom  of  the  river,  and  then  hurry 
back  to  the  steamer  again ; cars,  phaetons,  horsemen, 
all  damped  and  disconsolate.  There  are  a number 
of  young  men  staying  at  the  hotel,  some  of  whom  go 
forth  in  all  the  rain,  fishing,  and  come  back  at  night- 
fall, trudging  heavily,  but. with  creels  on  their  backs 
that  do  not  seem  very  heavy.  Yesterday  was  fair, 
and  enlivened  us  a good  deal.  Returning  from  a 
walk  in  the  forenoon,  I found  a troop  of  yeomanry 
cavalry  in  the  stable-yard  of  the  hotel.  They  were  the 
North  Lancashire  Regiment,  and  were  on  their  way  to 
Liverpool  for  the  purpose  of  drill.  Not  being  old  cam- 
paigners, their  uniforms  and  accoutrements  were  in  so 
much  the  finer  order,  all  bright,  and  looking  span-new, 
and  they  themselves  were  a body  of  handsome  and 
stalwart  young  men ; and  it  was  pleasant  to  look  at 
their  helmets,  and  red  jackets  and  carbines,  and  steel 
scabbarded  swords,  and  gallant  steeds,  — all  so  martial 
in  aspect,  — and  to  know  that  they  were  only  play-sol- 
diers, after  all,  and  were  never  likely  to  do  nor  suffer  any 
warlike  mischief.  By  and  by  their  bugles  sounded,  and 
they  trotted  away,  wheeling  over  the  ivy-grown  stone 
bridge,  and  disappearing  behind  the  trees  on  the  Milne- 
thorpe  road.  Our  host  comes  forth  from  the  bar  with 
a bill,  which  he  presents  to  an  orderly-sergeant.  He, 
the  host,  then  tells  me  that  he  himself  once  rode  many 
years,  a trooper,  in  this  regiment,  and  that  all  his  com- 
rades were  larger  men  than  himself.  Yet  Mr.  Thomas 
White  is  a good-sized  man,  and  now,  at  all  events, 
rather  overweight  for  a dragoon. 


238  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  ]_1 

Yesterday  came  one  of  those  bands  of  music  that 
seem  to  itinerate  everywhere  about  the  country.  It 
consisted  of  a young  woman  who  played  the  harp,  a 
bass-viol  player,  a fiddler,  a flutist,  and  a bugler,  besides 
a little  child,  of  whom,  I suppose,  the  woman  was  the 
mother.  They  sat  down  on  a bench  by  the  roadside, 
opposite  the  house,  and  played  several  tunes,  and  by 
and  by  the  waiter  brought  them  a large  pitcher  of  ale, 
which  they  quaffed  with  apparent  satisfaction ; though 
they  seemed  to  be  foreigners  by  their  mustachios  and 
sallow  hue,  and  would  perhaps  have  preferred  a vinous 
potation.  One  would  like  to  follow  these  people  through 
their  vagrant  life,  and  see  them  in  their  social  relations, 
and  overhear  their  talk  with  each  other.  All  vagrants 
are  interesting;  and  there  is  a much  greater  variety 
of  them  here  than  in  America,  — people  who  cast 
themselves  on  Fortune,  and  take  whatever  she  gives 
without  a certainty  of  anything.  I saw  a travelling 
tinker  yesterday,  — a man  with  a leather  apron,  and  a 
string  of  skewers  hung  at  his  girdle,  and  a pack  over 
his  shoulders,  in  which,  no  doubt,  were  his  tools  and 
materials  of  trade. 

It  is  remarkable  what  a natural  interest  everybody 
feels  in  fishing.  An  angler  from  the  bridge  immediately 
attracts  a group  to  watch  his  luck.  It  is  the  same  with 

J , fishing  for  minnows,  on  the  platform  near  which 

the  steamer  lands  its  passengers.  By  the  by,  U 

caught  a minnow  last  evening,  and,  immediately  after,  a 
good-sized  perch,  — her  first  fish. 

July  30 th.  — We  left  Newby  Bridge,  all  of  us,  on 
Saturday,  at  twelve  o’clock,  and  steamed  up  the  lake  to 


THE  LAKES. 


239 


1 855.] 


Ambleside*,  a pretty  good  day  as  to  weather,  but  with  a 
little  tendency  to  shower.  There  was  nothing  new  on 
the  lake,  and  no  new  impressions,  as  far  as  I can  re- 
member. At  Ambleside,  S and  nurse  went  shop- 

ping, after  which  we  took  a carriage  for  Grasmere,  and 
established  ourselves  at  Brown’s  Hotel.  I find  that  my 
impressions  from  our  previous  sight  of  all  these  scenes 
do  not  change  on  revision.  They  are  very  beautiful ; 
but,  if  I must  say  it,  I am  a little  weary  of  them.  We 
soon  tire  of  things  which  we  visit  merely  by  way  of 
spectacle,  and  with  which  we  have  no  real  and  perma- 
nent connection.  In  such  cases  we  very  quickly  wish 
the  spectacle  to  be  taken  away,  and  another  substituted  ; 
at  all  events,  I do  not  care  about  seeing  anything 
more  of  the  English  lakes  for  at  least  a year. 


Perhaps  a part  of  my  weariness  is  owing  to  the 
hotel-life  which  we  lead.  At  an  English  hotel  the 
traveller  feels  as  if  everybody,  from  the  landlord  down- 
ward, united  in  a joint  and  individual  purpose  to  fleece 
him,  because  all  the  attendants  who  come  in  contact 
with  him  are  to  be  separately  considered.  So,  after 
paying,  in  the  first  instance,  a very  heavy  bill,  for  what 
would  seem  to  cover  the  whole  indebtedness,  there  re- 
main divers  dues  still  to  be  paid,  to  no  trifling  amount, 
to  the  landlord’s  servants,  — dues  not  to  be  ascertained, 
and  which  you  never  can  know  whether  you  have 
properly  satisfied.  You  can  know,  perhaps,  when  you 
have  less  than  satisfied  them,  by  the  aspect  of  the  wait- 
er, which  I wish  I could  describe,  — not  disrespectful 
in  the  slightest  degree,  but  a look  of  profound  sur- 
prise, a gaze  at  the  offered  coin  (which  he  nevertheless 


240 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

pockets;  as  if  he  either  did  not  see  it,  or  did  not  know 
it,  or  could  not  believe  his  eyesight ; — all  this,  how- 
ever, with  the  most  quiet  forbearance,  a Christian-like 
non-recognition  of  an  unmerited  wrong  and  insult ; 
and  finally,  all  in  a moment’s  space  indeed,  he  quits  you 
and  goes  about  his  other  business.  If  you  have  given  him 
too  much,  you  are  made  sensible  of  your  folly  by  the 
extra  amount  of  his  gratitude,  and  the  bows  with  which 
he  salutes  you  from  the  door-step.  Generally,  you 
cannot  very  decidedly  say  whether  you  have  been  right 
or  wrong ; but,  in  almost  all  cases,  you  decidedly  feel 
that,  you  have  been  fleeced.  Then  the  living  at  the 
best  of  English  hotels,  so  far  as  my  travels  have  brought 
me  acquainted  with  them,  deserves  but  moderate  praise, 
and  is  especially  lacking  in  variety.  Nothing  but  joints, 
joints,  joints  ; sometimes,  perhaps,  a meat-pie,  which,  if 
you  eat  it,  weighs  upon  your  conscience,  with  the  idea 
that  you  have  eaten  the  scraps  of  other  people’s  dinners. 
At  the  lake  hotels,  the  fare  is  lamb  and  mutton  and 
trout, — the  latter  not  always  fresh,  and  soon  tired  of. 
We  pay  like  nabobs,  and  are  expected  to  be  content 
with  plain  mutton. 

We  spent  the  day  yesterday  at  Grasmere,  in  quiet 
walks  about  the  hotel ; and  at  a little  past  six  in  the 
afternoon,  I took  my  departure  in  the  stage-coach  for 
Windermere.  The  coach  was  greatly  overburdened 
with  outside  passengers,  — fifteen  in  all,  besides  the  four 
insiders,  — and  one  of  the  fifteen  formed  the  apex  of  an 
immense  pile  of  luggage  on  the  top.  It  seems  to  me 
miraculous  that  we  did  not  topple  over,  the  road  being 
so  hilly  and  uneven,  and  the  driver,  I suspect,  none  the 
steadier  for  his  visits  to  all  the  tap-rooms  along  the  route 


241 


/855.J  THE  LAKES. 

from  Cockermouth.  There  was  a tremendous  vibration 
of  the  coach  now  and  then  ; and  I saw  that,  in  case  of 
our  going  over,  I should  be  flung  headlong  against  the 
high  stone  fence  that  bordered  most  of  the  road.  In 
view  of  this  I determined  to  muffle  my  head  in  the  folds 
of  my  thick  shawl  at  the  moment  of  overturn,  and  as  1 
could  do  no  better  for  myself,  I awaited  my  fate  with 
equanimity.  As  far  as  apprehension  goes,  I had  rather 
travel  from  Maine  to  Georgia  by  rail,  than  from  Gras- 
mere to  Windermere  by  stage-coach. 

At  Lowwood,  the  landlady  espied  me  from  the  win- 
dow, and  sent  out  a large  packet  that  had  arrived  by 
mail ; but  as  it  was  addressed  to  some  person  of  the 
Christian  name  of  William,  I did  not  venture  to  open 
it.  She  said,  also,  that  a gentleman  had  been  there, 
who  very  earnestly  desired  to  see  me,  and  I have  since 
had  reason  to  suppose  that  this  was  Allingham,  the  poet. 
We  arrived  at  Windermere  at  half  past  seven,  and 
waited  nearly  an  hour  for  the  train  to  start.  I took  a 
ticket  for  Lancaster,  and  talked  there  about  the  war 
with  a gentleman  in  the  coffee-room,  who  took  me  for 
an  Englishman,  as  most  people  do  nowadays,  and  I 
heard  from  him  — as  you  may  from  all  his  countrymen 
— an  expression  of  weariness  and  dissatisfaction  with 
the  whole  business.  These  fickle  islanders ! How  dif- 
ferently they  talked  a year  ago  ! John  Bull  sees  now 
that  he  never  was  in  a worse  predicament  in  his  life ; 
and  yet  it  would  not  take  much  to  make  him  roar  as 
bellicosely  as  ever.  I went  to  bed  at  eleven,  and  slept 
unquietly  on  feathers. 

I had  purposed  to  rise  betimes,  and  see  the  town 
of  Lancaster  before  breakfast.  But  here  I reckoned 

11 


VOL.  I. 


P 


242  ENGLISH  &OTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

without  my  host ; for,  in  the  first  place,  I had  no  waie\ 
for  my  ablutions,  and  my  boots  were  not  brushed ; and 
so  I could  not  get  down  stairs  till  the  hour  I named  for 
my  coffee  and  chops ; and,  secondly,  the  breakfast 
was  delayed  half  an  hour,  though  promised  every  min- 
ute. In  fine,  X had  but  just  time  to  take  a hasty  walk 
round  Lancaster  Castle,  and  see  what  I could  of  the 
town  on  my  way, — a not  very  remarkable  town, 
built  of  stone*  with  taller  houses  than  in  the  middle 
shires  of  England,  narrow  streets  up  and  down  an 
eminence  on  which  the  castle  is  situated,  with  the  town 
immediately  about  it.  The  castle  is  a satisfactory  edi- 
fice, but  so  renovated  that  the  walls  look  almost  en- 
tirely modern,  with  the  exception  of  the  fine  old  front, 
with  the  statue  of  an  armed  warrior,  very  likely  John 
of  Gaunt  himself,  in  a niche  over  the  Norman  arch  of 
the  entrance.  Close  beside  the  castle  stands  an  old 
church. 

The  train  left  Lancaster  at  half  past  nine,  and 
reached  Liverpool  at  twelve,  over  as  flat  and  uninter- 
esting a country  as  I ever  travelled.  I have  betaken 
myself  to  the  Rock  Ferry  Hotel,  where  I am  as  com- 
fortable as  I could  be  anywhere  but  at  home  ; but 
it  is  rather  comfortless  to  think  of  home  as  three  years 
off,  and  three  thousand  miles  away.  With  what  a 
sense  of  utter  weariness,  not  fully  realized  till  then, 
we  shall  sink  down  on  our  own  threshold,  when  we 
reach  it.  The  moral  effect  of  being  without  a settled 
abode  is  very  wearisome. 

Our  coachman  from  Grasmere  to  Windermere  looked 
like  a great  beer  barrel,  oozy  with  his  proper  liquor. 
I suppose  such  solid  soakers  never  get  upset. 


1655.] 


THE  LAUNCH. 


243 


THE  LAUNCH. 

August  2 d.  — Mr. has  urged  me  very  much  to 

go  with  his  father  and  family  to  see  the  launch  of  a 
great  ship  which  has  been  built  for  their  house,  and 
afterwards  to  partake  of  a picnic ; so,  on  Tuesday 
morning  I presented  myself  at  the  landing  stage,  and, 
met  the  party,  to  take  passage  for  Chester.  It  was  a 
showery  morning,  and  looked  wofully  like  a rainy  day  ; 
but  nothing  better  is  to  be  expected  in  England ; and, 
after  all,  there  is  seldom  such  a day  that  you  cannot 
glide  about  pretty  securely  between  the  drops  of  rain. 
This,  however,  did  not  turn  out  one  of  those  tolerable 
days,  but  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  worse  and 
worse  ; and  was  worst  of  all  when  we  had  passed  about 
six  miles  beyond  Chester,  and  were  just  on  the  borders 
of  Wales,  on  the  hither  side  of  the  river  Dee,  where 
the  ship  was  to  be  launched.  Here  the  train  stopped, 
and  absolutely  deposited  our  whole  party  of  excursionists, 
under  a heavy  shower,  in  the  midst  of  a muddy  potato- 
field,  whence  we  were  to  wade  through  mud  and  mire 
to  the  ship-yard,  almost  half  a mile  off.  Some  kind 
Christian,  I know  not  whom,  gave  me  half  of  his 
umbrella,  and  half  of  his  cloak,  and  thereby  I got  to 
a shed  near  the  ship,  without  being  entirely  soaked 
through. 

The  ship  had  been  built  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee,  at 
a spot  where  it  is  too  narrow  for  her  to  be  launched 
directly  across,  and  so  she  lay  lengthwise  of  the  river, 
and  was  so  arranged  as  to  take  the  water  parallel  with 
the  stream.  She  is,  for  aught  I know,  the  largest  ship 
in  the  world ; at  any  rate,  longer  than  the  Great 


244 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

Britain,  — an  iron-screw  steamer,  — and  looked  im- 
mense and  magnificent,  and  was  gorgeously  dressed  out 
in  flags.  Had  it  been  a pleasant  day,  all  Chester  and 
half  Wales  would  have  been  there  to  see  the  launch  ; 
and,  in  spite,  of  the  rain,  there  were  a good  many  people 
on  the  opposite  shore,  as  well  as  on  our  side ; and  one 
or  two  booths,  and  many  of  the  characteristics  of  a 
fair,  — that  is  to  say,  men  and  women  getting  intox- 
icated without  any  great  noise  and  confusion. 

The  ship  was.  expected  to  go  off  at  about  twelve 

o’clock,  and  at  that  juncture  all.  Mr. ’s  friends 

assembled  under  the  bows  of  the  ship,  where  we  were 
a little  sheltered  from  the  rain  by  the  projection  of  that 
part  of  the  vessel  over  our  heads.  The  bottle  of  port- 
wine  with  which  she  was  to  be  christened  was  sus- 
pended from  the  bows  to  the  platform  where  we 
stood  by  a blue  ribbon  ; and  the  ceremony  was  to  be 

performed  by  Mrs. , who,  I could  see,  was  very 

nervous  in  anticipation  of  the  ceremony.  Mr. 

kept  giving  her  instructions  in  a whisper,  and  showing 
her  how  to  throw  the  bottle  ; and  as  the  critical  mo- 
ment approached,  he  took  hold  of  it  along  with  her. 
All  this  time  we  were  waiting  in  momentary  expec- 
tation of  the  ship  going  off,  everything  being  ready,  and 
only  the  touch  of  a spring,  as  it  were,  needed  to  make 
her  slide  into  the  water.  But  the  chief  manager  kept 
delaying  a little  longer,  and  a little  longer  ; though  the 
pilot  on  board  sent  to  tell  him  that  it  was  time  she  was  off. 
“ Yes,  yes  ; but  I want  as  much  water  as  I can  get,” 
answered  the  manager ; and  so  he  held  on  till,  I suppose, 
the  tide  had  raised  the  river  Dee  to  its  very  acme  of 
height.  At  last  the  word  was  given  ; the  ship  began 


1855.'] 


THE  LAUNCH. 


245 


slowly  to  move  ; Mrs. threw  the  bottle  against  the 

bow  with  a spasmodic  effort  that  dashed  it  into  a thousand 
pieces,  and  diffused  the  fragrance  of  the  old  port  all 
around,  where  it  lingered  several  minutes.  I did  not 
think  that  there  could  have  been  such  a breathless  mo- 
ment in  an  affair  of  this  kind. 

The  ship  moved  majestically  down  toward  the  river ; 
and  unless  it  were  Niagara,  I never  saw  anything 
grander  and  more  impressive  than  the  motion  of  this 
mighty  mass  as  she  departed  from  us.  We  on  the 
platform,  and  everybody  along  both  shores  of  the  Dee, 
took  off  our  hats  in  the  rain,  waved  handkerchiefs, 
cheered,  shouted,  — “ Beautiful ! “ What  a noble 

launch  ! ” “ Never  was  so  fair  a sight ! ” — and,  real- 

ly, it  was  so  grand,  that  calm,  majestic  movement,  that 
I felt  the  tears  come  into  my  eyes.  The  wooden  path- 
way adown  which  she  was  gliding  began  to  smoke 
with  the  friction  ; when  all  at  once,  when  we  expected 
to  see  her  plunge  into  the  Dee,  she  came  to  a full  stop. 

# Mr. , the  father  of  my  friend,  a gentleman  with 

white  hair,  a dark,  expressive  face,  bright  eyes,  and  an 
Oriental  cast  of  features,  immediately  took  the  alarm. 
A moment  before  his  countenance  had  been  kindled 
with  triumph  ; but  now  he  turned  pale  as  death,  and 
seemed  to  grow  ten  years  older  while  I was  looking  at 
him.  Well  he  might,  for  his  noble  ship  was  stuck  fast 
in  the  mud  of  the  Dee,  and  without  deepening  the  bed 
of  the  river,  I do  not  see  how  her  vast  iron  hulk  is 
ever  to  be  got  out. 

[This  steamer  was  afterwards  successfully  floated 
off  on  the  29th  of  the  same  month.] 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  A steamboat  was  hitched 


246 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


on  to  the  stranded  vessel,  but  broke  two  or  three  cables 
without  stirring  her  an  inch.  So,  after  waiting  long  after 
we  had  given  up  all  hope,  we  went  to  the  office  of  the 
ship-yard,  and  there  took  a lunch  ; and  still  the  rain  was 
pouring,  pouring,  pouring,  and  I never  experienced  a 
blacker  affair  in  all  my  days.  Then  we  had  to  wait  a 
great  while  for  a train  to  take  us  back,  so  that  it  was  al- 
most five  o’clock  before  we  arrived  at  Chester,  where  I 
spent  an  hour  in  rambling  about  the  old  town,  under  the 
rows ; and  on  the  walls,  looking  down  on  the  tree- 
tops,  directly  under  my  feet,  and  through  their  thick 
branches  at  the  canal,  which  creeps  at  the  base,  and 
at  the  Cathedral ; walking  under  the  dark  intertwining 
arches  of  the  cloisters,  and  looking  up  at  the  great 
cathedral  tower,  so  wasted  away  externally  by  time 
and  weather  that  it  looks,  save  for  the  difference  of 
color  between  white  snow  and  red  freestone,  like  a 
structure  of  snow,  half  dissolved  by  several  warm  days. 

At  the  lunch  I met  with  a graduate  of  Cambridge 
(England),  tutor  of  a grandson  of  Percival,  with  his 
pupil,  (Percival,  the  assassinated  minister,  I mean.)  I 
should  not  like  this  position  of  tutor  to  a young  English- 
man ; it  certainly  has  an  ugly  twang  of  upper  servitude. 
I observed  that  the  tutor  gave  his  pupil  the  best  seat 
in  the  railway  carriage,  and  in  all  respects  provided 
for  his  comfort  before  thinking  of  his  own  ; and  this, 
not  as  a father  does  for  his  child,  out  of  love,  but  from 
a sense  of  place  and  duty,  which  I did  not  quite  see 
how  a gentleman  could  consent  to  feel.  And  yet  this 

Mr.  C was  evidently  a gentleman,  and  a quiet, 

intelligent,  agreeable,  and,  no  doubt,  learned  man. 
K being  mentioned,  Mr.  C observed  that  he 


THE  LAUNCH. 


247 


1855.] 

had  known  him  well  at  college,  having  been  his  contem- 
porary there.  He  did  not  like  him,  however,  — thought 
him  “ a dangerous  man,”  as  well  as  I could  gather  ; he 

thinks  there  is  some  radical  defect  in  K ’s  moral 

nature,  a lack  of  sincerity ; and,  furthermore,  he  be- 
lieves him  to  be  a sensualist  in  his  disposition,  in 

support  of  which  view  he  said  Mr.  K had  made 

drawings,  such  as  no  pure  man  could  have  made,  or 
could  allow  himself  to  show  or  look  at.  This  was  the 

only  fact  which  Mr.  C adduced,  bearing  on  his 

opinion  of  K ; otherwise,  it  seemed  to  be  one  of 

those  early  impressions  which  a collegian  gets  of  his 
fellow-students,  and  which  he  never  gets  rid  of,  what- 
ever the  character  of  the  person  may  turn  out  to  be  in 
after  years.  I have  judged  several  persons  in  this  way, 
and  still  judge  them  so,  though  the  world  has  come  to 
very  different  conclusions.  Which  is  right  ? — the  world, 
which  has  the  man’s  whole  mature  life  on  its  side ; or 
his  early  companion,  who  has  nothing  for  it  but  some 
idle  passages  of  his  youth  ? 

Mr.  M remarked  of  newspaper  reporters,  that 

they  may  be  known  at  all  celebrations,  and  on  any 
public  occasion,  by  the  enormous  quantity  of  luncheon 
they  eat. 

August  \2th.  — Mr.  B- dined  with  us  at  the  Rock 

Ferry  Hotel  the  day  before  yesterday.  Speaking  of 
Helvellyn,  and  the  death  of  Charles  Gough,  about 
whom  Wordsworth  and  Scott  have  both  sung,  Mr. 

B mentioned  a version  of  that  story  which  rather 

ietracts  from  the  character  of  the  faithful  dog. 


248  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l85o. 

But  somehow  it  lowers  one’s  opinion  of  human  na, 
ture  itself,  to  be  compelled  so  to  lower  one’s  standard 
of  a dog’s  nature.  I don’t  intend  to  believe  the  dis- 
paraging story,  but  it  reminds  me  of  the  story  of  the 
New-Zealander  who  was  asked  whether  he  loved  a 
missionary  who  had  been  laboring  for  his  soul  and 
those  of  his  countrymen.  “ To  be  sure  I loved  him. 
Why,  I ate  a piece  of  him  for  my  breakfast  this 
morning ! ” 

For  the  last  week  or  two  I have  passed  my  time  be- 
tween the  hotel  and  the  Consulate,  and  a weary  life  it 
is,  and  one  that  leaves  little  of  profit  behind  it.  I am 
sick  to  death  of  my  office,  — brutal  captains  and  brutal 
sailors  ; continual  complaints  of  mutual  wrong,  which  I 
have  no  power  to  set  right,  and  which,  indeed,  seem  to 
have  no  right  on  either  side ; calls  of  idleness  or  cere- 
mony from  my  travelling  countrymen,  who  seldom  know 
what  they  are  in  search  of  at  the  commencement  of  their 
tour,  and  never  have  attained  any  desirable  end  at  the 
close  of  it;  beggars,  cheats,  simpletons,  unfortunates, 
so  mixed  up  that  it  is  impossible  to  distinguish  one  from 
another,  and  so,  in  self-defence,  the  Consul  distrusts 
them  all 

At  the  hotel,  yesterday,  there  was  a large  company 
of  factory  people  from  Preston,  who  marched  up  from 
the  pier  with  a band  of  military  music  playing  before 
them.  They  spent  the  day  in  the  gardens  and  ball-room 
of  the  hotel,  dancing  and  otherwise  merrymaking  ; but 
I saw  little  of  them,  being  at  the  Consulate.  Towards 
evening  it  drizzled,  and  the  assemblage  melted  away 
gradually  ; and  when  the  band  marched  down  to  the 
pier,  there  were  few  to  follow,  although  one  man  went 


1855.] 


THACKERAY.  — CARLYLE. 


249 


dancing  before  the  musicians,  flinging  out  his  arms,  and 
footing  it  with  great  energy  and  gesticulation.  Some 
young  women  along  the  road  likewise  began  to  dance  as 
the  music  approached. 

Thackeray  has  a dread  of  servants,  insomuch  that  he 
hates  to  address  them,  or  to  ask  them  for  anything. 
His  morbid  sensibility,  in  this  regard,  has  perhaps  led 
him  to  study  and  muse  upon  them,  so  that  he  may  be 
presumed  to  have  a more  intimate  knowledge  of  this 
class  than  any  other  man. 

Carlyle  dresses  so  badly,  and  wears  such  a rough  out- 
side, that  the  flunkeys  are  rude  to  him  at  gentlemen’s 
doors. 

In  the  afternoon  J and  I took  a walk  towards 

Tranmere  Hall,  and  beyond,  as  far  as  Oxton.  This 
part  of  the  country,  being  so  near  Liverpool  and  Bir- 
kenhead, is  all  sprinkled  over  with  what  they  call  “ Ter- 
races,” u Bellevues,”  and  other  pretty  names  for  semi- 
detached villas  (“  Recluse  Cottage  ” was  one)  for  a 
somewhat  higher  class.  But  the  old,  whitewashed  stone 
cottage  is  still  frequent,  with  its  roof  of  slate  or  thatch, 
which  perhaps  is  green  with  weeds  or  grass.  Through 
its  open  door,  you  see  that  it  has  a pavement  of  flag- 
stones, or  perhaps  of  red  freestone  ; and  hogs  and  donkeys 
are  familiar  with  the  threshold.  The  door  always  opens 
directly  into  the  kitchen,  without  any  vestibule  ; and, 
glimpsing  in,  you  see  that  a cottager’s  life  must  be  the 
very  plainest  and  homeliest  that  ever  was  lived  by  men 
and  women.  Yet  the  flowers  about  the  door  often  in- 
11* 


250 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[lSh5. 

dicate  a native  capacity  for  the  beautiful  ; but  often 
there  is  only  a pavement  of  round  stones  or  of  flagstones, 
like  those  within.  At  one  point,  where  there  was  a 
little  bay,  as  it  were,  in  the  hedge  fence,  we  saw  some- 
thing like  a small  tent  or  wigwam,  — an  arch  of  canvas 
three  or  four  feet  high,  and  open  in  front,  under  which 
sat  a dark-complexioned  woman  and  some  children. 
The  woman  was  sewing,  and  I took  them  for  gypsies. 

August  11th . — Yesterday  afternoon  J and  I 

went  to  Birkenhead  Park,  which  I have  already  de- 
scribed  It  so  happened  that  there  was  a large 

school  spending  its  holiday  there  ; a school  of  girls  of 
the  lower  classes,  to  the  number  of  a hundred  and  fifty, 
who  disported  themselves  on  the  green,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  schoolmistresses  and  of  an  old  gentleman. 
It  struck  me,  as  it  always  has,  to  observe  how  the  lower 
orders  of  this  country  indicate  their  birth  and  station 
by  their  aspect  and  features.  In  America  there  would 
be  a good  deal  of  grace  and  beauty  among  a hundred 
and  fifty  children  and  budding  girls,  belonging  to  what- 
ever rank  of  life.  But  here  they  had  universally  a most 
plebeian  look,  — stubbed,  sturdy  figures,  round,  coarse 
faces,  snub-noses,  — the  most  evident  specimens  of  the 
brown  bread  of  human  nature.  They  looked  whole- 
some and  good  enough,  and  fit  to  sustain  their  rough 
share  of  life ; but  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
make  a lady  out  of  any  one  of  them.  Climate,  no  doubt, 
has  most  to  do  with  diffusing  a slender  elegance  over 
American  young-womanhood ; but  something,  perhaps, 
is  also  due  to  the  circumstance  of  classes  not  being  kept 
apart  there  as  they  are  here  : they  interfuse,  amid  the 


BIRKENHEAD  PARK. 


251 


1 355.] 

continual  ups  and  downs  of  our  social  life  ; and  so,  in 
the  lowest  stations  of  life,  you  may  see  the  refining  in- 
fluence of  gentle  blood.  At  all  events,  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  look  at  such  an  assemblage  of  children  as  I saw 
yesterday,  to  be  convinced  that  birth  and  blood  do  pro- 
duce certain  characteristics.  To  be  sure,  I have  seen 
no  similar  evidence  in  England  or  elsewhere  of  old  gen- 
tility refining  and  elevating  the  race. 

These  girls  were  all  dressed  in  black  gowns,  with 
white  aprons  and  neckerchiefs,  and  white  linen  caps  on 
their  heads,  — a very  dowdyish  attire,  and  well  suited  to 
their  figures.  I saw  only  two  of  their  games,  — in  one, 
they  stood  in  a circle,  while  two  of  their  number  chased 
one  another  within  and  without  the  ring  of  girls,  which 
opened  to  let  the  fugitive  pass,  but  closed  again  to  impede 
the  passage  of  the  pursuer.  The  other  was  blind-man’s- 
buff  on  a new  plan : several  of  the  girls,  sometimes 
as  many  as  twenty,  being  blinded  at  once*  and  pursuing 
a single  one,  who  rang  a hand-bell  to  indicate  her 
whereabouts.  This  was  very  funny  ; the  bell-girl  keeping 
just  beyond  their  reach,  and  drawing  them  after  her  in 
a huddled  group,  so  that  they  sometimes  tumbled  over 
one  another  and  lay  sprawling.  I think  I have  read 
of  this  game  in  Strutt’s  “ English  Sports  and  Pastimes.” 

We  walked  from  the  Park  home  to  Rock  Ferry,  a 
distance  of  three  or  four  miles,  — a part  of  which  was 
made  delightful  by  a foot-path,  leading  us  through  fields 
where  the  grass  had  just  been  mown,  and  others  where 
the  wheat  harvest  was  commenced.  The  path  led  us 
into  the  very  midst  of  the  rural  labor  that  was  going 
forward ; and  the  laborers  rested  a moment  to  look  at 
us ; in  fact,  they  seemed  to  be  more  willing  to  rest  than 


252 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

American  laborers  would  have  been.  Children  were 
loitering  along  this  path,  or  sitting  down  beside  it ; and 
we  met  one  little  maid,  passing  from  village  to  village, 
intent  on  some  errand.  Reaching  Tranmere,  I went 
into  an  ale-house,  nearly  opposite  the  Hall,  and  called 
for  a glass  of  ale.  The  door-step  before  the  house,  and 
the  flagstone  floor  of  the  entry  and  tap-room,  were 
chalked  all  over  in  corkscrew  lines,  — an  adornment 
that  gave  an  impression  of  care  and  neatness,  the 
chalked  lines  being  evidently  freshly  made.  It  was  a 
low,  old-fashioned  room,  ornamented  with  a couple  of 
sea-shells,  and  an  earthen-ware  figure  on  the  mantel- 
piece ; also  with  advertisements  of  Allsop’s  ale,  and 
other  drinks,  and  with  a pasteboard  handbill  of  “ The 
Ancient  Order  of  Foresters”;  any  member  of  which, 
paying  sixpence  weekly,  is  entitled  to  ten  shillings  per 
week,  and  the  attendance  of  a first-rate  physician  in 
sickness,  and  twelve  pounds  to  be  paid  to  his  friends 
in  case  of  death.  Any  member  of  this  order,  when 
travelling,  is  sure  (says  the  hand-bill)  to  meet  with  a 
brother  member  to  lend  him  a helping  hand,  there  be- 
ing nearly  three  thousand  districts  of  this  order,  and  more 
than  a hundred  and  nine  thousand  members  in  Great 
Britain,  whence  it  has  extended  to  Australia,  America, 
and  other  countries. 

Looking  up  at  the  gateway  of  Tranmere  Hall,  J 

discovered  an  inscription  on  the  red  freestone  lintel,  and, 
though  much  time-worn,  I succeeded  in  reading  it. 
“ Labor  omnia  vincit.  1614.”  There  were  likewise  some 
initials  which  I could  not  satisfactorily  make  out.  The 
sense  of  this  motto  would  rather  befit  the  present  agri- 
cultural occupants  of  the  house  than  the  idle  gentle- 
&lks  who  built  and  formerly  inhabited  it. 


1855.]  SMITHELL’S  HALL*  253 

smithell’s  hall. 

August  25th.  — On  Thursday  I went  by  invitation  to 
Smitheirs  Hall  in  Bolton  le  Moors  to  dine  and  spend 
the  night.  The  Hall  is  two  or  three  miles  from  the 
town  of  Bolton,  where  I arrived  by  railway  from  Liver- 
pool, and  which  seems  to  be  a pretty  large  town,  though 
the  houses  are  generally  modern,  or  with  modernized 
fronts  of  brick  or  stucco.  It  is  a manufacturing  town, 
and  the  tall  brick  chimneys  rise  numerously  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  are  so  near  Smitheirs  Hall  that  I 
suspect  the  atmosphere  is  somewhat  impregnated  with 

their  breath.  Mr.  can  comfort  himself  with  the 

rent  which  he  receives  from  the  factories  erected  upon 
his  own  grounds ; and  I suppose  the  value  of  his  estate 
has  greatly  increased  by  the  growth  of  manufactories  ; 
although,  unless  he  wish  to  sell  it,  I do  not  see  what 
good  this  can  do  him. 

Smithelfs  Hall  is  one  of  the  oldest  residences  of  Eng- 
land, and  still  retains  very  much  the  aspect  that  it  must 
have  had  several  centuries  ago.  The  house  formerly 
stood  around  all  four  sides  of  a quadrangle,  enclosing  a 
court,  and  with  an  entrance  through  an  archway.  One 
side  of  this  quadrangle  was  removed  in  the  time  of  the 

present  Mr. ’s  father,  and  the  front  is  now  formed 

by  the  remaining  three  sides.  They  look  exceedingly 
ancient  and  venerable,  with  their  range  of  gables  and 
lesser  peaks.  The  house  is  probably  timber-framed 
throughout,  and  is  overlaid  with  plaster,  and  its  general- 
ly light  hue  is  painted  with  a row  of  trefoils  in  black, 
producing  a very  quaint  effect.  The  wing,  forming  one 
side  of  the  quadrangle,  is  a chapel,  and  has  been  so 


254 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


from  time  immemorial ; and  Mr. told  me  that  he 

had  a clergyman,  and  even  a bishop,  in  his  own  diocese. 
The  drawing-room  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  quad- 
rangle ; and  through  an  arched  door,  in  the  central  por- 
tion, there  is  a passage  to  the  rear  of  the  house.  It  is 
impossible  to  describe  such  an  old  rambling  edifice  as 
this,  or  to  get  any  clear  idea  of  its  plan,  even  by  going 

over  it,  without  the  aid  of  a map.  Mr. has  added 

some  portions,  and  altered  others,  but  with  due  regard 
to  harmony  with  the  original  structure,  and  the  great 
body  of  it  is  still  mediaeval. 

The  entrance  hall  opens  right  upon  the  quadrangular 
court ; and  is  a large,  low  room,  with  a settle  of  carved 
old  oak,  and  other  old  oaken  furniture,  — a centre-table 
with  periodicals  and  newspapers  on  it,  — some  family  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  — and  a large,  bright  coal  fire  in  the 
spacious  grate.  The  fire  is  always  kept  up,  throughout 
summer  and  winter,  and  it  seemed  to  me  an  excellent 
plan,  and  rich  with  cheerful  effects  ; insuring  one  com- 
fortable place,  and  that  the  most  central  in  the  house, 
whatever  may  be  the  inclemency  of  the  weather.  It 
was  a cloudy,  moist,  showery  day,  when  I arrived  ; and 
this  fire  gave  me  the  brightest  and  most  hospitable 
smile,  and  took  away  my  shivery  feeling  by  its  mere 
presence.  The  servant  showed  me  thence  into  a low- 

studded  dining-room,  where  soon  Mrs. made  her 

appearance,  and,  after  some  talk,  brought  me  into  the 

billiard-room,  opening  from  the  hall,  where  Mr. 

and  a young  gentleman  were  playing  billiards,  and  two 
ladies  looking  on.  After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr. 
■ took  me  round  to  see  the  house  and  grounds. 

The  peculiarity  of  this  house  is  what  is  called  “ The 


SMITHELL’S  HALL. 


255 


1855.] 

Bloody  Footstep.”  In  the  time  of  Bloody  Mary,  a 
Protestant  clergyman  — George  Marsh,  by  name  — was 
examined  before  the  then  proprietor  of  the  Hall,  Sir 
Roger  Barton,  I think,  and  committed  to  prison  for  his 
heretical  opinions,  and  was  ultimately  burned  at  the 
stake.  As  his  guards  were  conducting  him  from  the 
justice-room,  through  the  stone-paved  passage  that 
leads  from  front  to  rear  of  SmithelFs  Hall,  he  stamped 
his  foot  upon  one  of  the  flagstones  in  earnest  protesta- 
tion against  the  wrong  which  he  was  undergoing.  The 
foot,  as  some  say,  left  a bloody  mark  in  the  stone ; 
others  have  it,  that  the  stone  yielded  like  wax  under  his 
foot,  and  that  there  has  been  a shallow  cavity  ever 
since.  This  miraculous  footprint  is  still  extant ; and 

Mrs. showed  it  to  me  before  her  husband  took 

me  round  the  estate.  It  is  almost  at  the  threshold  of 
the  door  opening  from  the  rear  of  the  house,  a stone  two 
or  three  feet  square,  set  among  similar  ones,  that  seem 
to  have  been  worn  by  the  tread  of  many  generations. 
The  footprint  is  a dark  brown  stain  in  the  smooth  gray 
surface  of  the  flagstone  ; and,  looking  sidelong  at  it,  there 

is  a shallow  cavity  perceptible,  which  Mrs. ac* 

counted  for  as  having  been  worn  by  people  setting  their 
feet  just  on  this  place,  so  as  to  tread  the  very  spot  where 
the  martyr  wrought  the  miracle.  The  mark  is  longer 
than  any  mortal  foot,  as  if  caused  by  sliding  along  the 
stone,  rather  than  sinking  into  it ; and  it  might  be  sup* 
posed  to  have  been  made  by  a pointed  shoe,  being  blunt 
at  the  heel,  and  decreasing  towards  the  toe.  The  blood- 
stained version  of  the  story  is  more  consistent  with  the 
appearance  of  the  mark  than  the  imprint  would  be; 
for  if  the  martyr’s  blood  oozed  out  through  his  shoe  and 


256  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

stocking,  it  might  have  made  his  foot  slide  along  the 
stone,  and  thus  have  lengthened  the  shape.  Of  course  it 
is  all  a humbug,  — a darker  vein  cropping  up  through 
the  gray  flagstone ; but  it  is  probably  a fact,  and,  for 
aught  I know,  may  be  found  in  Fox’s  Book  of  Mar- 
tyrs, that  George  Marsh  underwent  an  examination  in 
this  house  ; and  the  tradition  may  have  connected  itself 
with  the  stone  within  a short  time  after  the  martyrdom  ; * 
or,  perhaps,  when  the  old  persecuting  knight  departed 
this  life,  and  Bloody  Mary  was  also  dead,  people  who 
had  stood  at  a little  distance  from  the  Hall  door,  and 
had  seen  George  Marsh  lift  his  hand  and  stamp  his 
foot  just  at  this  spot,  — perhaps  they  remembered  this 
action  and  gesture,  and  really  believed  that  Providence 
had  thus  made  an  indelible  record  of  it  on  the  stone  ; 
although  the  very  stone  and  the  very  mark  might  have 
lain  there  at  the  threshold  hundreds  of  years  before. 
But,  even  if  it  had  been  always  there,  the  footprint 
might,  after  the  fact,  be  looked  upon  as  a prophecy, 
from  the  time  when  the  foundation  of  the  old  house  was 
laid,  that  a holy  and  persecuted  man  should  one  day  set 
his  foot  here,  on  the  way  that  was  to  lead  him  to  the 
stake.  At  any  rate,  the  legend  is  a good  one. 

Mrs. tells  me  that  the  miraculous  stone  was 

once  taken  up  from  the  pavement,  and  flung  out  of 
doors,  where  it  remained  many  years ; and  in  proof  of 
this,  it  is  cracked  quite  across  at  one  end.  This  is  a 
pity,  and  rather  interferes  with  the  authenticity,  if  not  of 
the  stone  itself,  yet  of  its  position  in  the  pavement.  It 

* There  is  a full  and  pathetic  account  of  the  examination  -and 
martyrdom  of  George  Marsh  in  the  eleventh  section  of  Fox’s  Book 
of  Martyrs,  as  I have  just  found  (June  9,  1867).  He  went  to  Smith- 
ell’s  Hall,  among  other  places,  to  be  questioned  by  Mr.  liarton.  — Ed. 


1855.] 


SMITHELL’S  HALL. 


257 


is  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  leading  up  to 
Sir  Roger  Barton’s  examination-room,  whither  we  as- 
cended, after  examining  the  footprint.  This  room  now 
opens  sideways  on  the  Chapel,  into  which  it  looks  down, 
and  which  is  spacious  enough  to  accommodate  a pretty 
large  congregation.  On  one  of  the  walls  of  the  chapel 
there  is  a marble  tablet  to  the  memory  of  one  of  the 

present  family,  — Mr.  ’s  father,  I suppose  ; he 

being  the  first  of  the  name  who  possessed  the  estate. 
The  present  owners,  however,  seem  to  feel  pretty  much 
the  same  pride  in  the  antiquity  and  legends  of  the  house 
as  if  it  had  come  down  to  them  in  an  unbroken  succes- 
sion of  their  own  forefathers  It  has,  in  reality,  passed 
several  times  from  one  family  to  another,  since  the 
Conquest. 

Mr. led  me  through  a spacious  old  room,  which 

was  formerly  panelled  with  carved  oak,  but  which  is 
converted  into  a brew-house,  up  a pair  of  stairs,  into  the 
garret  of  one  of  the  gables,  in  order  to  show  me  the  an- 
cient framework  of  the  house.  It  is  of  oak,  and  pre- 
posterously ponderous, — immense  beams  and  rafters, 
which  no  modern  walls  could  support,  — a gigantic  old 
skeleton,  which  architects  say  must  have  stood  a thou- 
sand years  ; and,  indeed,  it  is  impossible  to  ascertain 
the  date  of  the  original  foundation,  though  it  is  known 
to  have  been  repaired  and  restored  between  five  and 
six  centuries  ago.  Of  course,  in  the  lapse  of  ages,  it 
must  continually  have  been  undergoing  minor  changes, 

but  without  at  all  losing  its  identity.  Mr. says 

that  this  old  oak  wood,  though  it  looks  as  strong  and  as 
solid  as  ever,  has  really  lost  its  strength,  and  that  it 
Xould  snap  short  off,  on  application  of  any  force. 

Q 


258 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

After  this  we  took  our  walk  through  the  grounds, 
which  are  well  wooded,  though  the  trees  will  bear  no 
comparison  with  those  which  I have  seen  in  the  midland 
parts  of  England.  It  takes,  I suspect,  a much  longer 
time  for  trees  to  attain  a good  size  here  than  in  Amer- 
ica; and  these  trees,  I think  Mr.  — — told  me,  were 
principally  set  out  by  himself.  He  is  upwards  of 
sixty,  — a good  specimen  of  the  old  English  country- 
gentleman,  sensible,  loving  his  land  and  his  trees  and 
his  dogs  and  his  game,  doing  a little  justice-business, 
and  showing  a fitness  for  his  position;  so  that  you 
feel  satisfied  to  have  him  keep  it.  He  was  formerly  a 
member  of  Parliament.  I had  met  him  before  at 

dinner  at  Mrs.  H— ’s He  took  pleasure  in 

showing  me  his  grounds,  through  which  he  has  laid 
out  a walk,  winding  up  and  down  through  dells  and 
over  hillocks,  and  now  and  then  crossing  a rustic 
bridge ; so  that  you  have  an  idea  of  quite  an  extensive 
domain. 

Beneath  the  trees  there  is  a thick  growth  of  ferns, 
serving  as  cover  for  the  game.  A little  terrier-dog, 
who  had  hitherto  kept  us  company,  all  at  once  disap- 
peared ; and  soon  afterwards  we  heard  the  squeak 
of  some  poor  victim  in  the  cover,  whereupon  Mr. 

set  out  with  agility,  and  ran  to  the  rescue.  By 

and  by  the  terrier  came  back  with  a very  guilty  look. 
From  the  wood  we  passed  into  the  open  park,  whence 
we  had  a distant  view  of  the  house ; and,  returning 
thither,  we  viewed  it  in  other  aspects,  and  on  all  sides. 

One  portion  of  it  is  occupied  by  Mr. ’s  gardener, 

and  seems  not  to  have  been  repaired,  at  least  as  to 
its  exterior,  for  a great  many  years,  — showing  the 


SMITHELL’S  HALL. 


259 


J855.] 

old  wooden  frame,  painted  black,  with  plaster  in  the 
interstices;  and  broad  * windows,  extending  across  the 
whole  breadth  of  the  rooms,  with  hundreds  of  little 
diamond-shaped  panes  of  glass.  Before  dinner  I was 
shown  to  my  room,  which  opens  from  an  ancient  gal- 
lery, lined  with  oak,  and  lighted  by  a row  of  windows 
along  one  side  of  the  quadrangle.  Along  this  gallery 
are  the  doors  of  several  sleeping-chambers,  one  of 
which  — I think  it  is  here  — is  called  “ The  Dead 
Man’s  Chamber.”  It  is  supposed  to  have  been  the 
room  where  the  corpses  of  persons  connected  with  the 
household  used  to  be  laid  out.  My  own  room  was 
called  “ The  Beam  Chamber,”  from  an  immense  cross- 
beam that  projects  from  the  ceiling,  and  seems  to  be 
an  entire  tree,  laid  across,  and  left  rough-hewn,  though 
at  present  it  is  whitewashed.  The  butt  of  the  tree 
(for  it  diminishes  from  one  end  of  the  chamber  to  the 
other)  is  nearly  two  feet  square,  in  its  visible  part. 

We  dined,  at  seven  o’clock,  in  a room  some  thirty- 
five  or  forty  feet  long,  and  proportionably  broad,  all 

panelled  with  the  old  carved  oak  which  Mr. took 

from  the  room  which  he  had  converted  into  a brew- 
house.  The  oak  is  now  of  a very  dark  brown  hue,  and, 
being  highly  polished,  it  produces  a sombre  but  rich 
effect.  It  is  supposed  to  be  of  the  era  of  Henry  the 
Seventh,  and  when  I examined  it  the  next  morning, 
I found  it  very  delicately  and  curiously  wrought.  There 
are  carved  profiles  of  persons  in  the  costume  of  the 
times,  done  with  great  skill;  also  foliage,  intricate  puz- 
zles of  intersecting  lines,  sacred  devices,  anagrams,  and, 
among  others,  the  device  of  a bar  across  a tun,  indi- 
cating the  name  of  Barton.  Most  of  the  carving,  how- 


?60 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

ever,  is  less  elaborate  and  intricate  than  these  specimens, 
6eing  in  a perpendicular  style,  and  on  one  pattern. 
Before  the  wood  grew  so  very  dark,  the  beauty  of  the 
work  must  have  been  much  more  easily  seen  than  now, 
as  to  particulars,  though  I hardly  think  that  the  gen- 
eral effect  could  have  been  better ; at  least,  the  sombre 
richness  that  overspreads  the  entire  square  of  the  room 
is  suitable  to  such  an  antique  house.  An  elaborate 
Gothic  cornice  runs  round  the  whole  apartment.  The 
sideboard  and  other  furniture  are  of  Gothic  patterns, 
and,  very  likely,  of  genuine  antiquity;  but  the  fireplace 
is  perhaps  rather  out  of  keeping,  being  of  white  marble 
with  the  arms  of  this  family  sculptured  on  it. 

Though  hardly  sunset  wrhen  we  sat  down  to  dinner, 
yet,  it  being  an  overcast  day,  and  the  oaken  room  so 
sombre,  we  had  candles  burning  on  the  table ; and,  long 
before  dinner  was  over,  the  candle-light  was  all  the  light 
we  had.  It  is  always  pleasanter  to  dine  by  artificial 

light.  Mrs.  ’s  dinner  was  a good  one,  and  Mr. 

’s  wines  were  very  good.  I had  Mrs. on  one 

side,  and  another  lady  on  the  other  side 

After  dinner  there  were  two  card-parties  formed  in 
the  dining-room,  at  one  of  which  there  was  a game  of 
Vingt-et-un,  and  at  the  other  a game  of  whist,  at  which 

Mrs. and  I lost  several  shillings  to  a Mrs.  Halton 

and  Mr.  Gaskell After  finishing  our  games  at 

cards,  Mrs.  Halton  drove  off  in  a pony-chaise  to  her 
own  house ; the  other  ladies  retired,  and  the  gentlemen 
sat  down  to  chat,  awhile  over  the  hall  fire,  occasionally 
sipping  a glass  of  wine  and  water,  and  finally  we  all 
went  off  to  our  rooms.  It  was  past  twelve  o’clock 
when  I composed  myself  to  sleep,  and  I could  not  have 


SMITHELL’S  HALL. 


261 


1855.] 

slept  long,  when  a tremendous  clap  of  thunder  woke 
me  just  in  time  to  see  a vivid  flash  of  lightning.  I 

saw  no  ghosts,  though  Mrs. tells  me  there  is  one, 

which  makes  a disturbance,  unless  religious  services 
are  regularly  kept  up  in  the  Chapel. 

In  the  morning,  before  breakfast,  we  had  prayers, 
read  by  Mr. , in  the  oak  dining-room,  all  the  ser- 

vants coming  in,  and  everybody  kneeling  down.  I 
should  like  to  know  how  much  true  religious  feeling  is 
indicated  by  this  regular  observance  of  religious  rites 
in  English  families.  In  America,  if  people  kneel  down 
to  pray,  it  is  pretty  certain  that  they  feel  a geftuine 
interest  in  the  matter,  and  their  daily  life  is  supposed 
to  be  in  accordance  with  their  devotions.  If  an  Ameri- 
can is  an  infidel,  he  knows  it ; but  an  Englishman  is 
often  so  without  suspecting  it,  — being  kept  from  that 
knowledge  by  this  formality  of  family  prayer,  and  his 
other  regularities  of  external  worship 

There  was  a parrot  in  a corner  of  the  dining-room, 

and,  when  prayers  were  over,  Mrs.  praised  it 

very  highly  for  having  been  so  silent ; it  being  Poll’s 
habit,  probably,  to  break  in  upon  the  sacred  exercises 
with  unseemly  interjections  and  remarks.  While  we 
were  at  breakfast,  Poll  began  to  whistle  and  talk  very 
vociferously,  and  in  a tone  and  with  expressions  that 
surprised  me,  till  I learned  that  the  bird  is  usually  kept 
in  the  kitchen  and  servants’  hall,  and  is  only  brought 
into  the  dining-room  at  prayer-time  and  breakfast. 
Thus  its  mouth  is  full  of  kitchen  talk,  which  flows  out 
before  the  gentlefolks  with  the  queerest  effect. 

After  breakfast  I examined  the  carvings  of  the  room. 
Mr. has  added  to  its  decorations  the  coats  of  arms 


262  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855, 

of  all  the  successive  possessors  of  the  house,  with  those 
of  the  families  into  which  they  married,  including  the 
Ratcliffes,  Stanleys,  and  others.  From  the  dining- 
room I passed  into  the  library,  which  contains  books 
enough  to  make  a rainy  day  pass  pleasantly.  I re- 
member nothing  else  that  I need  to  record  ; and  as  1 
sat  by  the  hall  fire,  talking  with  Mr.  Gaskell,  at  about 
eleven  o’clock,  the  butler  brought  me  word  that  a fly, 
which  I had  bespoken,  was  ready  to  convey  me  to  the 

railway.  I took  leave  of  Mrs. , her  last  request 

being  that  I would  write  a ghost-story  for  her  house,  — 
and  drove  off. 

SHREWSBURY. 

September  hih.  — Yesterday  we  all  of  us  set  forth 
from  Rock  Ferry  at  half  past  twelve,  and  reached 
Shrewsbury  between  three  and  four  o’clock,  and  took 
up  our  quarters  at  the  Lion  Hotel.  We  found  Shrews- 
bury situated  on  an  eminence,  around  which  the  Severn 
winds,  making  a peninsula  of  it,  quite  densely  covered 
by  the  town.  The  streets  ascend,  and  curve  about,  and 
intersect  each  other  with  the  customary  irregularity  of 
these  old  English  towns,  so  that  it  is  quite  impossible 
to  go  directly  to  any  given  point,  or  for  a stranger  to 
find  his  way  to  a place  which  he  wishes  to  reach, 
though,  by  what  seems  a singular  good  fortune,  the 
sought-for  place  is  always  offering  itself  when  least  ex- 
pected. On  this  account  I never  knew  such  pleasant 
walking  as  in  old  streets  like  those  of  Shrewsbury. 
And  there  are  passages  opening  under  archways,  and 
winding  up  between  high  edifices,  very  tempting  to  the 
explorer,  and  generally  leading  to  some  court,  or  some 
queer  old  range  of  buildings  or  piece  of  arch i teccu re, 


SHREWSBURY. 


263 


1855.] 

which  it  would  be  the  greatest  pity  to  miss  seeing. 
There  was  a delightful  want  of  plan  in  the  laying  out 
of  these  ancient  towns.  In  fact,  they  never  were  laid 
out  at  all,  nor  were  restrained  by  any  plan  whatever, 
but  grew  naturally,  with  streets  as  eccentric  as  the 
pathway  of  a young  child  toddling  about  the  floor. 

The  first  curious  thing  we  particularly  noticed,  when 
we  strolled  out  after  dinner,  was  the  old  market-house, 
which  stands  in  the  midst  of  an  oblong  square  ; a gray 
edifice,  elevated  on  pillars  and  arches,  and  with  the 
statue  of  an  armed  knight,  Richard  Plantagenet,  Duke 
of  York,  in  a central  niche,  in  its  front.  The  statue  is 
older  than  the  market-house,  having  been  moved  thither 
from  one  of  the  demolished  towers  of  the  cit}'  wall  in 
1795.  The  market-house  was  erected  in  1595.  There 
are  other  curious  sculptures  and  carvings  and  quirks  of 
architecture  about  this  building ; and  the  houses  that 
stand  about  the  square  are,  many  of  them,  very  striking 
specimens  of  what  dwelling-houses  used  to  be  in  Eliza- 
beth’s time,  and  earlier.  I have  seen  no  such  stately 
houses,  in  that  style,  as  we  found  here  in  Shrewsbury. 
There  were  no  such  fine  ones  in  Coventry,  Stratford, 
Warwick,  Chester,  nor  anywhere  else  where  we  have 
been.  Their  stately  height  and  spaciousness  seem  to 
have  been  owing  to  the  fact  that  Shrewsbury  was  a sort 
of  metropolis  of  the  country  round  about,  and  therefore 
the  neighboring  gentry  had  their  town-houses  there, 
when  London  was  several  days’  journey  off,  instead  of 
a very  few  hours ; and,  besides,  it  was  once  much  the 
resort  of  kings,  and  the  centre-point  of  great  schemes 
of  war  and  policy.  One  such  house,  formerly  belonging 
to  a now  extinct  family,  that  of  Ireland,  rises  to  the 


264 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

height  of  four  stories,  and  has  a front  consisting  of  what 
look  like  four  projecting  towers.  There  are  ranges  of 
embowered  windows,  one  above  another,  to  the  full 
height  of  the  house,  and  these  are  surmounted  by  peaked 
gables.  The  people  of  those  times  certainly  did  not 
deny  themselves  light ; and  while  window-glass  was  an 
article  of  no  very  remote  introduction,  it  was  probably 
a point  of  magnificence  and  wealthy  display  to  have 
enough  of  it.  One  whole  side  of  the  room  must  often 
have  been  formed  by  the  window.  This  Ireland  man- 
sion, as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  the  old  houses  in  Shrews- 
bury, is  a timber  house, — that  is,  a skeleton  of  oak, 
filled  up  with  brick,  plaster,  or  other  material,  and  with 
the  beams  of  the  timber  marked  out  with  black  paint ; 
besides  which,  in  houses  of  any  pretension,  there  are 
generally  trefoils,  and  other  Gothic-looking  ornaments, 
likewise  painted  black.  They  have  an  indescribable 
charm  for  me,  — the  more,  I think,  because  they  are 
wooden ; but,  indeed,  I cannot  tell  why  it  is  that  I like 
them  so  well,  and  am  never  tired  of  looking  at  them. 
A street  was  a development  of  human  life,  in  the  days 
when  these  houses  were  built,  whereas  a modern  street 
is  but  the  cold  plan  of  an  architect,  without  individuality 
or  character,  and  without  the  human  emotion  which  a 
man  kneads  into  the  walls  which  he  builds  on  a scheme 
of  his  own. 

We  strolled  to  a pleasant  walk  under  a range  of  trees, 
along  the  shore  of  the  Severn.  It  is  called  the  Quarry 
Walk.  The  Severn  is  a pretty  river,  the  largest,  I 
think,  (unless  it  be  such  an  estuary  as  the  Mersey,)  that 
I have  met  with  in  England ; that  is  to  say,  about  a 
fair  stone’s-throw  across.  It  is  very  gentle  in  its  course, 


SHREWSBURY. 


265 


1855.] 

and  winds  along  between  grassy  and  sedgy  banks,  with 
a good  growth  of  weeds  in  some  part  of  its  current.  It 
has  one  stately  bridge,  called  the  English  Bridge,  of 
several  arches,  and,  as  we  sauntered  along  the  Quarry 
Walk,  we  saw  a ferry  where  the  boat  seemed  to  be  nav- 
igated across  by  means  of  a rope,  stretched  from  bank 
to  bank  of  the  river.  After  leaving  the  Quarry  Walk, 
we  passed  an  old  tower  of  red  freestone,  the  only  one 
remaining  of  those  formerly  standing  at  intervals  along 
the  whole  course  of  the  town  wall ; and  we  also  went 
along  what  little  is  now  left  of  the  wall  itself.  And 
thence,  through  the  irregular  streets,  which  gave  no 
account  of  themselves,  we  found  our  way,  I know  not 
how,  back  to  our  hotel.  It  is  an  uncheerful  old  hotel, 
which  takes  upon  itself  to  be  in  the  best  class  of  English 
country  hotels,  and  charges  the  best  price ; very  dark 
in  the  lower  apartments,  pervaded  with  a musty  odor, 
but  provided  with  a white-neckclothed  waiter,  who 
spares  no  ceremony  in  serving  the  joints  of  mutton. 

J and  I afterwards  walked  forth  again,  and  went 

this  time  to  the  castle,  which  stands  exactly  above  the 
railway  station.  A path,  from  its  breadth  quite  a street, 
leads  up  to  the  arched  gateway ; but  we  found  a board, 
giving  notice  that  these  are  private  grounds,  and  no 
strangers  admitted ; so  that  we  only  passed  through  the 
gate  a few  steps,  and  looked  about  us,  and  retired,  on 
perceiving  a man  approaching  us  through  the  trees  and 
shrubbery.  A private  individual,  it  seems,  has  bur- 
rowed in  this  old  warlike  den,  and  turned  the  keep,  and 
any  other  available  apartment,  into  a modern  dwelling, 
and  laid  out  his  pleasure-grounds  within  the  precincts 
of  the  castle  wall,  which  allows  verge  enough  for  the 
VOL.  i,  12 


2GG 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


purpose*  The  ruins  have  been  considerably  repaired. 
This  castle  was  built  at  various  times,  the  keep  by  Ed- 
ward I.,  and  other  portions  at  an  earlier  period,  and  it 
Stands  on  the  isthmus  left  by  the  Severn  in  its  wander- 
ing course  about  the  town.  The  Duke  of  Cleveland 
now  owns  it.  I do  not  know  who  occupies  it. 

In  the  course  of  this  walk,  <ve  passed  St.  Mary’s 
Church,  — a very  old  church  indeed,  no  matter  how  old, 
but  say,  eight  hundred  or  a thousand  years.  It  has  a 
very  tall  spire,  and  the  spire  is  now  undergoing  re- 
pairs ; and,  seeing  the  door  open,  I went  into  the  porch, 
but  found  no  admission  further.  Then,  walking  around 
it,  through  the  churchyard,  we  saw  that  all  the  vener- 
able Gothic  windows  — one  of  them  grand  in  size  — 
were  set  with  stained  glass,  representing  coats  of  arms  and 
ancient  armor,  and  kingly  robes,  and  saints  with  glories 
about  their  heads,  and  Scriptural  people ; but  all  of  these, 
as  far  as  our  actual  perception  was  concerned,  quite 
colorless,  and  with  only  a cold  outline,  dimly  filled  up. 
Yet,  had  we  been  within  the  church,  and  had  the  sun- 
light been  streaming  through,  what  a warm,  rich,  gor- 
geous, roseate,  golden  life  would  these  figures  have 
showed ! 

In  the  churchyard,  close  upon  the  street,  so  that  its 
dust  must  be  continually  scattered  over  the  spot,  I saw 
a heavy  gray  tombstone,  with  a Latin  inscription,  pur- 
porting that  Bishop  Butler,  the  author  of  the  Analogy, 
in  his  lifetime  had  chosen  this  as  a burial-place  for 
himself  and  his  family.  There  is  a statue  of  him  with- 
in the  church.  From  the  top  of  the  spire  a man, 
above  a hundred  years  ago,  attempted  to  descend,  by 
means  of  a rope,  to  the  other  side  of  the  Severn  ; but 


SHREWSBURY. 


267 


1855.] 

the  rope  broke,  and  he  fell  in  his  midway  flight,  and 
was  killed.  It  was  an  undertaking  worthy  of  Sam 
Patch.  There  is  a record  of  the  fact  on  the  outside  of 
the  tower. 

I remember  nothing  more  that  we  saw  yesterday  ; 

but,  before  breakfast,  J and  I sallied  forth  again, 

and  inspected  the  gateway  and  interior  court  of  the 
Council  House,  — a very  interesting  place,  both  in  itself 
and  for  the  circumstances  connected  with  it,  it  having 
been  the  place  where  the  councillors  for  the  Welsh 
marches  used  to  reside  during  their  annual  meetings  ; 
and  Charles  the  First  also  lived  here  for  six  weeks  in 
1642.  James  II.  likewise  held  his  court  here  in  1687. 
The  house  was  originally  built  in  1501,  — that  is,  the 
Council  House  itself,  — the  gateway,  and  the  house 
through  which  it  passes,  being  of  as  late  date  as  1620. 
This  latter  is  a fine  old  house,  in  the  usual  style  of  tim- 
ber architecture,  with  the  timber  lines  marked  out,  and 
quaint  adornments  in  black  paint ; and  the  pillars  of 
the  gateway  which  passes  beneath  the  front  chamber 
are  of  curiously  carved  oak,  which  has  probably  stood 
the  action  of  English  atmosphere  better  than  marble 
would  have  done.  Passing  through  this  gateway,  we 
entered  a court,  and  saw  some  old  buildings  more  or  less 
modernized,  but  without  destroying  their  aged  state- 
liness, standing  round  three  sides  of  it,  with  arched  en- 
trances and  bow-windows,  and  windows  in  the  roofs, 
and  peaked  gables,  and  all  the  delightful  irregularity 
and  variety  that  these  houses  have,  and  which  make 
them  always  so  fresh,  — and  with  so  much  detail  that 
every  minute  you  see  something  heretofore  unseen.  It 
must  have  been  no  unfit  residence  for  a king  and  his 


268  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

court,  when  those  three  sides  of  the  square,  all  com- 
posing one  great  fantastic  house,  were  in  their  splen- 
dor. The  square  itself,  too,  must  have  been  a busy 
and  cheerful  scene,  thronged  with  attendants,  guests, 
horses,  &c. 

After  breakfast,  we  all  walked  out,  and,  crossing  the 
English  Bridge,  looked  at  the  Severn  over  its  parapet. 
The  river  is  here  broader  than  elsewhere,  and  very 
shallow,  and  has  an  island  covered  with  bushes,  about 
midway  across.  Just  over  the  bridge  we  saw  a church, 
of  red  freestone,  and  evidently  very  ancient.  This  is 
the  Church  of  the  Holy  Cross,  and  is  a portion  of  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  John,  which  formerly 
covered  ten  acres  of  ground.  We  did  not  have  time 
to  go  into  the  church ; but  the  windows  and  other 
points  of  architecture,  so  far  as  we  could  discern  them, 
and  knew  how  to  admire  them,  were  exceedingly  ven- 
erable and  beautiful.  On  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
over  a wide  space,  there  are  other  remains  of  the  old 
abbey  ; and  the  most  interesting  was  a stone  pulpit,  now 
standing  in  the  open  air,  seemingly  in  a garden, 
but  which  originally  stood  in  the  refectory  of  the  ab- 
bey, and  was  the  station  whence  one  of  the  monks  read 
to  his  brethren  at  their  meals.  The  pulpit  is  much 
overgrown  with  ivy.  We  should  have  made  further  re- 
searches among  these  remains,  though  they  seem  now 
to  be  in  private  grounds ; but  a large  mastiff  came  out 
of  his  kennel,  and,  approaching  us  to  the  length  of  his 
iron  chain,  began  barking  very  fiercely.  Nor  had  we 
time  to  see  half  that  we  would  gladly  have  seen  and 
studied  here  and  elsewhere  about  Shrewsbury.  It 
would  have  been  very  interesting  to  have  visited  Hot- 


1855.] 


SHREWSBURY. 


269 


spur's  and  Falstaff’s  battle-field,  which  is  four  mile? 
from  the  town  ; too  distant,  certainly,  for  Falstaff  to  have 
measured  the  length  of  the  fight  by  Shrewsbury  clock. 
There  is  now  a church,  built  there  by  Henry  IV.,  and 
said  to  cover  the  bones  of  those  slain  in  the  battle. 

Returning  into  the  town,  we  penetrated  some  narrow 
lanes,  where,  as  the  old  story  goes,  people  might  almost 
shake  hands  across  from  the  top  windows  of  the  opposite 
houses,  impending  towards  each  other.  Emerging  into 
a wider  street,  at  a spot  somewhat  more  elevated  than 
other  parts  of  the  town,  we  went  into  a shop  to  buy 
some  Royal  Shrewsbury  cakes,  which  we  had  seen  ad- 
vertised at  several  shop  windows.  They  are  a very 
rich  cake,  with  plenty  of  eggs,  sugar,  and  butter,  and 
very  little  flour. 

A small  public  building  of  stone,  of  modern  date, 
was  close  by ; and  asking  the  shop  woman  what  it  was, 
she  said  it  was  the  Butter  Cross,  or  market  for  butter, 
eggs,  and  poultry.  It  is  a remarkable  site,  for  here,  in 
ancient  times,  stood  a stone  cross,  where  heralds  used 
to  make  proclamation,  and  where  criminals  of  state 
used  to  be  executed.  David,  the  last  of  the  Welsh 
princes,  was  here  cruelly  put  to  death  by  Edward  I., 
and  many  noblemen  were  beheaded  on  this  spot,  after 
being  taken  prisoners  in  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury. 

I can  only  notice  one  other  memorable  place  in 
Shrewsbury,  and  that  is  the  Raven  Inn,  where  Farquhar 
wrote  his  comedy  of  “ The  Recruiting  Officer  ” in  1704. 
The  window  of  the  room  in  which  he  wrote  is  said  to 
look  into  the  inn  yard,  and  I went  through  the  arched 
entrance  to  see  if  I could  distinguish  it.  The  hostlers 
were  currying  horses  in  the  yard,  and  so  stared  at  me 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


that  I gave  but  the  merest  glance.  The  Shrewsbury 
inns  have  not  only  the  customary  names  of  English 
inns,  — as  the  Lion,  the  Stag,  — but  they  have  also  the 
carved  wooden  figures  of  the  object  named,  whereas,  in 
all  other  towns,  the  name  alone  remains. 

We  left  Shrewsbury  at  half  past  ten,  and  arrived  in 
London  at  about  four  in  the  afternoon. 

LONDON. 

September  1th.  — On  Wednesday,  just  before  dusk, 

J and  I walked  forth,  for  the  first  time,  in  London. 

Our  lodgings  are  in  George  Street,  Hanover  Square, 
No.  24  ; and  St.  George’s  Church,  where  so  many  mar- 
riages in  romance  and  in  fashionable  life  have  been 
celebrated,  is  a short  distance  below  our  house,  in  the 
same  street.  The  edifice  seems  to  be  of  white  marble, 
now  much  blackened  with  London  smoke,  and  has  a 
Grecian  pillared  portico.  In  the  square,  just  above  us, 
is  a statue  of  William  Pitt.  We  went  down  Bond 
Street,  and  part  of  Regent  Street,  just  estraying  a little 
way  from  our  temporary  nest,  and  taking  good  account 
of  landmarks  and  corners,  so  as  to  find  our  way  readily 
back  again.  It  is  long  since  I have  had  such  a childish 
feeling  ; but  all  that  I had  heard  and  felt  about  the 
vastness  of  London  made  it  seem  like  swimming  in  a 
boundless  ocean,  to  venture  one  step  beyond  the  only 
spot  I knew.  My  first  actual  impression  of  London  was 
of  stately  and  spacious  streets,  and  by  no  means  so 
dusky  and  grimy  as  I had  expected,  — not  merely  in 
the  streets  about  this  quarter  of  the  town,  which  is  the 
aristocratic  quarter,  but  in  all  the  streets  through  which 
we  had  passed  from  the  railway  station.  If  I had  not 


LONDON. 


271 


/8§5.] 

first  been  so  imbued  with  the  smoke  and  dinginess  of 
Liverpool*  I should  doubtless  have  seen  a stronger  con- 
trast betwixt  dusky  London  and  the  cheerful  glare  of 
our  American  cities.  There  are  no  red  bricks  here  ; 
all  are  of  a dark  hue,  and  whatever  of  stone  or  stucco 
has  been  white  soon  clothes  itself  in  mourning. 

Yesterday  forenoon  I went  out  alone,  and  plunged 
headlong  into  London,  and  wandered  about  all  day, 
without  any  particular  object  in  view,  but  only  to  lose 
myself  for  the  sake  of  finding  myself  unexpectedly 
among  things  that  I had  always  read  and  dreamed 
about.  The  plan  was  perfectly  successful,  for,  besides 
vague  and  unprofitable  wanderings,  I saw,  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  Hyde  Park,  Regent’s  Park,  Whitehall,  the 
two  new  Houses  of  Parliament,  Charing  Cross,  St. 
Paul’s,  the  Strand,  Fleet  Street,  Cheapside,  Whitechapel, 
Leadenhall  Street,  the  Haymarket,  and  a great  many 
other  places,  the  names  of  which  were  classic  in  my  mem- 
ory. I think  what  interests  me  most  here,  is  the  Lon- 
don of  the  writers  of  Queen  Anne’s  age,  — whatever 
Pope,  The  Spectator,  De  Foe,  and  down  as  late  as  John- 
son and  Goldsmith,  have  mentioned.  The  Monument, 
for  instance,  which  is  of  no  great  height  nor  beauty 
compared  with  that  on  Bunker  Hill,  charmed  me  pro- 
digiously. St.  Paul’s  appeared  to  me  unspeakably  grand 
and  noble,  and  the  more  so  from  the  throng  and  bustle 
continually  going  on  around  its  base,  without  in  the 
least  disturbing  the  sublime  repose  of  its  great  dome, 
and,  indeed,  of  all  its  massive  height  and  breadth. 
Other  edifices  may  crowd  close  to  its  foundation,  and 
people  may  tramp  as  they  like  about  it ; but  still  the 
great  cathedral  is  as  quiet  and  serene  as  if  it  stood  in 


272 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

the  middle  of  Salisbury  Plain.  There  cannot  be  any- 
thing else  in  its  way  so  good  in  the  world  as  just  this 
effect  of  St.  Paul’s  in  the  very  heart  and  densest  tu- 
mult of  London.  I do  not  know  whether  the  church  is 
built  of  marble,  or  of  whatever  other  white  or  nearly 
white  material  ; but  in  the  time  that  it  has  been 
standing  there,  it  has  grown  black  with  the  smoke  of 
ages,  through  which  there  are  nevertheless  gleams  of 
white,  that  make  a most  picturesque  impression  on  the 
whole.  It  is  much  better  than  staring  white  ; the  edi- 
fice would  not  be  nearly  so  grand  without  this  drapery 
of  black. 

I did  not  find  these  streets  of  the  old  city  so  narrow 
and  irregular  as  I expected.  All  the  principal  ones  are 
sufficiently  broad,  and  there  are  few  houses  that  look 
antique,  being,  I suppose,  generally  modern-fronted, 
when  not  actually  of  modern  substance.  There  is  little 
or  no  show  or  pretension  in  this  part  of  London  ; it  has 
a plain,  business  air,  — an  air  of  homely,  actual  life,  as  of 
a metropolis  of  tradesmen,  who  have  been  carrying  on 
their  traffic  here,  in  sober  earnest,  for  hundreds  of  years. 
You  observe  on  the  sign-boards,  “ Established  ninety 
years  in  Threadneedle  Street,”  “ Established  in  1709,” 

— denoting  long  pedigrees  of  silk-mercers  and  hosiers, 

— De  Foe’s  contemporaries  still  represented  by  their 
posterity,  who  handle  the  hereditary  yardstick  on  the 
same  spot. 

I must  not  forget  to  say  that  I crossed  the  Thames  over 
a bridge  which,  I think,  is  near  Charing  Cross.  After- 
wards, I found  my  way  to  London  Bridge,  where  there 
was  a delightful  density  of  throng.  The  Thames  is  not 
so  wide  and  majestic  as  I had  imagined,  — nothing  like 


LONDON. 


273 


1855.] 

the  Mersey,  for  example.  As  a picturesque  object, 
however,  flowing  through  the  midst  of  a city,  it  would 

lose  by  any  increase  of  width 

Omnibuses  are  a most  important  aid  to  wanderers 
about  London.  I reached  home,  well  wearied,  about 
six  o°clock.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  I had  seen  one 
person  whom  I knew,  — Mr.  Clarke,  to  whom  Henry 

B introduced  me,  when  we  went  to  see  the  great 

ship  launched  on  the  Dee.  This,  I believe,  was  in 
Regent  Street.  In  that  street,  too,  I saw  a company 
of  dragoons,  beautifully  mounted,  and  defensively  armed, 
in  brass  helmets  and  steel  cuirasses,  polished  to  the 
utmost  excess  of  splendor.  It  was  a pretty  sight.  At 
one  of  the  public  edifices,  on  each  side  of  the  portal, 
sat  a mounted  trooper  similarly  armed,  and  with  his 
carbine  resting  on  his  knee,  just  as  motionless  as  a 
statue.  This,  too,  as  a picturesque  circumstance,  was 
very  good,  and  really  made  an  impression  on  me  with 
respect  to  the  power  and  stability  of  the  government, 
though  I could  not  help  smiling  at  myself  for  it.  But 
then  the  thought,  that  for  generations  an  armed  war- 
rior has  always  sat  just  there,  on  his  war-steed,  and 
with  his  weapon  in  his  hand,  is  pleasant  to  the  imagi- 
nation,— although  it  is  questionable  whether  his  car- 
bine be  loaded ; and,  no  doubt,  if  the  authorities  had 
any  message  to  send,  they  would  choose  some  other 
messenger  than  this  heavy  dragoon,  — the  electric  wire, 
for  instance.  Still,  if  he  and  his  horse  were  to  be 
withdrawn  from  their  post,  night  or  day  (for  I suppose 
the  sentinels  are  on  duty  all  night),  it  seems  as  if 
the  monarchy  would  be  subverted,  and  the  English 
constitution  crumble  into  rubbish ; and,  in  honest  fact* 
12  * 


R 


274 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185.%. 

it  will  signify  something  like  that,  when  guard  is  re- 
lieved there  for  the  last  time* 

September  8^.  — Yesterday  forenoon  S , the  two 

eldest  children,  and  I went  forth  into  London  streets, 
and  proceeded  down  Regent  Street,  and  thence  to  St. 
James’s  Park,  at  the  entrance  of  which  is  a statue  of 
somebody,  — I forget  whom.  On  the  very  spacious 
gravel  walks,  covering  several  acres,  in  the  rear  of  the 
Horse  Guards,  some  soldiers  were  going  through  their 
exercise  ; and,  after  looking  at  them  awhile,  we  strolled 
through  the  Park,  alongside  of  a sheet  of  water,  in  which 
various  kinds  of  ducks,  geese,  and  rare  species  of  water- 
fowl  were  swimming.  There  was  one  swan  of  immense 
size,  which  moved  about  among  the  lesser  fowls  like  a 
stately,  full-rigged  ship  among  gunboats.  By  and  by 
we  found  ourselves  near  what  we  since  have  discovered 
to  be  Buckingham  Palace,  — a long  building,  in  the 
Italian  style,  but  of  no  impressiveness,  and  which  one 
soon  wearies  of  looking  at.  The  Queen  having  gone 
to  Scotland  the  day  before,  the  palace  now  looked 
deserted,  although  there  was  a one-horse  cab,  of  shabby 
aspect,  standing  at  the  principal  front,  where  doubtless 
the  carriages  of  princes  and  the  nobility  draw  up. 
There  is  a fountain  playing  before  the  palace,  and 
water-fowl  love  to  swim  under  its  perpetual  showers. 
These  ducks  and  geese  are  very  tame,  and  swim  to 
the  margin  of  the  pond  to  be  fed  by  visitors,  looking 
up  at  you  with  great  intelligence. 

S asked  a man  in  a sober  suit  of  livery  (of 

whom  we  saw  several  about  the  Park),  whose  were 
some  of  the  large  mansions  which  we  saw,  and  he 


LONDON. 


275 


1855.] 

pointed  out  Stafford  House,  the  residence  of  the  Duke 
of  Sutherland,  — a very  noble  edifice,  much  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  palace,  though  not  so  large ; also  the  house 
of  the  Earl  of  Ellesmere,  and  residences  of  other  noble- 
men. This  range  of  mansions,  along  the  park,  from 
the  spot  whence  we  viewed  them,  looks  very  much  like 
Beacon  Street,  in  Boston,  bordering  on  the  common, 
allowing  for  a considerable  enlargement  of  scale  in 
favor  of  the  Park  residences.  The  Park,  however,  has 
not  the  beautiful  elms  that  overshadow  Boston  Common, 
nor  such  a pleasant  undulation  of  surface,  nor  the  fine 
off-view  of  the  country,  like  that  across  Charles  River. 
I doubt  whether  London  can  show  so  delightful  a spot 
as  that  Common,  always  excepting  the  superiority  of 
English  lawns,  which,  however,  is  not  so  evident  in  the 
London  parks,  there  being  less  care  bestowed  on  the 
grass  than  I should  have  expected. 

From  this  place  we  wandered  into  what  I believe  to 
be  Hyde  Park,  attracted  by  a gigantic  figure  on  horse- 
back, which  loomed  up  in  the  distance.  The  effect  of 
this  enormous  steed  and  his  rider  is  very  grand,  seen 
in  the  misty  atmosphere.  I do  not  understand  why  we 
did  not  see  St.  James’s  Palace,  which  is  situated,  I be- 
lieve, at  the  extremity  of  the  same  range  of  mansions 
of  which  Stafford  House  is  the  opposite  end.  From 
the  entrance  of  Hyde  Park,  we  seem  to  have  gone 
along  Piccadilly,  and,  making  two  or  three  turns,  and 

getting  bewildered,  I put  S and  the  children  into 

a cab,  and  sent  them  home.  Continuing  my  wander- 
ings, I went  astray  among  squares  of  large  aristocratic- 
looking  edifices,  all  apparently  new,  with  no  shops 
among  them,  some  yet  unfinished,  and  the  whole  seem- 


276 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


ing  likv  a city  built  for  a colony  of  gentlefolks,  who 
might  be  expected  to  emigrate  thither  in  a body.  It 
was  a dreary  business  to  wander  there,  turning  corner 
after  corner,  and  finding  no  way  of  getting  into  a 
less  stately  and  more  genial  region.  At  last,  how- 
ever, I passed  in  front  of  the  Queen’s  Mews,  where 
sentinels  were  on  guard,  and  where  a jolly-looking  man, 
in  a splendidly  laced  ‘scarlet  coat  and  white-topped 
boots,  was  lounging  at  the  entrance.  He  looked  like 
the  prince  of  grooms  or  coachmen 

The  corner  of  Hyde  Park  was  within  a short  dis- 
tance, and  I took  a Hansom  at  the  cab-stand  there,  and 
drove  to  the  American  Despatch  Agency,  26  Henrietta 
Street,  Covent  Garden,  having  some  documents  of  State 
to  be  sent  by  to-day’s  steamer.  The  business  of  for- 
warding despatches  to  America,  and  distributing  them 
to  the  various  legations  and  consulates  in  Europe,  must 
be  a pretty  extensive  one ; for  Mr.  Miller  has  a large 
office,  and  two  clerks  in  attendance. 

From  this  point  I went  through  Covent  Garden 
Market,  and  got  astray  in  the  city,  so  that  I can  give  no 
clear  account  of  my  afternoon’s  wanderings.  I passed 
through  Holborn,  however,  and  I think  it  was  from 
that  street  that  I passed  through  an  archway  (which  I 
almost  invariably  do,  when  I see  one),  and  found  myself 
in  a very  spacious,  gravelled  square,  surrounded  on  the 
four  sides  by  a continuous  edifice  of  dark  brick,  very 
plain,  and  of  cold  and  stern  aspect.  This  was  Gray’s 
Inn,  all  tenanted  by  a multitude  of  lawyers.  Passing 
thence,  I saw  “ Furnival’s  Inn”  over  another  archway, 
but,  being  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  I did  not  go 
thither.  In  Holborn,  still,  I went  through  another 


LONDON. 


277 


IS  55.  J 

arched  entrance,  over  which  was  u Staples  Inn,”  and 
here  likewise  seemed  to  be  offices ; but,  in  a court 
opening  inwards  from  this,  there  was  a surrounding  se- 
clusion of  quiet  dwelling-houses,  with  beautiful  green 
shrubbery  and  grass-plots  in  the  court,  and  a great 
many  sunflowers  in  full  bloom.  The  windows  were 
open  ; it  was  a lovely  summer  afternoon,  and  I have  a 
sense  that  bees  were  humming  in  the  court,  though  this 
may  have  been  suggested  by  my  fancy,  because  the 
sound  would  have  been  so  well  suited  to  the  scene.  A 
boy  was  reading  at  one  of  the  windows.  There  was 
not  a quieter  spot  in  England  than  this,  and  it  was  very 
strange  to  have  drifted  into  it  so  suddenly  out  of  the 
bustle  and  rumble  of  Holborn ; and  to  lose  all  this  re- 
pose as  suddenly,  on  passing  through  the  arch  of  the 
outer  court.  In  all  the  hundreds  of  years  since  London 
was  built,  it  has  not  been  able  to  sweep  its  roaring  tide 
over  that  little  island  of  quiet.  In  Holborn  I saw  the 
most  antique-looking  houses  that  I have  yet  met  with 
in  London,  but  none  of  very  remarkable  aspect. 

I think  I must  have  been  under  a spell  of  enchant- 
ment to-day,  connecting  me  with  St.  Paul's  ; for,  trying 
to  get  away  from  it  by  various  avenues,  I still  got  be- 
wildered, and  again  and  again  saw  its  great  dome  and 
pinnacles  before  me.  I observe  that  the  smoke  has 
chiefly  settled  on  the  lower  part  of  the  edifice,  leaving 
its  loftier  portions  and  its  spires  much  less  begrimed. 
It  is  very  beautiful,  very  rich.  I did  not  think  that 
anything  but  Gothic  architecture  could  so  have  inter- 
ested me.  The  statues,  the  niches,  the  embroidery,  as 
it  were,  of  sculpture  traced  around  it,  produced  a de- 
lightful effect.  In  front  of  St.  Paul’s  there  is  a statue 


278 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855, 

of  Queen  Anne,  which  looks  rather  more  majestic,  1 
doubt  not,  than  that  fat  old  dame  ever  did.  St.  Paul’s 
churchyard  had  always  been  a place  of  immense  interest 
in  my  imagination.  It  is  merely  the  not  very  spacious 
street,  running  round  the  base  of  the  church,  — at  least, 
this  street  is  included  in  the  churchyard,  together  with 
the  enclosure  immediately  about  the  church,  sowed  with 
tombstones.  I meant  to  look  for  the  children’s  book- 
shop, but  forgot  it,  or  neglected  it,  from  not  feeling  so 
much  interest  in  a thing  near  at  hand  as  when  it 
seemed  unattainable. 

I watched  a man  tearing  down  the  brick  wall  of  a 
house  that  did  not  appear  very  old ; but  it  surprised 
me  to  see  how  crumbly  the  brick-work  was,  one  stroke 
of  his  pick  often  loosening  several  bricks  in  a row.  It 
is  my  opinion  that  brick  houses,  after  a moderate  term 
of  years,  stand  more  by  habit  and  courtesy  than  through 
any  adhesive  force  of  the  old  mortar. 

I recommenced  my  wanderings ; but  I remember 
nothing  else  particularly  claiming  to  be  mentioned, 
unless  it  be  Paternoster  Row,  — a little,  narrow,  dark- 
some lane,  in  which,  it  being  now  dusk  in  that  density 
of  the  city,  I could  not  very  well  see  what  signs  were 
over  the  doors.  In  this  street,  or  thereabouts,  I got 
into  an  omnibus,  and,  being  set  down  near  Regent’s 
Circus,  reached  home  well  wearied. 

September  9 th.  — Yesterday,  having  some  tickets  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens,  we  went  thither  with  the  two 
eldest  children.  It  was  a most  beautiful  sunny  day,  the 
very  perfection  of  English  weather,  — which  is  as  much 


LONDON. 


279 


1855.] 

as  to  say,  the  best  weather  in  the  world,  except,  per- 
haps* some  few  days  in  an  American  October.  These 
gardens  are  at  the  end  of  Regent’s  Park,  farthest  from 
London,  and  they  are  very  extensive ; though,  I think, 
not  quite  worthy  of  London,  — not  so  good  as  one  would 
expect  them  to  be,  — not  so  fine  and  perfect  a collection 
of  beasts,  birds,  and  fishes  as  one  might  fairly  look  for, 
when  the  greatest  metropolis  of  the  world  sets  out  to 
have  such  a collection  at  all.  My  idea  was,  that  here 
every  living  thing  was  provided  for,  in  the  way  best 
suited  to  its  nature  and  habits*  and  that  the  refinement 
of  civilization  had  here  restored  a garden  of  Eden, 
where  all  the  animal  kingdom  had  regained  a happy 
home.  This  is  not  quite  the  case  ; though,  I believe, 
the  creatures  are  as  comfortable  as  could  be  expected, 
and  there  are  certainly  a good  many  strange  beasts  here. 
The  hippopotamus  is  the  chief  treasure  of  the  collec- 
tion, — an  immense,  almost  misshapen,  mass  of  flesh.  At 
this  moment  I do  not  remember  anything  that  inter- 
ested me  except  a sick  monkey,  — a very  large  mon- 
key, and  elderly  he  seemed  to  be.  His  keeper  brought 
him  some  sweetened  apple  and  water,  and  some  tea; 
for  the  monkey  had  quite  lost  his  appetite,  and  refused 
all  ordinary  diet.  He  came,  however,  quite  eagerly, 
and  smelt  of  the  tea  and  apple,  the  keeper  exhorting  him 
very  tenderly  to  eat.  But  the  poor  monkey  shook  his 
head  slowly,  and  with  the  most  pitiable  expression,  at 
the  same  time  extending  his  hand  to  take  the  keeper’s, 
as  if  claiming  his  sympathy  and  friendship.  By  and 
by  the  keeper  (who  is  rather  a surly  fellow)  essayed 
harsher  measures,  and  insisted  that  the  monkey  should 
eat  what  had  been  brought  for  him,  and  hereupon  en* 


280 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

sued  somewhat  of  a struggle,  and  the  tea  was  overturned 
upon  the  straw  of  the  bed.  Then  the  keeper  scolded 
him,  and,  seizing  him  by  one  arm,  drew  him  out  of  his 
little  bedroom  into  the  larger  cage,  upon  which  the 
wronged  monkey  began  a loud,  dissonant,  reproachful 
chatter,  more  expressive  of  a sense  of  injury  than  any 
words  could  be. 

Observing  the  spectators  in  front  of  the  cage,  he 
seemed  to  appeal  to  them,  and  addressed  his  chatter 
thitherward,  and  stretched  out  his  long,  lean  arm  and 
black  hand  between  the  bars,  as  if  claiming  the  grasp 
of  any  one  friend  he  might  have  in  the  whole  world. 
He  was  placable,  however  ; for  when  the  keeper  called 
him  in  a gentler  tone,  he  hobbled  towards  him  with  a 
very  stiff  and  rusty  movement,  and  the  scene  closed 
with  their  affectionately  hugging  one  another.  But  I 
fear  the  poor  monkey  will  die.  In  a future  state  of 
being,  I think  it  will  be  one  of  my  inquiries,  in  reference 
to  the  mysteries  of  the  present  state,  why  monkeys  were 
made.  The  Creator  could  not  surely  have  meant  to 
ridicule  his  own  work.  It  might  rather  be  fancied  that 
Satan  had  perpetrated  monkeys,  with  a malicious  purpose 
of  parodying  the  masterpiece  of  creation  ! 

The  Aquarium,  containing,  in  some  of  its  compart- 
ments, specimens  of  the  animal  and  vegetable  life  of  the 
sea,  and,  in  others,  those  of  the  fresh  water,  was  richly 
worth  inspecting  ; but  not  nearly  so  perfect  as  it  might 
be.  Now  I think  we  have  a right  to  claim,  in  a metro- 
politan establishment  of  this  kind,  in  all  its  departments, 
a degree  of  perfection  that  shall  quite  outdo  the  un- 
practised thought  of  any  man  on  that  particular  sub- 
ject. 


LONDON. 


281 


1855.] 

There  were  a good  many  well-dressed  people  and 
children  in  the  garden,  Saturday  being  a fashionable 
day  for  visiting  them.  One  great  amusement  was  feed- 
ing some  bears  with  biscuits  and  cakes,  of  which  they 
seemed  exceedingly  fond.  One  of  the  three  bears 
clambered  to  the  top  of  a high  pole,  whence  he  invited 
the  spectators  to  hand  him  bits  of  cake  on  the  end  of  a 
stick,  or  to  toss  them  into  his  mouth,  which  he  opened 
widely  for  that  purpose.  Another,  apparently  an  elder- 
ly bear,  not  having  skill  nor  agility  for  these  gymnas- 
tics, sat  on  the  ground,  on  his  hinder  end,  groaning 
most  pitifully.  The  third  took  what  stray  bits  he  could 
get,  without  earning  them  by  any  antics. 

At  four  o’clock  there  was  some  music  from  the  band 
of  the  First  Life-Guards,  a great  multitude  of  chairs 
being  set  on  the  greensward  in  the  sunshine  and  shade, 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  auditors.  Here  we  had 
the  usual  exhibition  of  English  beauty,  neither  superior 
nor  otherwise  to  what  I have  seen  in  other  parts  of 
England.  Before  the  music  was  over,  we  walked  slow- 
ly homeward,  along  beside  Regent’s  Park,  which  is 
very  prettily  laid  out,  but  lacks  some  last  touch  of  rich- 
ness and  beauty ; though,  after  all,  I do  not  well  see 
what  more  could  be  done  with  grass,  trees,  and  gravel 

walks.  The  children,  especially  J , who  had  raced 

from  one  thing  to  another  all  day  long,  grew  tired  ; so 
we  put  them  into  a cab,  and  walked  slowly  through 
Portland  Place,  where  are  a great  many  noble  man- 
sions, yet  no  very  admirable  architecture  ; none  that 
possessed,  nor  that  ever  can  possess,  the  indefinable 
charm  of  some  of  those  poor  old  timber  houses  in 
Shrewsbury.  The  art  of  domestic  architecture  is  lost. 


282 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855,. 

We  can  rear  stately  and  beautiful  dwellings  (though 
we  seldom  do),  but  they  do  not  seem  proper  to  the  life 
of  man,  in  the  same  way  that  his  shell  is  proper  to  the 
lobster ; nor,  indeed,  is  the  mansion  of  the  nobleman 
proper  to  him,  in  the  same  kind  and  degree,  that  a hut 
is  proper  to  a peasant. 

From  Portland  Place  we  passed  into  Regent  Street, 
and  soon  reached  home. 

September  10 th.  — Yesterday  forenoon  we  walked 
out  with  the  children, intending  for  Charing  Cross;  but, 
missing  our  way,  as  usual,  we  went  down  a rather  wide 
and  stately  street,  and  saw  before  us  an  old  brick  edifice 
with  a pretty  extensive  front,  over  which  rose  a clock- 
tower,  — the  whole  dingy,  and  looking  both  gloomy  and 
mean.  There  was  an  arched  entrance  beneath  the 
clock-tower,  at  which  two  Guardsmen,  in  their  bear- 
skin caps,  were  stationed  as  sentinels  ; and  from  this 
circumstance,  and  our  having  some  guess  at  the  locality, 
we  concluded  the  old  brick  building  to  be  St.  James’s 
Palace.  Otherwise  we  might  have  taken  it  for  a 
prison,  or  for  a hospital,  which,  in  truth,  it  was  at  first 
intended  for.  But,  certainly,  there  are  many  paupers 
in  England  -who  live  in  edifices  of  far  more  architec- 
tural pretension  externally  than  this  principal  palace 
of  the  English  sovereigns. 

Seeing  other  people  go  through  the  archway,  we  also 
went,  meeting  no  impediment  from  the  sentinels,  and 
found  ourselves  in  a large  paved  court,  in  the  centre  of 
which  a banner  was  stuck  down,  with  a few  soldiers 
standing  near  it.  This  flag  was  the  banner  of  the  re- 
giment of  guards  on  duty.  The  aspect  of  the  interior 


LONDON. 


283 


£855.] 

court  was  as  naked  and  dismal  as  the  outside,  the  brick 
being  of  that  dark  hue  almost  universal  in  England. 
On  one  side  of  the  court  there  was  a door  which  seemed 
to  give  admission  to  a chapel,  into  which  several  persons 
went,  and  probably  we  might  have  gone  too,  had  we 
liked.  From  this  court,  we  penetrated  into  at  least  two 
or  three  others ; for  the  palace  is  very  extensive,  and 
all  of  it,  so  far  as  I could  see,  on  the  same  pattern,  — 
large,  enclosed  courts,  paved,  and  quite  bare  of  grass, 
shrubbery,  or  any  beautiful  thing,  — dark,  stern,  brick 
walls,  without  the  slightest  show  of  architectural  beauty, 
or  even  an  ornament  over  the  square,  common-place 
windows,  looking  down  on  those  forlorn  courts.  A 
carriage  drive  passes  through  it,  if  I remember  aright, 
from  the  principal  front,  emerging  by  one  of  the  sides ; 
and  I suppose  that  the  carriages  roll  through  the 
palace,  at  the  levees  and  drawing-rooms.  There  was 
nothing  to  detain  us  here  any  long  time,  so  we  went 
from  court  to  court,  and  came  out  through  a side  open- 
ing. The  edifice  is  battlemented  all  round,  and  this, 
with  somewhat  of  fantastic  in  the  shape  of  the  clock- 
tower,  is  the  only  attempt  at  ornament  in  the  whole. 

Then  we  skirted  along  St.  James’s  Park,  passing 
Marlborough  House,  — a red  brick  building,  — and  a 
very  long  range  of  stone  edifices,  which,  whether 
they  were  public  or  private,  one  house  or  twenty,  we 
knew  not.  We  ascended  the  steps  of  the  York  column, 
and  soon  reached  Charing  Cross  and  Trafalgar  Square, 
where  there  are  more  architectural  monuments  than  in 
any  other  one  place  in  London  ; besides  two  fountains, 
playing  in  large  reservoirs  of  water,  and  various  edifices 
of  note  and  interest. 


284 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855 


Northumberland  House,  now,  and  for  a long  while, 
the  town  residence  of  the  Percys,  stands  on  the  Strand 
side,  — over  the  entrance  a lion,  very  spiritedly  sculp- 
tured, flinging  out  his  long  tail.  On  another  side  of  the 
square  is  Morley’s  Hotel,  exceedingly  spacious,  and 
looking  more  American  than  anything  else  in  the  hotel 
line  that  I have  seen  here. 

The  Nelson  monument,  with  Lord  Nelson,  in  a 
cocked  hat,  on  its  top,  is  very  grand  in  its  effect.  All 
pbout  the  square  there  were  sundry  loungers,  people 
booking  at  the  bas-reliefs  on  Nelson's  Column,  children 
paddling  in  the  reservoirs  of  the  fountains ; and,  it 
being  a sunny  day,  it  was  a cheerful  and  lightsome,  as 
well  as  an  impressive  scene.  On  second  thoughts,  I do 
not  know  but  that  London  should  have  a far  better  dis- 
play of  architecture  and  sculpture  than  this,  on  its  finest 
site,  and  in  its  very  centre  ; for,  after  all,  there  is  noth- 
/ng  of  the  very  best.  But  I missed  nothing  .at  the 
/ime. 

In  the  afternoon  S and  I set  out  to  attend 

,rivine  service  in  Westminster  Abbey.  On  our  way 
Jiitner  we  passed  through  Pall  Mall,  which  is  full  of 
^lub-houses,  and  we  were  much  struck  with  the  beauty 
of  the  one  lately  erected  for  the  Carleton  Club.  It  is 
built  of  a burf-colored  or  yellowish  stone,  with  pillars  or 
pilasters  of  polished  Aberdeen  granite,  wonderfully  rich 
and  beautiful  ; and  there  is  a running  border  of  sculp- 
tured figures  all  round  the  upper  part  of  the  build- 
ing, besides  other  ornament  and  embroidery,  wherever 
there  was  room  or  occasion  for  it.  It  being  an  oblong 
square,  the  smooth  and  polished  aspect  in  this  union  of 
two  rich  colors  in  it  — this  delicacy  and  minuteness  of 


LONDON. 


285 


/855.J 

finish,  this  lavish  ornament  — made  me  think  of  a lady’s 
jewel-box  ; and  if  it  could  be  reduced  to  the  size  of 
about  a foot  square,  or  less,  it  would  make  the  very 
prettiest  one  that  ever  was  seen.  I question  whether  it 
have  any  right  to  be  larger  than  a jewel-box  ; but  it  is 
certainly  a most  beautiful  edifice.  We  turned  down 
Whitehall,  at  the  head  of  which,  over  the  very  spot 
where  the  Regicides  were  executed,  stands  the  bronze 
equestrian  statue  of  Charles  I.,  — the  statue  that  was 
buried  under  the  earth  during  the  whole  of  Cromwell’s 
time,  and  emerged  after  the  Restoration.  We  saw  the 
Admiralty  and  the  Horse-Guards,  and,  in  front  of  the 
latter,  the  two  mounted  sentinels,  one  of  whom  was  flirt- 
ing and  laughing  with  some  girls.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  street  stands  the  Banqueting- House,  built  by  Inigo 
Jones ; from  a window  of  which  King  Charles  stepped 
forth,  wearing  a kingly  head,  which,  within  a few  min- 
utes afterwards,  fell  with  a dead  thump  on  the  scaffold. 
It  was  nobly  done,  — and  nobly  suffered.  How  rich 
is  history  in  the  little  space  around  this  spot ! 

I find  that  the  day  after  I reached  London,  I entirely 
passed  by  Westminster  Abbey  without  knowing  it, 
partly  because  my  eyes  were  attracted  by  the  gaudier 
show  of  the  new  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  partly  be- 
cause this  part  of  the  Abbey  has  been  so  much  repaired 
and  renewed  that  it  has  not  the  marks  of  age.  Look- 
ing at  its  front,  I now  found  it  very  grand  and  vener- 
able ; but  it  is  useless  to  attempt  a description : these 
things  are  not  to  be  translated  into  words  ; they  can  be 
known  only  by  seeing  them,  and,  until  seen,  it  is  well 
to  shape  out  no  idea  of  them.  Impressions,  states  of 
mind,  produced  by  noble  spectacles  of  whatever  kind, 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


286 


[1855. 


are  all  that  it  seems  worth  while  to  attempt  reproduc- 
ing with  the  pen. 

After  coming  out  of  the  Abbey,  we  looked  at  the  two 
Houses  of  Parliament,  directly  across  the  way,  — an  im- 
mense structure,  and  certainly  most  splendid,  built  of  a 
beautiful  warm-colored  stone.  The  building  has  a very 
elaborate  finish,  and  delighted  me  at  first ; but  by  and 
by  I began  to  be  sensible  of  a weariness  in  the  effect, 
a lack  of  variety  in  the  plan  and  ornament,  a deficiency 
of  invention  ; so  that  instead  of  being  more  and  more 
interested  the  longer  one  looks,  as  is  the  case  with  an 
old  Gothic  edifice,  and  continually  reading  deeper  into 
it,  one  finds  that  one  has  seen  all  in  seeing  a little  piece, 
and  that  the  magnificent  palace  has  nothing  better  to 
show  one  or  to  do  for  one.  It  is  wonderful  how  the 
old  weather-stained,  and  smoke-blackened  Abbey  shames 
down  this  brand-newness ; not  that  the  Parliament 
houses  are  not  fine  objects  to  look  at,  too. 

Yesterday  morning  we  walked  to  Charing  Cross, 

with  U and  J , and  there  took  a cab  to  the 

Tower,  driving  thither  through  the  Strand,  Fleet  Street, 
past  St.  Paul’s,  and  amid  all  the  thickest  throng  of  the 
city.  I have  not  a very  distinct  idea  of  the  Tower,  but 
remember  that  our  cab  drove  within  an  outer  gate, 
where  we  alighted  at  a ticket-office  : the  old  royal  for- 
tress being  now  a regular  show-place,  at  sixpence  a 
head,  including  the  sight  of  armory  and  crown-jewels. 
We  saw  about  the  gate  several  warders  or  yeomen  of 
the  guard,  or  beef-eaters,  dressed  in  scarlet  coats  of  an- 
tique fashion,  richly  embroidered  with  golden  crowns, 
both  on  the  breast  and  back,  and  other  royal  devices 
and  insignia  ; so  that  they  looked  very  much  like  the  kings 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


287 


on  a pack  of  cards,  or  regular  trumps,  at  all  events.  I 
believe  they  are  old  soldiers,  promoted  to  this  position 
for  good  conduct.  One  of  them  took  charge  of  us,  and 
when  a sufficient  number  of  visitors  had  collected  with 
us,  he  led  us  to  see  what  very  small  portion  of  the 
Tower  is  shown. 

There  is  a great  deal  of  ground  within  the  outer  pre- 
cincts ; and  it  has  streets  and  houses  and  inhabitants 
and  a church  within  it ; and,  going  up  and  down  behind 
the  warder,  without  any  freedom  to  get  acquainted  with 
the  place  by  strolling  about,  I know  little  more  about  it 
than  when  I went  in,  — only  recollecting  a mean  and 
disagreeable  confusion  of  brick  walls,  barracks,  paved 
courts,  with  here  and  there  a low  bulky  turret,  of  rather 
antique  aspect,  and,  in  front  of  one  of  the  edifices,  a 
range  of  curious  old  cannon,  lying  on  the  ground,  some 
of  them  immensely  large  and  long,  and  beautifully 
wrought  in  brass.  I observe  by  a plan,  however,  that 
the  White  Tower,  containing  the  armory,  stands  about 
in  the  centre  of  the  Fortress,  and  that  it  is  a square, 
battlemented  structure,  having  a turret  at  each  angle. 
We  followed  the  warder  into  the  White  Tower,  and 
there  saw,  in  the  first  place,  a long  gallery  of  mounted 
knights,  and  men  at  arms,  which  has  been  so  often  de- 
scribed that  when  I wish  to  recall  it  to  memory  I shall 
turn  to  some  other  person’s  account  of  it.  I was  much 
struck,  however,  with  the  beautiful  execution  of  a good 
many  of  the  suits  of  armor,  and  the  exquisite  detail  with 
which  they  were  engraved.  The  artists  of  those  days 
attained  very  great  skill  in  this  kind  of  manufacture. 
The  figures  of  the  knights,  too,  in  full  array,  undoubt' 
edly  may  have  shown  a combination  of  stateliness  and 


288  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

grace  which  heretofore  I have  not  believed  in,  — not 
seeing  how  it  could  be  compatible  with  iron  garments. 
But  it  is  quite  incomprehensible  how,  in  the  time  of  the 
heaviest  armor,  they  could  strike  a blow,  or  possess  any 
freedom  of  movement,  except  such  as  a turtle  is  capa- 
ble of ; and,  in  truth,  they  are  said  not  to  have  been  able 
to  rise  up  when  overthrown.  They  probably  stuck  out 
their  lances,  and  rode  straight  at  the  enemy,  depending 
upon  upsetting  him  by  their  mass  and  weight.  In  the 
row  of  knights  is  Henry  VIII. ; also  Charles  Brandon, 
Duke  of  Suffolk,  who  must  have  been  an  immensely 
bulky  man  ; also,  a splendid  suit  of  armor,  gilded  all  over, 
presented  by  the  city  of  London  to  Charles  I. ; also,  two 
or  three  suits  of  boys’  armor,  for  the  little  princes  of  the 
House  of  Stuart.  They  began  to  wear  these  burdens 
betimes,  in  order  that  their  manhood  might  be  the  more 
tolerant  of  them.  We  went  through  this  gallery  so  has- 
tily that  it  would  have  been  about  as  well  not  to  have 
seen  it  at  all. 

Then  we  went  up  a winding  stair  to  another  room, 
containing  armor  and  weapons,  and  beautiful  brass  can- 
non, that  appeared  to  have  been  for  ornament  rather 
than  use,  some  of  them  being  quite  covered  with  em- 
bossed sculpture,  marvellously  well  wrought.  In  this 
room  was  John  of  Gaunt’s  suit,  indicating  a man  seven 
feet  high,  and  the  armor  seems  to  bear  the  marks  of 
much  wear ; but  this  may  be  owing  to  great  scrubbing, 
throughout  the  centuries  since  John  of  Gaunt  died. 
There,  too,  we  saw  the  cloak  in  which  Wolfe  fell,  on 
the  Plains  of  Abraham,  — a coarse,  faded,  threadbare, 
light-colored  garment,  folded  up  under  a glass  case. 
Many  other  things  we  might  have  seen,  worthy  of  be- 
ing attended  to,  had  there  been  time  to  look  at  them. 


LONDON. 


289 


1855.  J 

Following  into  still  another  room,  we  were  told  that 
this  was  Sir  Walter  Raleigh’s  apartment,  while  confined 
in  the  Tower,  so  that  it  was  within  these  walls  that  he 
wrote  the  History  of  the  World.  The  room  was  for- 
merly lighted  by  lancet  windows,  and  must  have  been 
very  gloomy ; but,  if  he  had  the  whole  length  of  it  to 
himself,  it  was  a good  space  to  walk  and  meditate  in. 
On  one  side  of  the  apartment  is  a low  door,  giving  ad- 
mittance, we  were  told,  to  the  cell  where  Raleigh  slept ; 
so  we  went  in,  and  found  it  destitute  of  any  window,  and 
so  dark  that  we  could  not  estimate  its  small  extent  ex- 
cept by  feeling  about.  At  the  threshold  of  this  sleeping- 
kennel,  there  were  one  or  two  inscriptions,  scratched  in 
the  wall,  but  not,  I believe,  by  Raleigh. 

In  this  apartment,  among  a great  many  other  curious 
things,  are  shown  the  devilish  instruments  of  torture 
which  the  Spaniards  were  bringing  to  England  in  their 
Armada  ; and,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  sits  Queen  Eliza- 
beth on  horseback,  in  her  high  ruff  and  faded  finery. 
Very  likely  none  of  these  clothes  were  ever  on  her  act- 
ual person.  Here,  too,  we  saw  a headsman’s  block,  — 
not  that  on  which  Raleigh  was  beheaded,  which  I would 
have  given  gold  to  see,  but  the  one  which  was  used 
for  the  Scotch  Lords  Kilmarnock,  Lovat,  and  others,  ex- 
ecuted on  account  of  the  Rebellion  of  1745.  It  is  a 
block  of  oak,  about  two  feet  high,  with  a large  knot  in 
it,  so  that  it  would  not  easily  be  split  by  a blow  of  the 
axe  ; hewn  and  smoothed  in  a very  workmanlike  way, 
and  with  a hollow  to  accommodate  the  head  and  shoul- 
ders on  each  side.  There  were  two  or  three  very 
strong  marks  of  the  axe  in  the  part  over  which  the 
neck  lay,  and  several  smaller  cuts  ; as  if  the  first  stroke 
IS  s 


TOL.  I. 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


290 

nearly  severed  the  head,  and  then  the  chopping  off  was 
finished  by  smaller  blows,  as  we  see  a butcher  cutting 
meat  with  his  cleaver.  A headsman’s  axe  was  likewise 
shown  us, — its  date  unknown. 

In  the  White  Tower  we  were  shown  the  Regalia, 
under  a glass,  and  within  an  iron  cage.  Edward  the 
Confessor’s  golden  staff  was  very  finely  wrought ; and 
there  were  a great  many  pretty  things  ; but  I have  a 
suspicion,  I know  not  why,  that  these  are  not  the  real 
jewels,  — at  least,  that  such  inestimable  ones  as  the 
Koh-i-noor  (or  however  it  is  spelt)  are  less  freely  ex- 
hibited. 

The  warder  then  led  us  into  a paved  court,  which  he 
said  was  the  place  of  execution  of  all  royal  personages 
and  others,  who,  from  motives  of  fear  or  favor,  were  be- 
headed privately.  Raleigh  was  among  these,  and  so  was 
Anne  Boleyn.  We  then  followed  to  the  Beauchamp 
Tower,  where  many  state  prisoners  of  note  were  con- 
fined, and  where,  on  the  walls  of  one  of  the  chambers, 
there  are  several  inscriptions  and  sculptures  of  various 
devices,  done  by  the  prisoners, — and  very  skilfully  done, 
too,  though  perhaps  with  no  better  instrument  than  an 
old  nail.  These  poor  wretches  had  time  and  leisure 
enough  to  spend  upon  their  work.  This  chamber  is 
lighted  by  small  lancet  windows,  pierced  at  equal  inter- 
vals round  the  circle  of  the  Beauchamp  Tower ; and  it 
contains  a large,  square  fireplace,  in  which  is  now 
placed  a small  modern  stove.  We  were  hurried  away, 
before  we  could  even  glance  at  the  inscriptions,  and  we 
saw  nothing  else,  except  the  low,  obscure  doorway  in  the 
Bloody  Tower,  leading  to  the  staircase,  under  which 
were  found  the  supposed  bones  of  the  little  princes; 


LONDON. 


291 


1855.] 

and  lastly,  the  round,  Norman  arch,  opening  to  the 
water  passage,  called  the  Traitor’s  Gate.  Finally,  we 
ate  some  cakes  and  buns  in  the  refreshment-room  con- 
nected with  the  ticket-office,  and  then  left  the  Fortress. 
The  ancient  moat,  by  the  way,  has  been  drained  within 
a few  years,  and  now  forms  a great  hollow  space,  with 
grassy  banks,  round  about  the  citadel. 

We  now  wished  to  see  the  Thames,  and  therefore 
threaded  our  way  along  Thames  Street,  towards  Lon- 
don Bridge,  passing  through  a fish-market,  which  I 
suppose  to  be  the  actual  Billingsgate,  whence  origi- 
nated all  the  foul  language  in  England.  Under  London 
Bridge  there  is  a station  for  steamers  running  to 
Greenwich  and  Woolwich.  We  got  on  board  one  of 
these,  not  very  well  knowing,  nor  much  caring,  whither 
it  might  take  us,  and  steamed  down  the  river,  which  is 
bordered  with  the  shabbiest,  blackest,  ugliest,  meanest 
buildings : it  is  the  back  side  of  the  town  ; and,  in  truth, 
the  muddy  tide  of  the  Thames  deserves  to  see  no  better. 
There  was  a great  deal  of  shipping  in  the  river,  and 
many  steamers,  and  it  was  much  more  crowded  than 
the  Mersey,  where  all  the  ships  go  into  docks  ; but  the 
vessels  were  not  so  fine.  By  and  by  we  reached 
Greenwich,  and  went  ashore  there,  proceeding  up  from 
the  quay,  past  beer-shops  and  eating-houses  in  great 
numbers  and  variety.  Greenwich  Hospital  is  here  a 
very  prominent  object,  and  after  passing  along  its  ex- 
tensive front,  facing  towards  the  river,  we  entered  one 
of  the  principal  gates,  as  we  found  ourselves  free  to  do. 

We  now  left  the  hospital,  and  steamed  back  to  Lon- 
don Bridge,  whence  we  went  up  into  the  city,  and,  te 


292  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

finish  the  labors  of  the  day,  ascended  the  Monument. 
This  seems  to  be  still  a favorite  adventure  with  the 
cockneys ; for  we  heard  one  woman,  who  went  up  with 
us,  saying  that  she  had  been  thinking  of  going  up  all 
her  life,  and  another  said  that  she  had  gone  up  thirty 
years  ago.  There  is  an  iron  railing,  or  rather  a cage, 
round  the  top,  through  which  it  would  be  impossible 
for  people  to  force  their  way,  in  order  to  precipitate 
themselves,  as  six  persons  have  heretofore  done.  There 
was  a mist  over  London,  so  that  we  did  not  gain  a 
very  clear  view,  except  of  the  swarms  of  people  run- 
ning about,  like  ants,  in  the  streets  at  the  foot  of  the 
Monument. 

Descending,  I put  S— and  the  children  into  a cab, 

and  I myself  wandered  about  the  city.  Passing  along 
Fleet  Street,  I turned  in  through  an  archway,  which  I 
rightly  guessed  to  be  the  entrance  to  the  Temple.  It  is 
a very  large  space,  containing  many  large,  solemn,  and 
serious  edifices  of  dark  brick,  and  no  sooner  do  you 
pass  under  the  arch  than  all  the  rumble  and  bustle  of 
London  dies  away  at  once ; and  it  seems  as  if  a person 
might  live  there  in  perfect  quiet,  without  suspecting 
that  it  was  not  always  a Sabbath.  People  appear  to 
have  their  separate  residences  here ; but  I do  not 
understand  what  is  the  economy  of  their  lives.  Quite 
in  the  deepest  interior  of  this  region,  there  is  a large 
garden,  bordering  on  the  Thames,  along  which  it  has  a 
gravel  walk,  and  benches  where  it  would  be  pleasant 
to  sit.  On  one  edge  of  the  garden,  there  is  some 
scanty  shrubbery,  and  flowers  of  no  great  brilliancy ; 
and  the  greensward,  with  which  the  garden  is  mostly 
covered,  is  not  particularly  rich  nor  verdant. 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


293 


Emerging  from  the  Temple,  I stopped  at  a tavern  in 
the  Strand,  the  waiter  of  which  observed  to  me,  “ They 
say  Sebastopol  is  taken,  sir ! ” It  was  only  such  an 
interesting  event  that  could  have  induced  an  English 
waiter  to  make  a remark  to  a stranger,  not  called  for 
in  the  way  of  business. 

The  best  view  we  had  of  the  town — in  fact,  the 
only  external  view,  and  the  only  time  we  really  saw 
the  White  Tower  — was  from  the  river,  as  we  steamed 
past  it.  Here  the  high,  square,  battlemented  White 
Tower,  with  the  four  turrets  at  its  corners,  rises  promi- 
nently above  all  other  parts  of  the  fortress. 

September  \3th.  — Mr. , the  American  Minister, 

called  on  me  on  Tuesday,  and  left  his  card;  an  intima- 
tion that  I ought  sooner  to  have  paid  my  respects  to 
him  ; so  yesterday  forenoon  I set  out  to  find  his  resi- 
dence, 56  Harley  Street.  It  is  a street  out  of  Caven- 
dish Square,  in  a fashionable  quarter,  although  fashion 
is  said  to  be  ebbing  away  from  it.  The  ambassador 
seems  to  intend  some  little  state  in  his  arrangements ; 
but,  no  doubt,  the  establishment  compares  shabbily 
enough  with  those  of  the  legations  of  other  great  coun- 
tries, and  with  the  houses  of  the  English  aristocracy. 
A servant,  not  in  livery,  or  in  a very  unrecognizable 
one,  opened  the  door  for  me,  and  gave  my  card  to  a 

sort  of  upper  attendant,  who  took  it  in  to  Mr.  . 

He  had  three  gentlemen  with  him,  so  desired  that  I 
should  be  ushered  into  the  office  of  the  legation,  until 
he  should  be  able  to  receive  me.  Here  I found  a 
clerk  or  attache , Mr.  M , who  has  been  two  or 


294 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


three  years  on  this  side  of  the  water ; an  intelligent 
person,  who  seems  to  be  in  correspondence  with  the 
New  York  Courier  and  Enquirer.  By  and  by  came 
in  another  American  to  get  a passport  for  the  continent, 
and  soon  the  three  gentlemen  took  leave  of  the  ambas- 
sador, and  I was  invited  to  his  presence. 

The  tall,  large  figure  of  Mr. has  a certain  air 

of  state  and  dignity ; he  carries  his  head  in  a very 
awkward  way,  but  still  looks  like  a man  of  long  and 
high  authority,  and,  with  his  white  hair,  is  now  quite 
venerable.  There  is  certainly  a lack  of  polish,  a kind 
of  rusticity,  notwithstanding  which  you  feel  him  to  be 
a man  of  the  world.  I should  think  he  might  succeed 
very  tolerably  in  English  society,  being  heavy  and 
sensible,  cool,  kindly,  and  good-humored,  with  a great 
deal  of  experience  of  life.  We  talked  about  various 
matters,  politics  among  the  rest ; and  he  observed  that 
if  the  President  had  taken  the  advice  which  he  gave 
him  in  two  long  letters,  before  his  inauguration,  he 
would  have  had  a perfectly  quiet  and  successful  term 
of  office.  The  advice  was,  to  form  a perfectly  homo- 
geneous cabinet  of  Union  men,  and  to  satisfy  the  ex- 
tremes of  the  party  by  a fair  distribution  of  minor 
offices ; whereas  he  formed  his  cabinet  of  extreme  men, 
on  both  sides,  and  gave  the  minor  offices  to  moderate 
ones.  But  the  antislavery  people,  surely,  had  no 
representative  in  the  cabinet.  Mr. further  ob- 

served, that  he  thought  the  President  had  a fair  chance 
of  re-nomination,  for  that  the  South  could  not,  in  honor, 
desert  him ; to  which  I replied  that  the  South  had  been 

guilty  of  such  things  heretofore.  Mr. thinks  that 

the  next  presidential  term  will  be  more  important  and 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


295 


critical,  both  as  to  our  foreign  relations  and  internal 
affairs,  than  any  preceding  one,  — which  I should 
judge  likely  enough  to  be  the  case,  although  I heard 
the  same  prophecy  often  made  respecting  the  present 
term. 

The  ambassador  dined  with  us  at  Rock  Park  a year 
or  two  ago,  and  I then  felt,  and  always  feel,  as  if  he 
were  a man  of  hearty  feeling  and  simplicity,  and  cer- 
tainly it  would  be  unjust  to  conclude  otherwise,  merely 
from  the  fact  (very  suspicious,  it  is  true)  of  his  having 
been  a life-long  politician.  After  we  had  got  through 
a little  matter  of  business  (respecting  a young  Amer- 
ican who  has  enlisted  at  Liverpool),  the  Minister  rang 
his  bell,  and  ordered  another  visitor  to  be  admitted ; 
and  so  I took  my  leave.  In  the  other  room  I found  the 
Secretary  of  Legation,  — - a tall,  slender  man  of  about 
forty,  with  a small  head  and  face,  — gentlemanly 
enough,  sensible,  and  well  informed,  yet  I should  judge, 

not  quite  up  to  his  place.  There  was  also  a Dr.  B 

from  Michigan  present,  and  I rather  fancy  the  ambas- 
sador is  quite  as  much  bored  with  visitors  as  the  consul 

at  Liverpool.  Before  I left  the  office,  Mr. came 

in  with  Miss  Sarah  Clarke  on  his  arm.  She  had  come 
thither  to  get  her  passport  vised ; and  when  her  busi- 
ness was  concluded,  we  went  out  together. 

She  was  going  farther  towards  the  West  End,  and  I 
into  the  city  ; so  we  soon  parted,  and  I lost  myself 
among  the  streets  and  squares,  arriving  at  last  at  Ox* 
ford  Street,  though  even  then  I did  not  know  whether 
my  face  were  turned  cityward  or  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. Crossing  Regent  Street,  however,  I became  sure 
of  my  whereabout,  and  went  on  through  Holborn,  and 


296  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

sought  hither  and  thither  for  Grace  Church  Street,  in 
order  to  find  the  American  Consul,  General  Campbell ; 
for  I needed  his  aid  to  get  a bank  post-bill  cashed. 
But  I could  not  find  the  street,  go  where  I would  ; so 
at  last  I went  to  No.  65  Cheapside,  and  introduced 

myself  to  Mr. , whom  I already  knew  by  letter, 

and  by  a good  many  of  his  poems,  which  he  has  sent 
me,  and  by  two  excellent  watches,  which  I bought  of 
him.  This  establishment,  though  it  has  the  ordinary 
front  of  dingy  brick,  common  to  buildings  in  the  city, 
looks  like  a time-long  stand,  the  old  shop  of  a London 
tradesman,  with  a large  figure  of  a watch  over  the 
door,  a great  many  watches  (and  yet  no  gorgeous  show 
of  them)  in  the  window,  a low,  dark  front  shop,  and  a 
little  room  behind,  where  there  was  a chair  or  two. 
Mr. is  a small,  slender  young  man,  quite  un-Eng- 

lish in  aspect,  with  black,  curly  hair,  a thin,  dark, 
colorless  visage,  very  animated  and  of  quick  expression, 

with  a nervous  temperament He  dismounted 

from  a desk  when  my  card  was  handed  to  him,  and 
turned  to  me  with  a vivid,  glad  look  of  recognition. 

We  talked,  in  the  first  place,  about  poetry  and  such 
matters,  about  England  and  America,  and  the  nature 
and  depth  of  their  mutual  dislike,  and,  of  course,  the 
slavery  question  came  up,  as  it  always  does,  in  one  way 
or  another.  Anon,  I produced  my  bank  post-bill ; 

and  Mr. kindly  engaged  to  identify  me  at  the 

bank,  being  ready  to  swear  to  me,  he  said,  on  the 
strength  of  my  resemblance  to  my  engraved  portrait. 
So  we  set  out  for  the  Bank  of  England,  and,  arriving 
there,  were  directed  to  the  proper  clerk,  after  much 
inquiry  ; but  he  told  us  that  the  bill  was  not  yet  due. 


LONDON. 


297 


1855.] 

having  been  drawn  at  seven  days,  and  having  two  still 
to  run,  — which  was  the  fact.  As  I was  almost  shil- 
lingless, Mr. now  offered  to  cash  it  for  me.  He 

is  very  kind  and  good.  . * . . Arriving  at  his  shop 
again,  he  went  out  to  procure  the  money,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  it  At  my  departure  he  gave  me  a copy 
of  a new  poem  of  his,  entitled  “ Verdicts,' ” somewhat  in 

the  manner  of  Lowell's  satire Mr. resides 

now  at  Greenwich,  whither  he  hoped  I would  come 
and  see  him  on  my  return  to  London.  Perhaps  I will, 
for  I like  him.  It  seems  strange  to  see  an  Englishman 
with  so  little  physical  ponderosity  and  obtuseness  of 
nerve. 

After  parting  from  him,  it  being  three  o'clock  or 
thereabouts,  I resumed  my  wanderings  about  the  city, 
of  which  I never  weary  as  long  as  I can  put  one  foot 
before  the  other.  . 

Seeing  that  the  door  of  St.  Paul's,  under  one  of  the 
semicircular  porches,  was  partially  open,  I went  in, 
and  found  that  the  afternoon  service  was  about  to  be 
performed  ; so  I remained  to  hear  it,  and  to  see  what  I 
could  of  the  cathedral.  What  a total  and  admirable 
contrast  between  this  and  a Gothic  church ! the  latter 
so  dim  and  mysterious,  with  its  various  aisles,  its  intri- 
cacy of  pointed  arches,  its  dark  walls  and  columns  and 
pavement,  and  its  painted  glass  windows,  bedimming 
even  what  daylight  might  otherwise  get  into  its  eternal 
evening.  But  this  cathedral  was  full  of  light,  and  light 
was  proper  to  it.  There  were  no  painted  windows,  no 
dim  recesses,  but  a wide  and  airy  space  beneath  the 
dome  ; and  even  through  the  long  perspective  of  the 
nave  there  was  no  obscurity,  but  one  lofty  and  beauti- 


208  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

fully  rounded  arch  succeeding  to  another,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach.  The  walls  were  white,  the  pavement 
constructed  of  squares  of  gray  and  white  marble.  It  is 
a most  grand  and  stately  edifice,  and  its  characteristic 
seems  to  be  to  continue  forever  fresh  and  new  ; where- 
as such  a church  as  Westminster  Abbey  must  have 
been  as  venerable  as  it  is  now  from  the  first  day  when 
it  grew  to  be  an  edifice  at  all.  How  wonderful  man  is 
in  his  works  ! How  glad  I am  that  there  can  be  two 
such  admirable  churches,  in  their  opposite  styles,  as  St. 
Paul’s  and  Westminster  Abbey! 

The  organ  was  played  while  I was  there,  and  there 
was  an  anthem  beautifully  chanted  by  voices  that  came 
l^om  afar  off  and  remotely  above,  as  if  out  of  a sunny 
sky.  Meanwhile  I looked  at  such  monuments  as  were 
near  ; chiefly  those  erected  to  military  or  naval  men, 
— Pictou,  General  Ponsonby,  Lord  St.  Vincent,  and 
others  ; but  against  one  of  the  pillars  stands  a statue 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  — a noble  and  thoughtful  figure,  with 
a development  of  muscle  befitting  an  athlete.  I doubt 
whether  sculptors  do  not  err  in  point  of  taste,  by  mak- 
ing all  their  statues  models  of  physical  perfection, 
instead  of  expressing  by  them  the  individual  character 
and  habits  of  the  man.  The  statue  in  the  market- 
place at  Lichfield  has  more  of  the  homely  truth  of 
Johnson’s  actual  personality  than  this. 

St.  Paul’s,  as  yet,  is  by  no  means  crowded  with  mon- 
uments ; there  is,  indeed,  plenty  of  room  for  a mob  of 
the  illustrious,  yet  to  come.  But  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  character  of  the  edifice  would  be  injured  by  allow- 
ing the  monuments  to  be  clustered  together  so  closely 
as  at  Westminster,  by  incrusting  the  walls  with  them, 


LONDON. 


299 


1855.] 

or  letting  the  statues  throng  about  the  pedestals  of 
columns.  There  must  be  no  confusion  in  such  a cathe- 
dral as  this,  and  I question  whether  the  effect  will  ever 
be  better  than  it  is  now,  when  each  monument  has  its 
distinct  place,  and  as  your  eye  wanders  around,  you  are 
not  distracted  from  noting  each  marble  man,  in  his 
niche  against  the  wall,  or  at  the  base  of  a marble  pil- 
lar. Space,  distance,  light,  regularity,  are  to  be  pre- 
served, even  if  the  result  should  be  a degree  of  naked- 
ness. 

I saw  Mr.  Appleton  of  the  Legation,  and  Dr.  Brown, 
on  the  floor  of  the  cathedral.  They  were  about  to  go 
over  the  whole  edifice,  and  had  engaged  a guide  for 
that  purpose  ; but,  as  I intend  to  go  thither  again  with 

S , I did  not  accompany  them,  but  went  away  the 

quicker  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  put  on  his  hat,  and  I 
was  ashamed  of  being  seen  in  company  with  a man  who 
could  wear  his  hat  in  a cathedral.  Not  that  he  meant 
any  irreverence ; but  simply  felt  that  he  was  in  a great 
public  building,  — as  big,  nearly,  as  all  out  of  doors,  — 
and  so  forgot  that  it  was  a consecrated  place  of  worship. 
The  sky  is  the  dome  of  a greater  cathedral  than  St. 
Paul’s,  and  built  by  a greater  architect  than  Sir  Chris- 
topher Wren,  and  yet  we  wear  our  hats  unscrupulously 
beneath  it. 

I remember  no  other  event  of  importance,  except  that 
I penetrated  into  a narrow  lane  or  court,  either  in  the 
Strand  or  Fleet  Street,  where  was  a tavern,  calling  it- 
self the  “ Old  Thatched  House,”  and  purporting  to  have 
been  Nell  Gwyn’s  dairy.  I met  with  a great  many 
alleys  and  obscure  archways,  in  the  course  of  the  day’s 
wanderings. 


300 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

{September  14 th.  — Yesterday,  in  the  earlier  jwt  of 
the  day,  it  poured  with  rain,  and  I did  not  go  out  till 
five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon ; nor  did  I then  meet  with 
anything  interesting.  I walked  through  Albemarle 
Street,  for  the  purpose  of  looking  at  Murray’s  shop,  but 
missed  it  entirely,  at  my  first  inquisition.  The  street  is 
one  of  hotels,  principally,  with  only  a few  tradesmen’s 
shops,  and  has  a quiet,  aristocratic  aspect.  On  my  re- 
turn, down  the  other  sidewalk,  I did  discover  the  famous 
publisher’s  locality ; but  merely  by  the  name  “ Mr. 
Murray,”  engraved  on  a rather  large  brass  plate,  such 
as  doctors  use,  on  the  door.  There  was  no  sign  of  a 
book,  nor  of  its  being  a place  of  trade  in  any  way ; and 
I should  have  taken  the  house  to  be,  if  not  a private 
mansion,  then  a lawyer’s  office. 

At  seven  o’clock  S , U , and  I went  to  dine 

with  Mr.  R S in  Portland  Place Mr. 

S ’s  house  is  a very  fine  one,  and  he  gave  us  a very 

quiet,  elegant,  and  enjoyable  dinner,  in  much  better 
taste  and  with  less  fuss  than  some  others  we  have  at- 
tended elsewhere.  Mr.  S is  a friend  of  Thackeray, 

and,  speaking  of  the  last  number  of  The  Newcomes, — 
so  touching  that  nobody  can  read  it  aloud  without 
breaking  down,  — he  mentioned  that  Thackeray  him- 
self had  read  it  to  James  Russell  Lowell  and  William 
Story  in  a cider-cellar ! I read  all  the  preceding  num- 
bers of  The  Newcomes  to  my  wife,  but  happened  not  to 
have  an  opportunity  to  read  this  last,  and  was  glad  of 
it,  — knowing  that  my  eyes  would  dll,  and  my  voice 

quiver.  Mr.  S likes  Thackeray,  and.  thinks  him  a 

good  fellow.  Mr.  S has  a — or  I don’t  know  but  I 

ought  better  to  say  the  — beautiful  full-length  picture 


LONDON. 


301 


1855.] 

of  Washington  by  Stuart,  and  I was  proud  to  see  that 
noblest  face  and  figure  here  in  England.  The  picture 
of  a man  beside  whom,  considered  physically,  any 
English  nobleman  whom  I have  seen  would  look  like 
common  clay. 

Speaking  of  Thackeray,  I cannot  but  wonder  at  his 
coolness  in  respect  to  his  own  pathos,  and  compare  it 
with  my  emotions,  when  I read  the  last  scene  of  The 
Scarlet  Letter  to  my  wife,  just  after  writing  it,  — tried 
to  read  it  rather,  for  my  voice  swelled  and  heaved, 
as  if  I were  tossed  up  and  down  on  an  ocean  as  it  sub- 
sides after  a storm.  But  I was  in  a very  nervous  state 
then,  having  gone  through  a great  diversity  of  emotion, 
while  writing  it,  for  many  months.  I think  I have 
never  overcome  my  own  adamant  in  any  other  in- 
stance. 

Tumblers,  hand-organists,  puppet-showmen,  bag- 
pipers, and  all  such  vagrant  mirth-makers,  are  very 
numerous  in  the  streets  of  London.  The  other  day, 
passing  through  Fleet  Street,  I saw  a crowd  filling  up 
a narrow  court,  and  high  above  their  heads  a tumbler, 
standing  on  his  head,  on  the  top  of  a pole,  that  reached 
as  high  as  the  third  story  of  the  neighboring  houses. 
Sliding  down  the  pole  head  foremost,  he  disappeared 
out  of  my  sight.  A multitude  of  Punches  go  the  rounds 
continually.  Two  have  passed  through  Hanover  Street, 
where  we  reside,  this  morning.  The  first  asked  two 
shillings  for  his  performance ; so  we  sent  him  away. 
The  second  demanded,  in  the  first  place,  half  a crown  ; 
but  finally  consented  to  take  a shilling,  and  gave  us  the 
show  at  that  price,  though  much  maimed  in  its  proper- 


302  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1853. 

tions.  Besides  the  spectators  in  our  windows,  he  had  a 
little  crowd  on  the  sidewalk,  to  whom  he  went  round  for 
contributions,  but  I did  not  observe  that  anybody  gave 
him  so  much  as  a halfpenny.  It  is  strange  to  see  how 
many  people  are  aiming  at  the  small  change  in  your 
pocket.  In  every  square  a beggar-woman  meets  you, 
and  turns  back  to  follow  your  steps  with  her  miserable 
murmur.  At  the  street-crossings  there  are  old  men  or 
little  girls  with  their  brooms ; urchins  propose  to  brush 
your  boots ; and  if  you  get  into  a cab,  a man  runs  to 
open  the  door  for  you,  and  touches  his  hat  for  a fee,  as 
he  closes  it  again. 

September  1 oth. — It  was  raining  yesterday,  and  I kept 

within  doors  till  after  four  o’clock,  when  J and  I 

took  a walk  into  the  city.  Seeing  the  entrance  to 
Clement’s  Inn,  we  went  through  it,  and  saw  the  garden, 
with  a kneeling  bronze  figure  in  it ; and  when  just 
in  the  midst  of  the  Inn,  I remembered  that  Justice 
Shallow  was  of  old  a student  there.  I do  not  well  un- 
derstand these  Inns  of  Court,  or  how  they  differ  from 
other  places.  Anybody  seems  to  be  free  to  reside  in 
them,  and  a residence  does  not  seem  to  involve  any 
obligation  to  study  law,  or  to  have  any  connection  there- 
with. Clement’s  Inn  consists  of  large  brick  houses,  ac- 
cessible by  narrow  lanes  and  passages,  but,  by  some  pe- 
culiar privilege  or  enchantment,  enjoying  a certain  quiet 
and  repose,  though  in  close  vicinity  to  the  noisiest  part 
of  the  city.  I got  bewildered  in  the  neighborhood  of  St. 
Paul’s,  and,  try  how  I might  to  escape  from  it,  its  huge 
dusky  dome  kept  showing  itself  before  me,  through  one 
street  and  another.  In  my  endeavors  to  escape  it,  I at 


1855.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


303 


one  time  found  myself  in  St.  John’s  Street,  and  was  in 
hopes  to  have  seen  the  old  St.  John’s  gate,  so  familiar 
for  above  a century  on  the  cover  of  the  Gentleman’s 
Magazine.  But  I suppose  it  is  taken  down,  for  we 
went  through  the  entire  street,  I think,  and  saw  no 
trace  of  it.  Either  afterwards  or  before  this  we  came 
upon  Smithfield,  a large  irregular  square,  filled  up  with 
pens  for  cattle,  of  which,  however,  there  were  none  in 
the  market  at  that  time.  I leaned  upon  a post,  at  the 

western  end  of  the  square,  and  told  J how  the 

martyrs  had  been  burnt  at  Smithfield  in  Bloody  Mary’s 
days.  Again  we  drifted  back  to  St.  Paul’s ; and,  at 
last,  in  despair  of  ever  getting  out  of  this  enchanted  re- 
gion, I took  a Hansom  cab  to  Charing  Cross,  whence 
we  easily  made  our  way  home. 

LIVERPOOL. 

September  16^.  — I took  the  ten-o’clock  train  yester- 
day morning  from  the  Euston  station,  and  arrived  at 
Liverpool  at  about  five,  passing  through  the  valley  of 
Trent,  without  touching  at  Birmingham.  English 
scenery,  on  the  tracks,  is  the  tamest  of  the  tame,  hardly 
a noticeable  hill  breaking  the  ordinary  gentle  undulation 
of  the  landscape,  but  still  the  verdure  and  finish  of  the 
fields  and  parks  make  it  worth  while  to  throw  out  a 
glance  now  and  then,  as  you  rush  by.  Few  separate  9 
houses  are  seen,  as  in  America;  but  sometimes  a vil- 
lage, with  the  square,  gray,  battlemented  tower  of  its 
Norman  church,  and  rows  of  thatched  cottages,  remind- 
ing one  of  the  clustered  mud  nests  of  swallows,  under 
the  eaves  of  a barn  ; here  and  there  a lazy  little  river, 
like  the  Trent;  perhaps,  if  you  look  sharply  where 


304 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


the  guide-book  indicates,  the  turrets  of  an  old  castle  in 
the  distance  ; perhaps  the  great  steeple  and  spires  of 
a cathedral ; perhaps  the  tall  chimney  of  a manufac- 
tory ; but,  on  the  whole,  the  traveller  comes  to  his  jour- 
ney’s end  unburdened  with  a single  new  idea.  I ob- 
serve that  the  harvest  is  not  all  gathered  in  as  yet,  and 
this  rainy  weather  must  look  very  gloomy  to  the  farmer. 
I saw  gleaners,  yesterday,  in  the  stubble-fields.  There 
were  two  gentlemen  in  the  same  railway  carriage  with 
me,  and  we  did  not  exchange  half  a dozen  words  the 
whole  day. 

I am  here,  established  at  Mrs.  Blodgett’s  boarding- 
house, which  I find  quite  full ; insomuch  that  she  had 
to  send  one  of  her  sea-captains  to  sleep  in  another 
house,  in  order  to  make  room  for  me.  It  is  exclusively 
American  society  : four  shipmasters,  and  a doctor  from 
Pennsylvania,  who  has  been  travelling  a year  on  the 
Continent,  and  who  seems  to  be  a man  of  very  active  in- 
telligence, interested  in  everything,  and  especially  in 

agriculture He  asserted  that  we  are  fifty  years 

ahead  of  England  in  agricultural  science,  and  that  he 
could  cultivate  English  soil  to  far  better  advantage  than 
English  farmers  do,  and  at  vastly  less  expense.  Their 
tendency  to  cling  to  old  ideas,  which  retards  them  in 
everything  else,  keeps  them  behindhand  in  this  matter 
too.  Really,  I do  not  know  any  other  place  in  Eng- 
land where  a man  can  be  made  so  sensible  that  he  lives 
in  a progressive  world  as  here  in  Mrs.  Blodgett’s 
boarding-house. 

The  captains  talk  together  about  their  voyages,  and 
how  they  manage  with  their  unruly  mates  and  crews; 
and  how  freights  are  in  America,  and  the  prospects  of 


LIVERPOOL. 


305 


1855.] 

business  ; and  of  equinoctial  gales,  and  the  qualities  of 
different  ships,  and  their  commanders,  and  how  crews, 
mates,  and  masters  have  all  deteriorated  since  their  re- 
membrance  But  these  men  are  alive,  and  talk 

of  real  matters,  and  of  matters  which  they  know.  The 
shipmasters  who  come  to  Mrs.  Blodgett’s  are  favorable 
specimens  of  their  class ; being  all  respectable  men,  in 
the  employ  of  good  houses,  and  raised  by  their  capacity 
to  the  command  of  first-rate  ships.  In  my  official  inter- 
course with  them,  I do  not  generally  see  their  best  side; 
as  they  are  seldom  before  me  except  as  complainants,  or 
when  summoned  to  answer  to  some  complaint  made  by 
a seaman.  But  hearing  their  daily  talk,  and  listening 
to  what  is  in  their  minds,  and  their  reminiscences  of 
what  they  have  gone  through,  one  becomes  sensible  that 
they  are  men  of  energy  and  ability,  fit  to  be  trusted, 
and  retaining  a hardy  sense  of  honor,  and  a loyalty  to 
their  own  country,  the  stronger  because  they  have  com- 
pared it  with  many  others.  Most  of  them  are  gentle- 
men, too,  to  a certain  extent,  — some  more  than  others, 
perhaps ; and  none  to  a very  exquisite  point,  or,  if 
so,  it  is  none  the  better  for  them  as  sailors  or  as  men. 

September  llth.  — It  is  singular  to  feel  a sense  of  my 
own  country  returning  upon  me  with  the  intercourse 
of  the  people  whom  I find  here 

The  doctor  is  much  the  most  talkative  of  our  com- 
pany, and  sometimes  bores  me  thereby ; though  he 
seldom  says  anything  that  is  not  either  instructive  or 
amusing.  He  tells  a curious  story  of  Prince  Albert, 
and  how  he  avails  himself  of  American  sharp-shooting. 
During  the  doctor’s  tour  in  Scotland,  which  he  has  just 


T 


30G 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

finished,  he  became  acquainted  with  one  of  the  Prince’s 
attaches , who  invited  him  very  earnestly  to  join  his 
Royal  Highness’s  party,  promising  him  a good  gun,  and 
a keeper  to  load  it  for  him,  two  good  dogs,  besides  as 
many  cigars  as  he  could  smoke  and  as  much  wine  as 
he  could  drink,  on  the  condition  that  whatever  game  he 
shot  should  be  the  Prince’s.  “ The  Prince,”  said  the 
attache , “ is  very  fond  of  having  Americans  in  his 
shooting-parties,  on  account  of  their  being  such  ex- 
cellent shots ; and  there  was  one  with  him  last  year 
who  shot  so  admirably  that  his  Royal  Highness  himself 
left  off  shooting  in  utter  astonishment.”  The  attache 
offered  to  introduce  the  doctor  to  the  Prince,  who 
would  be  certain  to  receive  him  very  graciously.  . . « . 

I think,  perhaps,  we  talk  of  kings  and  queens  more 
at  our  table  than  people  do  at  other  tables  in  England  ; 
not,  of  course,  that  we  like  them  better,  or  admire 
them  more,  but  that  they  are  curiosities.  Yet  I would 
not  say  that  the  doctor  may  not  be  susceptible  on  the 
point  of  royal  attentions ; for  he  told  us  with  great 
complacency  how  emphatically,  on  two  or  three  occa- 
sions, Louis  Napoleon  had  returned  his  bow,  and  the 
last  time  had  turned  and  made  some  remark  (evident- 
ly about  the  doctor)  to  the  Empress.  .... 

I ought  not  to  omit  mentioning  that  he  has  been  told 
in  France  that  he  personally  resembles  the  Emperor, 
and  I suspect  he  is  trying  to  heighten  the  resemblance 
by  training  his  mustache  on  the  pattern  of  that  which 
adorns  the  imperial  upper  lip.  He  is  a genuine  Amer- 
ican character,  though  modified  by  a good  deal  of  travel ; 
a very  intelligent  man,  full  of  various  ability,  with  eyes 
all  over  him  for  any  object  of  interest,  — a little  of  the 


LONDON. 


307 


1855.] 

bore,  sometimes,  — quick  to  appreciate  character  with 
a good  deal  of  tact,  gentlemanly  in  his  manners,  but 
yet  lacking  a deep  and  delicate  refinement.  Not  but 
that  Americans  are  as  capable  of  this  last  quality  as 
other  people  are ; but  what  with  the  circumstance? 
amid  which  we  grow  up,  and  the  peculiar  activity  of 
our  minds,  we  certainly  do  often  miss  it.  By  the  by* 
he  advanced  a singular  proposition  the  other  evening* 
namely,  that  the  English  people  do  not  so  well  under- 
stand comfort,  or  attain  it  so  perfectly  in  their  domes- 
tic arrangements,  as  we  do.  I thought  he  hardly 
supported  this  opinion  so  satisfactorily  as  some  of  his 
other  new  ideas. 

I saw  in  an  American  paper  yesterday,  that  an  opera, 
still  unfinished,  had  been  written  on  the  story  of  The 
Scarlet  Letter,  and  that  several  scenes  of  it  had  been 
performed  successfully  in  New  York.  I should  think 
it  might  possibly  succeed  as  an  opera,  though  it  would 
certainly  fail  as  a play. 

LONDON. 

September  2ith.  — On  Saturday,  at  half  past  three 
o’clock,  I left  Liverpool  by  the  London  and  Northwest 
Railway  for  London.  Mrs.  Blodgett’s  table  had  been 

thinned  by  several  departures  during  the  week 

My  mind  had  been  considerably  enlivened,  and  my 
sense  of  American  superiority  renewed,  by  intercourse 
with  these  people ; and  there  is  no  danger  of  one’s 
intellect  becoming  a standing  pool  in  such  Society  o I 
think  better  of  American  shipmasters,  too,  than  I did 
from  merely  meeting  them  in  my  office.  They  keep 


308  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

up  a continual  discussion  of  professional  matters,  and 
of  all  things  having  any  reference  to  their  profession ; 
the  laws  of  insurance,  the  rights  of  vessels  in  foreign 
ports,  the  authority  and  customs  of  vessels  of  war  with 
regard  to  merchantmen,  &c.,  — with  stories  and  casual 
anecdotes  of  their  sea  adventures,  gales,  shipwrecks, 
icebergs,  and  collisions  of  vessels,  and  hair-breadth  es- 
capes. Their  talk  runs  very  much  on  the  sea,  and 
on  the  land  as  connected  with  the  sea ; and  their  inter- 
est does  not  seem  to  extend  very  far  beyond  the  wide 
field  of  their  professional  concerns. 

Nothing  remarkable  occurred  on  the  journey  to  Lon- 
don. The  greater  part  of  the  way  there  were  only  two 
gentlemen  in  the  same  compartment  with  me ; and  we 
occupied  each  our  corner,  with  little  other  conversa- 
tion than  in  comparing  watches  at  the  various  stations. 
I got  out  of  the  carriage  only  once,  at  Rugby,  I think, 
and  for  the  last  seventy  or  eighty  miles  the  train  did 
not  stop.  There  was  a clear  moon  the  latter  part  of  the 
journey,  and  the  mist  lay  along  the  ground,  looking  very 
much  like  a surface  of  water.  We  reached  London  at 
about  ten,  and  I found  S expecting  me. 

Yesterday  the  children  went  with  Fanny  to  the 

Zoological  Gardens  ; and,  after  sending  them  off,  S 

and  I walked  to  Piccadilly,  and  there  took  a cab  for 
Kensington  Gardens.  It  was  a delightful  day,  — the 
best  of  all  weather,  the  real  English  good  weather,  — 
more  like  an  Indian  summer  than  anything  else  within 
my  experience  ; a mellow  sunshine,  with  great  warmth 
in  it,  — a soft,  balmy  air,  with  a slight  haze  through  it. 
If  the  sun  made  us  a little  too  warm,  we  had  but  to  go 
into  the  shade  to  be  immediately  refreshed.  The  light 


LONDON. 


309 


1855.] 

of  these  days  is  very  exquisite,  so  gently  bright,  with- 
out any  glare,  — a veiled  glow.  In  short,  it  is  the  kind- 
liest mood  of  Nature,  and  almost  enough  to  compensate 
for  chill  and  dreamy  months.  Moreover,  there  is  more 
of  such  weather  here  than  the  English  climate  has  ever 
had  credit  for. 

Kensington  Gardens  form  an  eminently  beautiful 
piece  of  artificial  woodland  and  park  scenery.  The  old 
palace  of  Kensington,  now  inhabited  by  the  Duchess  of 
Inverness,  stands  at  one  extremity ; an  edifice  of  no 
great  mark,  built  of  brick,  covering  much  ground,  and 
low  in  proportion  to  its  extent.  In  front  of  it,  at  a 
considerable  distance,  there  is  a sheet  of  water ; and 
in  all  directions  there  are  vistas  of  wide  paths  among 
noble  trees,  standing  in  groves,  or  scattered  in  clumps ; 
everything  being  laid  out  with  free  and  generous 
spaces,  so  that  you  can  see  long  streams  of  sunshine 
among  the  trees,  and  there  is  a pervading  influence 
of  quiet  and  remoteness.  Tree  does  not  interfere  with 
tree  ; the  art  of  man  is  seen  conspiring  with  Nature, 
as  if  they  had  consulted  together  how  to  make  a beau- 
tiful scene,  and  had  taken  ages  of  quiet  thought  and 
tender  care  to  accomplish  it.  We  strolled  slowly 
along  these  paths,  and  sometimes  deviated  from  them 
to  walk  beneath  the  trees,  many  of  the  leaves  of  which 
lay  beneath  our  feet,  yellow  and  brown,  and  with  a 
pleasant  smell  of  vegetable  decay.  These  were  the 
leaves  of  chestnut-trees  ; the  other  trees  (unless  elms) 
have  yet  hardly  begun  to  shed  their  foliage,  although 
you  can  discern  a sober  change  of  hue  in  the  woodland 
masses  ; and  the  trees  individualize  themselves  by  as- 
suming each  .its  own  tint,  though  in  a very  modest  way. 


310  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

If  tliey  could  have  undergone  the  change  of  an  Ameri- 
can autumn,  it  would  have  been  like  putting  on  a regal 
robe.  Autumn  often  puts  one  on  in  America,  but  it  is 
apt  to  be  very  ragged. 

There  were  a good  many  well-dressed  people  scat- 
tered through  the  grounds,  — young  men  and  girls,  hus- 
bands with  their  wives  and  children,  nursery-maids  and 
little  babes  playing  about  in  the  grass.  Anybody 
might  have  entered  the  gardens,  I suppose ; but  only 
well-dressed  people  were  there,  — not  of  the  upper 
classes,  but  shop-keepers,  clerks,  apprentices,  and  re- 
spectability of  that  sort.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  that 
the  people  have  the  freedom,  and  therefore  the  property, 
of  parks  like  this,  more  beautiful  and  stately  than  a 
nobleman  can  keep  to  himself.  The  extent  of  Kensing- 
ton Gardens,  when  reckoned  together  with  Hyde  Park, 
from  which  it  is  separated  only  by  a fence  of  iron  rods, 
is  very  great,  comprising  miles  of  greensward  and  wood- 
land. The  large  artificial  sheet  of  water,  called  the 
Serpentine  River,  lies  chiefly  in  Hyde  Park,  but  comes 
partly  within  the  precincts  of  the  gardens.  It  is  en- 
titled to  honorable  mention  among  the  English  lakes, 
being  larger  than  some  that  are  world-celebrated,  — 
several  miles  long,  and  perhaps  a stone’s-throw  across 
in  the  widest  part.  It  forms  the  paradise  of  a great 
many  ducks  of  various  breeds,  which  are  accustomed 
to  be  fed  by  visitors,  and  come  flying  from  afar,  touch- 
ing the  water  with  their  wings,  and  quacking  loudly 
when  bread  or  cake  is  thrown  to  them.  I bought  a 
bun  of  a little  hunchbacked  man,  who  kept  a refresh- 
ment-stall near  the  Serpentine,  and  bestowed  it  piece- 
meal on  these  ducks,  as  we  loitered  along  the  bank. 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


311 


We  left  the  park  by  another  gate,  and  walked  home- 
ward, till  we  came  to  Tyburnia,  and  saw  the  iron  me- 
morial which  marks  where  the  gallows  used  to  stand. 
Thence  we  turned  into  Park  Lane,  then  into  Upper 
Grosvenor  Street,  and  reached  Hanover  Square  sooner 
than  we  expected. 

In  the  evening  I walked  forth  to  Charing  Cross,  and 
thence  along  the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street,  where  I made 
no  new  discoveries,  unless  it  were  the  Mitre  Tavern. 
I mean  to  go  into  it  some  day.  The  streets  were  much 
thronged,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a good  many  young 
people,  — lovers,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  — who  had  spent  the 
day  together,  and  were  going  innocently  home.  Per- 
haps so,  — perhaps  not. 

September  25th.  — Yesterday  forenoon  J and  I 

walked  out,  with  no  very  definite  purpose ; but,  seeing 
a narrow  passage-way  from  the  Strand  down  to  the 
viver,  we  went  through  it,  and  gained  access  to  a steam- 
boat, plying  thence  to  London  Bridge.  The  fare  was 
a halfpenny  apiece,  and  the  boat  alraost  too  much 
crowded  for  standing-room.  This  part  of  the  river  pre- 
sents the  water-side  of  London  in  a rather  pleasanter 
aspect  than  below  London  Bridge,  — the  Temple,  with 
its  garden,  Somerset  House,  — and  generally,  a less 
tumble-down  and  neglected  look  about  the  buildings  ; 
although,  after  all,  the  metropolis  does  not  see  a very 
stately  face  in  its  mirror.  I saw  Alsatia  betwixt  the 
Temple  and  Blackfriar’s  Bridge.  Its  precincts  looked 
very  narrow,  and  not  particularly  distinguishable,  at 
this  day,  from  the  portions  of  the  city  on  either  side  of 
it.  At  London  Bridge  we  got  aboard  of  a Woolwich 


312 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

steamer,  and  went  farther  down  the  river,  passing  the 
Custom- House  and  the  Tower,  the  only  prominent  ob- 
jects rising  out  of  the  dreary  range  of  shabbiness  which 
stretches  along  close  to  the  water’s  edge. 

From  this  remote  part  of  London  we  walked  to- 
wards  the  heart  of  the  city ; and,  as  we  went,  matters 
seemed  to  civilize  themselves  by  degrees,  and  the  streets 
grew  crowded  with  cabs,  omnibuses,  drays,  and  carts. 
We  passed,  I think,  through  Whitechapel,  and,  reaching 
St.  Paul’s,  got  into  an  omnibus,  and  drove  to  Regent 
Street,  whence  it  was  but  a step  or  two  home. 

In  the  afternoon,  at  four  o’clock,  S -and  I went  to 

call  on  the  American  Ambassador  and  Miss  L . 

The  lady  was  not  at  home,  but  we  went  in  to  see 

Mr. , and  were  shown  into  a stately  drawing-room, 

the  furniture  of  which  was  sufficiently  splendid,  but 
rather  the  worse  for  wear,  — being  hired  furniture,  no 
doubt.  The  ambassador  shortly  appeared,  looking  ven- 
erable, as  usual,  — or  rather  more  so  than  usual,  — be- 
nign and  very  pale.  His  deportment  towards  ladies  is 
highly  agreeable  and  prepossessing,  and  he  paid  very  kind 

attention  to  S , thereby  quite  confirming  her  previous 

good  feeling  towards  him.  She  thinks  that  he  is  much 
changed  since  she  saw  him  last,  at  dinner,  at  our  house, 
— more  infirm,  more  aged,  and  with  a singular  de- 
pression in  his  manner.  I,  too,  think  that  age  has  lat- 
terly come  upon  him  with  great  rapidity.  He  said  that 

Miss  L was  going  home  on  the  6th  of  October, 

and  that  he  himself  had  long  purposed  going,  but  had 
received  despatches  which  obliged  him  to  put  off  his 
departure.  The  President,  he  said,  had  just  written,  re- 
questing him  to  remain  till  April,  but  this  he  was  de- 


\ 855.] 


LONDON. 


313 


termined  not  to  do.  I rather  think  that  he  does  really 
wish  to  return,  and  not  for  any  ambitious  views  concern- 
ing the  Presidency,  but  from  an  old  man’s  natural  de- 
sire to  be  at  home,  and  among  his  own  people. 

S spoke  to  him  about  an  order  from  the  Lord 

Chamberlain  for  admission  to  view  the  two  Houses  of 
Parliament ; and  the  ambassador  drew  from  his  pock- 
et a colored-silk  handkerchief,  and  made  a knot  in  it, 
in  order  to  remind  himself  to  ask  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain.  The  homeliness  of  this  little  incident  has  a sort 
of  propriety  and  keeping  with  much  of  Mr. ’s  man- 

ner, but  I would  rather  not  have  him  do  so  before 
English  people.  He  arranged  to  send  a close  car- 
riage for  us  to  come  and  see  him  socially  this  evening. 
After  leaving  his  house  we  drove  round  Hyde  Park, 
and  thence  to  Portland  Place,  where  we  left  cards  for 
Mrs.  Russell  Sturgis ; thence  into  Regent’s  Park, 

thence  home.  U and  J accompanied  us 

throughout  these  drives,  but  remained  in  the  carriage 

during  our  call  on  Mr. . In  the  evening  I strolled 

out,  and  walked  as  far  as  St.  Paul’s,  — never  getting 
enough  of  the  bustle  of  London,  which  may  weary,  but 
can  never  satisfy  me.  By  night  London  looks  wild  and 
dreamy,  and  fills  me  with  a sort  of  pleasant  dread.  It 
was  a clear  evening,  with  a bright  English  moon,  — that 
is  to  say,  what  we  Americans  should  call  rather  dim. 

September  2 6th.  — Yesterday,  at  eleven,  I walked 
towards  Westminster  Abbey,  and  as  I drew  near  the 
Abbey  bells  were  clamorous  for  joy,  chiming  merrily, 
musically,  and  obstreperously, — the  most  rejoicing 
sound  that  can  be  conceived  ; and  we  ought  to  have  a 

VOL.  i.  14 


314  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

chime  of  bells  in  every  American  town  and  village, 
were  it  only  to  keep  alive  the  celebration  of  the  Fourth  of 
July.  I conjectured  that  there  might  have  been  another 
victory  over  the  Russians,  that  perhaps  the  northern 
side  of  Sebastopol  had  surrendered  ; but  soon  I saw  the 
riddle  that  these  merry  bells  were  proclaiming.  There 
were  a great  many  private  carriages,  and  a large  con- 
course of  loungers  and  spectators,  near  the  door  of  the 
church  that  stands  close  under  the  eaves  of  the  Abbey. 
Gentlemen  and  ladies,  gayly  dressed,  were  issuing  forth, 
carriages  driving  away,  and  others  drawing  up  to  the 
door  in  their  turn  ; and,  in  short,  a marriage  had  just 
been  celebrated  in  the  church,  and  this  was  the  wedding- 
party.  The  last  time  I was  there,  Westminster  was 
flinging  out  its  great  voice  of  joy  for  a national  triumph  ; 
now,  for  the  happy  union  of  two  lovers.  What  a mighty 
sympathizer  is  this  old  Abbey ! 

It  is  pleasant  to  recognize  the  mould  and  fashion  of 
English  features  through  the  marble  of  many  of  the 
statues  and  busts  in  the  Abbey,  even  though  they  may 
be  clad  in  Roman  robes.  I am  inclined  to  think  them, 
in  many  cases,  faithful  likenesses ; and  it  brings  them 
nearer  to  the  mind,  to  see  these  original  sculptures,  — 
you  see  the  man  at  but  one  remove,  as  if  you  caught 
his  image  in  a looking-glass.  The  bust  of  Gay  seemed 
to  me  very  good,  — a thoughtful  and  humorous  sweet- 
ness in  the  face.  Goldsmith  has  as  good  a position  as 
any  poet  in  the  Abbey,  his  bust  and  tablet  filling  the 
pointed  arch  over  a door  that  seems  to  lead  towards 
the  cloisters.  No  doubt  he  would  have  liked  to  be 
assured  of  so  conspicuous  a place.  There  is  one  monu- 
ment to  a native  American,  “ Charles  Wragg,  Esq., 


*855.] 


LONDON. 


315 


of  South  Carolina,”  — the  only  one,  I suspect,  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  and  he  acquired  this  memorial  by  the 
most  un-American  of  qualities,  his  loyalty  to  his  king. 
He  was  one  of  the  refugees  leaving  America  in  1777, 
being  shipwrecked  on  his  passage,  and  the  monument 
was  put  up  by  his  sister.  It  is  a small  tablet  with  a 
representation  of  Mr.  Wragg’s  shipwreck  at  the  base. 
Next  to  it  is  the  large  monument  of  Sir  Cloudesley 
Shovel,  which  I think  Addison  ridicules,  — the  Admiral, 
in  a full-bottomed  wig  and  Roman  dress,  but  with  a 
broad  English  face,  reclining  with  his  head  on  his 
hand,  and  looking  at  you  with  great  placidity.  I stood 
at  either  end  of  the  nave,  and  endeavored  to  take  in 
the.  full  beauty  and  majesty  of  the  edifice ; but  appar- 
ently was  not  in  a proper  state  of  mind,  for  nothing 
came  of  it.  It  is  singular  how  like  an  avenue  of  over- 
arching trees  are  these  lofty  aisles  of  a cathedral. 

Leaving  the  Abbey  about  one  o’clock,  I walked  into 
the  city  as  far  as  Grace  Church  Street,  and  there  called 

on  the  American  Consul,  General , who  had  been 

warmly  introduced  to  me  last  year  by  a letter  from  the 
President.  I like  the  General ; a kindly  and  honorable 
man,  of  simple  manners  and  large  experience  of  life. 
Afterwards  I called  on  Mr.  Oakford,  an  American  con- 
nected in  business  with  Mr.  Crosby,  from  whom  I 
wanted  some  information  as  to  the  sailing  of  steamers 
from  Southampton  to  Lisbon.  Mr.  Crosby  was  not  in 
town 

At  eight  o’clock  Mr. sent  his  carriage,  according 

to  previous  arrangement,  to  take  us  to  spend  the  even- 
ing socially.  Miss  L received  us  with  proper 

cordiality,  and  looked  quite  becomingly,  — more  sweet 


31G  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

and  simple  in  aspect  than  when  I have  seen  her  in  full 
dress.  Shortly  the  ambassador  appeared,  and  made 
himself  highly  agreeable ; not  that  he  is  a brilliant  con- 
versationist, but  his  excellent  sense  and  good-humor, 
and  all  that  he  has  seen  and  been  a part  of,  are  suffi- 
cient resources  to  draw  upon.  We  talked  of  the  Queen, 
whom  he  spoke  of  with  high  respect  ; of  the 

late  Czar,  whom  he  knew  intimately  while  minister  to 
Russia,  — and  he  quite  confirms  all  that  has  been  said 

about  the  awful  beauty  of  his  person.  Mr.  ’s 

characterization  of  him  was  quite  favorable;  he  thought 
better  of  his  heart  than  most  people,  and  adduced  his 
sports  with  a school  of  children,  — twenty  of  whom, 
perhaps,  he  made  to  stand  rigidly  in  a row,  like  so 
many  bricks,  — then,  giving  one  a push,  would  laugh 
obstreperously  to  see  the  whole  row  tumble  down. 
He  would  lie  on  his  back,  and  allow  the  little  things  to 

scramble  over  him.  His  Majesty  admitted  Mr. 

to  great  closeness  of  intercourse,  and  informed  him  of 
a conspiracy  whicli  was  then  on  foot  for  the  Czar’s 
murder.  On  the  evening  when  the  assassination  was 
to  take  place,  the  Czar  did  not  refrain  from  going  to  the 
public  place  where  it  was  to  be  perpetrated,  although, 
indeed,  great  precautions  had  been  taken  to  frustrate  the 

schemes  of  the  conspirators.  Mr. said,  that,  in  case 

the  plot  had  succeeded,  all  the  foreigners,  including 
himself,  would  likewise  have  been  murdered,  the  na- 
tive Russians  having  a bitter  hatred  against  foreigners. 
He  observed  that  he  had  been  much  attached  to  the 
Czar,  and  had  never  joined  in  the  English  abuse  of 
him.  His  sympathies,  however,  are  evidently  rather 
English  than  Russian,  in  this  war.  Speaking  of  the 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


iltf 

present  emperor,  he  said  that  Lord  Heytebury,  former- 
ly English  ambassador  in  Russia,  lately  told  him  that 
he  complimented  the  Czar  Nicholas  on  the  good  quali- 
ties of  his  son,  saying  that  he  was  acknowledged  by 
all  to  be  one  of  the  most  amiable  youths  in  the  world. 
“Too  amiable,  I fear,  for  his  position,”  answered  the 
Czar.  “ He  has  too  much  of  his  mother  in  him.” 

. September  21th.  — Yesterday,  much  earlier  than  Eng- 
lish people  ever  do  such  things,  General made  us 

a call  on  his  way  to  the  Consulate,  and  sat  talking  a 
stricken  hour  or  thereabouts.  Scarcely  had  he  gone 
when  Mrs.  Oakford  and  her  daughter  came.  After 

sitting  a long  while,  they  took  U to  their  house, 

near  St.  John’s  Wood,  to  spend  the  night.  I had  been 
writing  my  journal  and  official  correspondence  during 
such  intervals  as  these  calls  left  me ; and  now,  con- 
cluding these  businesses,  S , J , and  I went  out 

and  took  a cab  for  the  terminus  of  the  Crystal  Palace 
Railway,  whither  we  proceeded  over  Waterloo  Bridge, 
and  reached  the  palace  not  far  from  three  o’clock.  It 
was  a beautifully  bright  day,  such  as  we  have  in  won- 
derful succession  this  month.  The  Crystal  Palace 
gleamed  in  the  sunshine ; but  I do  not  think  a very 
impressive  edifice  can  be  built  of  glass,  — light  and  airy, 
to  be  sure,  but  still  it  will  be  no  other  than  an  over- 
grown conservatory.  It  is  unlike  anything  else  in 
England ; uncongenial  with  the  English  character,  with- 
out privacy,  destitute  of  mass,  weight,  and  shadow,  um 
susceptible  of  ivy,  lichens,  or  any  mellowness  from  age. 

The  train  of  carriages  stops  within  the  domain  of  the 
palace,  where  there  is  a long  ascending  corridor  up  into 


318 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855, 

the  edifice.  There  was  a very  pleasant  odor  of  helio- 
trope diffused  through  the  air;  and,  indeed,  the  whole 
atmosphere  of  the  Crystal  Palace  is  sweet  with  various 
flower-scents,  and  mild  and  balmy,  though  sufficiently 
fresh  and  cool.  It  would  be  a delightful  climate  for  in- 
valids to  spend  the  winter  in ; and  if  all  England  could 
be  roofed  over  with  glass,  it  would  be  a great  improve- 
ment on  its  present  condition. 

The  first  thing  we  did,  before  fairly  getting  into  the 
palace,  was  to  sit  down  in  a large  ante-hall,  and  get 
some  bread  and  butter  and  a pint  of  Bass’s  pale  ale, 

together  with  a cup  of  coffee  for  S . This  was  the 

best  refreshment  we  could  find  at  that  spot ; but  farther 
within  we  found  abundance  of  refreshment-rooms,  and 
John  Bull  and  his  wife  and  family  at  fifty  little  round 
tables,  busily  engaged  with  cold  fowl,  cold  beef,  ham, 
tongue,  and  bottles  .of  ale  and  stout,  and  half-pint  de- 
canters of  sherry.  The  English  probably  eat  with  more 
simple  enjoyment  than  any  other  people ; not  rave- 
nously, as  we  often  do,  and  not  exquisitely  and  artificially, 
like  the  French,  but  deliberately  and  vigorously,  and 
with  due  absorption  in  the  business,  so  that  nothing 

good  is  lost  upon  them It  is  remarkable  how 

large  a feature  the  refreshment-rooms  make  in  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  Crystal  Palace. 

The  Crystal  Palace  is  a gigantic  toy  for  the  English 
people  to  play  with.  The  design  seems  to  be  to  repro- 
duce all  past  ages,  by  representing  the  features  of  their 
interior  architecture,  costume,  religion,  domestic  life, 
and  everything  that  can  be  expressed  by  paint  and 
plaster;  and,  likewise,  to  bring  all  climates  and  regions 
of  the  earth  within  these  enchanted  precincts,  with  their 


LONDON. 


1855.] 


519 


inhabitants  and  animals  in  living  semblance,  and  their 
vegetable  productions,  as  far  as  possible,  alive  and  real. 
Some  part  of  the  design  is  already  accomplished  to  a 
wonderful  degree.  The  Indian,  the  Egyptian,  and  es- 
pecially the  Arabian,  courts  are  admirably  executed, 
I never  saw  or  conceived  anything  so  gorgeous  as  the 
Alhambra.  There  are  Byzantine  and  mediasval  repre- 
sentations, too,  — reproductions  of  ancient  apartments, 
decorations,  statues  from  tombs,  monuments,  religious 
and  funereal,  — that  gave  me  new  ideas  of  Avhat  antiquity 
has  been.  It  takes  down  one’s  overweening  opinion 
of  the  present  time,  to  see  how  many  kinds  of  beauty 
and  magnificence  have  heretofore  existed,  and  are  now 
quite  passed  away  and  forgotten  ; and  to  find  that  we, 
who  suppose  that,  in  all  matters  of  taste,  our  age  is  the 
very  flower-season  of  the  time,  — that  we  are  poor  and 
meagre  as  to  many  things  in  which  they  were  rich. 
There  is  nothing  gorgeous  now.  We  live  a very 
naked  life.  This  was  the  only  reflection  I remember 
making,  as  we  passed  from  century  to  century,  through 
the  succession  of  classic,  Oriental,  and  mediaeval  courts, 
adown*  the  lapse  of  time,  seeing  all  these  ages  in  as 
brief  a space  as  the  Wandering  Jew  might  glance  along 
them  in  his  memory.  I suppose  a Pompeian  house 
with  its  courts  and  interior  apartments  was  as  faithfully 
shown  as  it  was  possible  to  do  it.  I doubt  whether  I 
ever  should  feel  at  home  in  such  a house. 

In  the  pool  of  a fountain,  of  which  there  are  several 
beautiful  ones  within  the  palace,  besides  larger  ones  in 
the  garden  before  it,  we  saw  tropical  plants  growing, — - 
large  water-lilies  of  various  colors,  some  white,  like  our 
Concord  pond-lily,  only  larger,  and  more  numerously 


320 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855 


leafed.  There  were  great  circular  green  leaves,  lying 
flat  on  the  water,  with  a circumference  equal  to  that  of 
a centre-table.  Tropical  trees,  too,  varieties  of  palm 
and  others,  grew  in  immense  pots  or  tubs,  but  seemed 
not  to  enjoy  themselves  much.  The  atmosphere  must, 
after  all,  be  far  too  cool  to  bring  out  their  native  luxuri- 
ance ; and  this  difficulty  can  never  be  got  over  at  a less 
expense  than  that  of  absolutely  stewing  the  visitors  and 
attendants.  Otherwise,  it  would  be  very  practicable  to 
have  all  the  vegetable  world,  at  least,  within  these  pre- 
cincts. 

The  palace  is  very  large,  and  our  time  was  short,  it 
being  desirable  to  get  home  early ; so,  after  a stay  of 
little  more  than  two  hours,  we  took  the  rail  back  again, 
and  reached  Hanover  Square  at  about  six.  After  tea 
I wandered  forth,  writh  some  thought  of  going  to  the 
theatre,  and,  passing  the  entrance  of  one,  in  the  Strand, 
I went  in,  and  found  a farce  in  progress.  It  was 
one  of  the  minor  theatres,  very  minor  indeed ; but  the 
pieces,  so  far  as  I saw  them,  were  sufficiently  laughable. 
There  were  some  Spanish  dances,  too,  very  graceful 
and  pretty.  Between  the  plays  a girl  from  the  neigh- 
boring saloon  came  to  the  doors  of  the  boxes,  offering 
lemonade  and  ginger-beer  to  the  occupants.  A person 
in  my  box  took  a glass  of  lemonade,  and  shared  it  with 
a young  lady  by  his  side,  both  sipping  out  of  the  same 
glass.  The  audience  seemed  rather  heavy,  — not  briskly 
responsive  to  the  efforts  of  the  performers,  but  good- 
natured,  and  willing  to  be  pleased,  especially  with  some 
patriotic  dances,  in  which  much  waving  and  inter- 
mingling of  the  French  and  English  flags  was  intro- 
duced. Theatrical  performances  soon  weary  me  of  late 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


321 


years ; and  I came  away  before  the  curtain  rose  on  the 
concluding  piece. 

September  2 StL  — S and  I walked  to  Charing 

Cross  yesterday  forenoon,  and  there  took  a Hansom  cab 
to  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral.  It  had  been  a thick,  foggy 
morning,  but  had  warmed  and  brightened  into  one  of 
the  balmiest  and  sunniest  of  noons.  As  we  entered  the 
cathedral,  the  long  bars  of  sunshine  were  falling  from 
its  upper  windows  through  the  great  interior  atmosphere, 
and  were  made  visible  by  the  dust,  or  mist,  floating 
about  in  it.  It  is  a grand  edifice,  and  I liked  it  quite 
as  much  as  on  my  first  view  of  it,  although  a sense  of 
coldness  and  nakedness  is  felt  when  we  compare  it 
with  Gothic  churches.  It  is  more  an  external  work 
than  the  Gothic  churches  are,  and  is  not  so  made  out 
of  the  dim,  awful,  mysterious,  grotesque,  intricate  nature 
of  man.  But  it  is  beautiful  and  grand.  I love  its  re- 
mote distances,  and  wide,  clear  spaces,  its  airy  massive- 
ness ; its  noble  arches,  its  sky-like  dome,  which,  I think, 
should  be  all  over  light,  with  ground  glass,  instead  of 
being  dark,  with  only  diminutive  windows. 

We  walked  round,  looking  at  the  monuments,  which 
are  so  arranged,  at  the  bases  of  columns  and  in  niches, 
as  to  coincide  with  the  regularity  of  the  cathedral,  and 
be  each  an  additional  ornament  to  the  whole,  however 
defective  individually  as  works  of  art.  We  thought 
that  many  of  these  monuments  were  striking  and  im- 
pressive, though  there  was  a pervading  sameness  of  idea, 
— a great  many  Victorys  and  Valors  and  Britannias, 
and  a great  expenditure  of  wreaths,  which  must  have 
cost  Victory  a considerable  sum  at  any  florist’s  whom 
14*  u 


322  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

she  patronizes.  A very  great  majority  of  the  memo- 
rials are  to  naval  and  military  men,  slain  in  Bonaparte’s 
wars  ; men  in  whom  one  feels  little  or  no  interest  (ex- 
cept Picton,  Abercrombie,  Moore,  Nelson,  of  course,  and 
a few  others  really  historic),  they  having  done  nothing 
remarkable,  save  having  been  shot,  nor  shown  any  more 
brains  than  the  cannon-balls  that  killed  them.  All  the 
statues  have  the  dust  of  years  upon  them,  strewn  thick- 
ly in  the  folds  of  their  marble  garments,  and  on  any 
limb  stretched  horizontally,  and  on  their  noses,  so  that 
the  expression  is  much  obscured.  I think  the  nation 
might  employ  people  to  brush  away  the  dust  from  the 
statues  of  its  heroes.  But,  on  the  whole,  it  is  very  fine 
to  look  through  the  broad  arches  of  the  cathedral,  and 
see,  at  the  foot  of  some  distant  pillar,  a group  of  sculp- 
tured figures,  commemorating  some  man  and  deed  that 
(whether  worth  remembering  or  no)  the  nation  is  so 
happy  as  to  reverence.  In  Westminster  Abbey,  the 
monuments  are  so  crowded,  and  so  oddly  patched  to- 
gether upon  the  walls,  that  they  are  ornamental  only  in 
a mural  point  of  view  ; and,  moreover,  the  quaint  and 
grotesque  taste  of  many  of  them  might  well  make  the 
spectator  laugh,  — an  effect  not  likely  to  be  produced 
by  the  monuments  in  St.  Paul’s.  But,  after  all,  a man 
might  read  the  walls  of  the  Abbey  day  after  day  with 
ever-fresh  interest,  whereas  the  cold  propriety  of  the 
Cathedral  would  weary  him  in  due  time. 

We  did  not  ascend  to  the  galleries  and  other  points 
of  interest  aloft,  nor  go  down  into  the  vaults,  where  Nel- 
son’s sarcophagus  is  shown,  and  many  monuments  of 
the  old  Gothic  <?athedral,  which  stood  on  this  site,  be- 
fore the  great  fire.  They  say  that  these  lower  regions 


LONDON. 


323 


1855.] 

are  comfortably  warm  and  dry  ; but  as  we  walked  round 
in  front,  within  the  iron  railing  of  the  churchyard,  we 
passed  an  open  door,  giving  access  to  the  crypt,  and  it 
breathed  out  a chill  like  death  upon  us. 

It  is  pleasant  to  stand  in  the  centre  of  the  cathedral, 
and  hear  the  noise  of  London,  loudest  all  round  this  spot, 
— how  it  is  calmed  into  a sound  as  proper  to  be  heard 
through  the  aisles  as  the  tones  of  its  own  organ.  If  St. 
Paul’s  were  to  be  burnt  again  (having  already  been 
burnt  and  risen  three  or  four  times  since  the  sixth  cen- 
tury), I wonder  whether  it  would  ever  be  rebuilt  in  the 
same  spot ! I doubt  whether  the  city  and  the  nation  are 
so  religious  as  to  consecrate  their  midmost  heart  for  the 
site  of  a church,  where  land  would  be  so  valuable  by 
the  square  inch. 

Coming  from  the  cathedral,  we  went  through  Pater- 
noster Row,  and  saw  Ave  Mary  Lane  ; all  this  locality 
appearing  to  have  got  its  nomenclature  from  monkish 
personages.  We  now  took  a cab  for  the  British  Museum, 
but  found  this  to  be  one  of  the  days  on  which  stran- 
gers are  not  admitted  ; so  we  slowly  walked  into  Oxford 
Street,  and  then  strolled  homeward,  till*,  coming  to  a 
sort  of  bazaar,  we  went  in  and  found  a gallery  of  pictures. 
This  bazaar  proved  to  be  the  Pantheon,  and  the  first 
picture  we  saw  in  the  gallery  was  Haydon’s  Resur- 
rection of  Lazarus,  — a great  height  and  breadth  of 
canvas,  right  before  you  as  you  ascend  the  stairs.  The 
face  of  Lazarus  is  very  awful,  and  not  to  be  forgotten  ; 
it  is  as  true  as  if  the  painter  had  seen  it,  or  had  been 
himself  the  resurrected  man  and  felt  it ; but  the  rest  of 
the  picture  signified  nothing,  and  is  vulgar  and  disagree- 
able besides.  There  are  several  other  pictures  by  Hay- 


324 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


don  in  this  collection,  — the  Banishment  of  Aristides,  Nero 
with  his  Harp,  and  the  Conflagration  of  Rome  ; but  the 
last  is  perfectly  ridiculous,  and  all  of  them  are  exceed' 
ingly  unpleasant.  I should  be  sorry  to  live  in  a house 
that  contained  one  of  them.  The  best  thing  of  Haydon 
was  a hasty  dash  of  a sketch  for  a small,  full-length 
portrait  of  Wordsworth,  sitting  on  the  crag  of  a moun- 
tain. I doubt  whether  Wordsworth’s  likeness  has  ever 
been  so  poetically  brought  out.  This  gallery  is  alto- 
gether of  modern  painters,  and  it  seems  to  be  a recepta- 
cle for  pictures  by  artists  who  can  obtain  places  nowhere 
else,  — at  least,  I never  heard  of  their  names  before. 
They  were  very  uninteresting,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, and  yet  some  of  the  pictures  were  done  cleverly 
enough.  There  is  very  little  talent  in  this  world,  and 
what  there  is,  it  seems  to  me,  is  pretty  well  known  and 
acknowledged.  We  don’t  often  stumble  upon  geniuses 
in  obscure  corners. 

Leaving  the  gallery,  we  wandered  through  the  rest 
of  the  bazaar,  which  is  devoted  to  the  sale  of  ladies’ 
finery,  jewels,  perfumes,  children’s  toys,  and  all  manner 

of  small  and  pretty  rubbish In  the  evening  I 

again  sallied  forth,  and  lost  myself  for  an  hour  or  two ; 
at  last  recognizing  my  whereabouts  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road.  In  such  quarters  of  London  it  seems  to  be  the 
habit  of  people  to  take  their  suppers  in  the  open  air. 
You  see  old  women  at  the  corners,  with  kettles  of  hot 
water  for  tea  or  coffee  ; and  as  I passed  a butcher’s 
open  shop,  he  was  just  taking  out  large  quantities  of 
boiled  beef,  smoking  hot.  Butchers’  stands  are  remark- 
able for  their  profuse  expenditure  of  gas ; it  belches 
forth  from  the  pipes  in  great  flaring  jets  of  flame,  um 


1855.]  LONbON.  325 

covered  by  any  glass,  and  broadly  illuminating  the  neigh- 
borhood. I have  not  observed  that  London  ever  goes 
to  bed. 

September  29 th. — Yesterday  we  walked  to  the  Brit- 
ish Museum.  A sentinel  or  two  kept  guard  before  the 
gateway  of  this  extensive  edifice  in  Great  Russell  Street, 
and  there  was  a porter  at  the  lodge,  and  one  or  two 
policemen  lounging  about,  but  entrance  was  free,  and 
we  walked  in  without  question.  Officials  and  police- 
men were  likewise  scattered  about  the  great  entrance- 
hall,  none  of  whom,  however,  interfered  with  us  ; so  we 
took  whatever  way  we  chose,  and  wandered  about  at 
will.  It  is  a hopeless,  and  to  me,  generally,  a depress- 
ing business  to  go  through  an  immense  multifarious 
show  like  this,  glancing  at  a thousand  things,  and 
conscious  of  some  little  titillation  of  mind  from  them, 
but  really  taking  in  nothing,  and  getting  no  good  from 
anything.  One  need  not  go  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
British  Museum  to  be  profoundly  accomplished  in  all 
branches  of  science,  art,  and  literature ; only  it  would 
take  a lifetime  to  exhaust  it  in  any  one  department ; 
but  to  see  it  as  we  did,  and  with  no  prospect  of  ever 
seeing  it  more  at  leisure,  only  impressed  me  with  the 
truth  of  the  old  apothegm,  “ Life  is  short,  and  Art 
is  long.”  The  fact  is,  the  world  is  accumulating  too 
many  materials  for  knowledge.  We  do  not  recognize 
for  rubbish  what  is  really  rubbish ; and  under  this 
head  might  be  reckoned  very  many  things  one  sees  in 
the  British  Museum  ; and,  as  each  generation  leaves 
its  fragments  and  potsherds  behind  it,  such  will  finally 
be  the  desperate  conclusion  of  the  learned. 


326  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

We  went  first  among  some  antique  marbles,  — -busts, 
statues,  terminal  gods,  with  several  of  the  Roman  em- 
perors among  them.  We  saw  here  the  bust  whence 
Haydon  took  his  ugly  and  ridiculous  likeness  of  Nero, 
— a foolish  thing  to  do.  Julius  Caesar  was  there,  too, 
looking  more  like  a modern  old  man  than  any  other 
bust  in  the  series.  Perhaps  there  may  be  a univer- 
sality in  his  face,  that  gives  it  this  independence  of 
race  and  epoch.  We  glimpsed  along  among  the  old 
marbles,  — Elgin  and  others,  which  are  esteemed  such 
treasures  of  art ; — the  oddest  fragments,  many  of 
them  smashed  by  their  fall  from  high  places,  or  by 
being  pounded  to  pieces  by  barbarians,  or  gnawed  away 
by  time ; the  surface  roughened  by  being  rained  upon 
for  thousands  of  years  ; almost  always  a nose  knocked 
off ; sometimes  a headless  form ; a great  deficiency  of 
feet  and  hands,  - — poor,  maimed  veterans  in  this  hos- 
pital of  incurables.  The  beauty  of  the  most  perfect  of 
them  must  be  rather  guessed  at,  and  seen  by  faith,  than 
with  the  bodily  eye  ; to  look  at  the  corroded  faces  and 
forms  is  like  trying  to  see  angels  through  mist  and 
cloud.  I suppose  nine  tenths  of  those  who  seem-  to  be 
in  raptures  about  these  fragments  do  not  really  care 
about  them ; neither  do  I.  And  if  I were  actually 
moved,  I should  doubt  whether  it  were  by  the  statues 
or  by  my  own  fancy. 

We  passed,  too,  through  Assyrian  saloons  and  Egyp- 
tian saloons,  — all  full  of  monstrosities  and  horrible 
uglinesses,  especially  the  Egyptian,  and  all  the  innu- 
merable relics  that  I saw  of  them  in  these  saloons,  and 
among  the  mummies,  instead  of  bringing  me  closer  to 
them,  removed  me  farther  and  farther ; there  being 


LONDON. 


327 


1855.] 

no  common  ground  of  sympathy  between  them  and  us. 
Their  gigantic  statues  are  certainly  very  curious.  I 
saw  a hand  and  arm  up  to  the  shoulder  fifteen  feet  in 
length,  and  made  of  some  stone  that  seemed  harder  and 
heavier  than  granite,  not  having  lost  its  polish  in  all 
the  rough  usage  that  it  has  undergone.  There  wan  a 
fist  on  a still  larger  scale,  almost  as  big  as  a hogshead. 
Hideous,  blubber-lipped  faces  of  giants,  and  human 
shapes  with  beasts’  heads  on  them.  The  Egyptian 
controverted  Nature  in  all  things,  only  using  it  as  a 
groundwork  to  depict  the  unnatural  upon.  Their 
mummifying  process  is  a result  of  this  tendency.  We 
saw  one  very  perfect  mummy,  — a priestess,  with  ap- 
parently only  one  more  fold  of  linen  betwixt  us  and  her 
antique  flesh,  and  this  fitting  closely  to  her  person  from 
head  to  foot,  so  that  we  could  see  the  lineaments  of  her 
face  and  the  shape  of  her  limbs  as  perfectly  as  if  quite 
bare.  I judge  that  she  may  have  been  very  beautiful 
in  her  day,  — whenever  that  was.  One  or  two  of  the 
poor  thing’s  toes  (her  feet  were  wonderfully  small  and 
delicate)  protruded  from  the  linen,  and,  perhaps,  not 
having  been  so  perfectly  embalmed,  the  flesh  had  fallen 
away,  leaving  only  some  little  bones.  I don’t  think 
this  young  woman  has  gained  much  by  not  turning  to 
dust  in  the  time  of  the  Pharaohs.  We  also  saw  some 
bones  of  a king  that  had  been  taken  out  of  a pyramid  ; a 
very  fragmentary  skeleton.  Among  the  classic  marbles 
I peeped  into  an  urn  that  once  contained  the  ashes 
of  dead  people,  and  the  bottom  still  had  an  ashy  hue. 
I like  this  mode  of  disposing  of  dead  bodies ; but  it 
would  be  still  better  to  burn  them  and  scatter  the  ashes, 
instead  of  hoarding  them  up,  — to  scatter  them  over 
wheat-fields  or  flower-beds, 


328  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

Besides  these  antique  halls,  we  wandered  through 
saloons  of  antediluvian  animals,  some  set  up  in  skele- 
tons, others  imprisoned  in  solid  stone  ; also  specimens 
of  still  extant  animals,  birds,  reptiles,  shells,  minerals,  — 
the  whole  circle  of  human  knowledge  and  guess-work,  — 
till  I wished  that  the  whole  Past  might  be  swept  away, 
and  each  generation  compelled  to  bury  and  destroy 
whatever  it  had  produced,  before  being  permitted  to 
leave  the  stage.  When  we  quit  a house,  we  are  ex- 
pected to  make  it  clean  for  the  next  occupant ; why 
ought  we  not  to  leave  a clean  world  for  the  next  gen- 
eration ? We  did  not  see  the  library  of  above  half  a 
million  of  volumes ; else  I suppose  I should  have 
found  full  occasion  to  wish  that  burnt  and  buried 
likewise.  In  truth,  a greater  part  of  it  is  as  good  as 
buried,  so  far  as  any  readers  are  concerned.  Leaving 
the  Museum,  we  sauntered  home.  After  a little  rest,  I 
set  out  for  St.  John’s  Wood,  and  arrived  thither  by  dint 
of  repeated  inquiries.  It  is  a pretty  suburb,  inhabited 
by  people  of  the  middling  class.  U met  me  joyful- 

ly, but  seemed  to  have  had  a good  time  with  Mrs.  Oak- 
ford  and  her  daughter  ; and,  being  pressed  to  stay  to  tea, 
I could  not  well  help  it.  Before  tea  I sat  talking  with 
Mrs.  Oakford  and  a friend  of  hers,  Miss  Clinch,  about 
the  Americans  and  the  English,  especially  dwelling  on 
the  defects  of  the  latter,  — among  which  we  reckoned 
a wretched  meanness  in  money  transactions,  a lack  of 
any  embroidery  of  honor  and  liberality  in  their  dealings, 
so  that  they  require  close  watching,  or  they  will  be  sure 
to  take  you  at  advantage.  I hear  this  character  of 
them  from  Americans  on  all  hands,  and  my  own  ex~ 
perience  confirms  it,  as  far  as  it  goes,  not  merely  among 


IS55.]  LONDON.  329 

tradespeople,  but  among  persons  who  call  themselves 
gentlefolks.  The  cause,  no  doubt,  or  one  cause,  lies  in 
the  fewer  chances  of  getting  money  here,  the  closer 
and  sharper  regulation  of  all  the  modes  of  life  ; nothing 
being  left  to  liberal  and  gentlemanly  feelings,  except 
fees  to  servants.  They  are  not  gamblers  in  England, 
as  we  to  some  extent  are ; and  getting  their  money 
painfully,  or  living  within  an  accurately  known  income, 
they  are  disinclined  to  give  up  so  much  as  a sixpence 
that  they  can  possibly  get.  But  the  result  is,  they  are 
mean  in  petty  things. 

By  and  by  Mr.  Oakford  came  in,  well  soaked  with 
the  heaviest  shower  that  I ever  knew  in  England,  which 
had  been  rattling  on  the  roof  of  the  little  side  room 
where  we  sat,  and  had  caught  him  on  the  outside 
of  the  omnibus.  At  a little  before  eight  o’clock  I came 

home  with  U in  a cab,  — the  gas-light  glittering  on 

the  wet  streets  through  which  we  drove,  though  the  sky 
was  clear  overhead. 

September  3 Oth. — Yesterday,  a little  before  twelve,  we 
took  a cab,  and  went  to  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament,  — 
the  most  immense  building,  methinks,  that  ever  was 
built ; and  not  yet  finished,  though  it  has  now  been  oc- 
cupied for  years.  Its  exterior  lies  hugely  along  the 
ground,  and  its  great  unfinished  tower  is  still  climbing 
towards  the  sky  ; but  the  result  (unless  it  be  the  river- 
front, which  I have  not  yet  seen)  seems  not  very  impres- 
sive. The  interior  is  much  more  successful.  Nothing 
can  be  more  magnificent  and  gravely  gorgeous  than  the 
Chamber  of  Peers,  — a large  oblong  hall,  panelled  with 
oak,  elaborately  carved,  to  the  height  of  perhaps  twenty 


330  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

feet.  Then  the  balustrade  of  the  gallery  runs  around  the 
hall,  and  above  the  gallery  are  six  arched  windows  on 
each  side,  richly  painted  with  historic  subjects.  The 
roof  is  ornamented  and  gilded,  and  everywhere  through- 
out there  is  embellishment  of  color  and  carving  on  the 
broadest  scale,  and,  at  the  same  time,  most  minute  and 
elaborate  ; statues  of  full  size  in  niches  aloft ; small 
heads  of  kings,  no  bigger  than  a doll ; and  the  oak  is 
carved  in  all  parts  of  the  panelling  as  faithfully  as  they 
used  to  do  it  in  Henry  VII.’s  time,  — as  faithfully  and 
with  as  good  workmanship,  but  with  nothing  like  the 
variety  and  invention  which  I saw  in  the  dining-room  of 
Smithell’s  Hall.  There  the  artist  wrought  with  his 
heart  and  head ; but  much  of  this  work,  I suppose,  was 
done  by  machinery.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  a most 
noble  and  splendid  apartment,  and,  though  so  fine,  there 
is  not  a touch  of  finery  ; it  glistens  and  glows  with  even 
a sombre  magnificence,  owing  to  the  rich,  deep  hues, 
and  the  dim  light,  bedimmed  with  rich  colors  by  com- 
ing through  the  painted  windows.  In  arched  recesses, 
that  serve  as  frames,  at  each  end  of  the  hall,  there  are 
three  pictures  by  modern  artists  from  English  history ; 
and  though  it  was  not  possible  to  see  them  well  as  pic- 
tures, they  adorned  and  enriched  the  walls  marvellously 
as  architectural  embellishments.  The  Peers’  seats  are 
four  rows  of  long  sofas  on  each  side,  covered  with  red 
morocco ; comfortable  seats  enough,  but  not  adapted  to 
any  other  than  a decorously  exact  position.  The  wool- 
sack is  between  these  two  divisions  of  sofas,  in  the 
middle  passage  of  the  floor,  — a great  square  seat,  cov- 
ered with  scarlet,  and  with  a scarlet  cushion  set  up  per- 
pendicularly for  the  Chancellor  to  lean  against.  In 


LONDON. 


331 


1855.] 

front  of  the  woolsack  there  is  another  still  larger  otto- 
man, on  which  he  might  lie  at  full  length,  — for  what 
purpose  intended,  I know  not.  I should  take  the  wool- 
sack to  be  not  a very  comfortable  seat,  though  I suppose 
it  was  originally  designed  to  be  the  most  comfortable 
one  that  could  be  contrived,  in  view  of  the  Chancellor’s 
much  sitting. 

The  throne  is  the  first  object  you  see  on  entering  the 
hall,  being  close  to  the  door ; a chair  of  antique  form, 
with  a high,  peaked  back,  and  a square  canopy  above, 
the  whole  richly  carved  and  quite  covered  with  bur- 
nished gilding,  besides  being  adorned  with  rows  of  rock 
crystals,  — which  seemed  to  me  of  rather  questionable 
taste. 

It  is  less  elevated  above  the  floor  than  one  imagines 
it  ought  to  be.  While  we  were  looking  at  it,  I saw  two 
Americans,  — Western  men,  I should  judge,  — one  of 
them  with  a true  American  slouch,  talking  to  the  police- 
man in  attendance,  and  describing  our  Senate  Chamber 
in  contrast  with  the  House  of  Lords.  The  policeman 
smiled  and  ah-ed,  and  seemed  to  make  as  courteous  and 
liberal  responses  as  he  could.  There  was  quite  a mixed 
company  of  spectators,  and,  I think,  other  Americans 
present  besides  the  above  two  and  ourselves.  The 
Lord  Chamberlain’s  tickets  appear  to  be  distributed 
with  great  impartiality.  There  were  two  or  three  wo- 
men of  the  lower  middle  class,  with  children  or  babies 
in  arms,  one  of  whom  lifted  up  its  voice  loudly  in  the 
House  of  Peers. 

We  next,  after  long  contemplating  this  rich  hall,  pro- 
ceeded through  passages  and  corridors  to  a great  central 
room,  very  beautiful,  which  seems  to  be  used  for  pur- 


332  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

poses  of  refreshment,  and  for  electric  telegraphs  ; though 
I should  not  suppose  this  could  be  its  primitive  and  ul- 
timate design.  Thence  we  went  into  the  House  of 
Commons,  which  is  larger  than  the  Chamber  of  Peers, 
and  much  less  richly  ornamented,  though  it  would  have 
appeared  splendid  had  it  come  first  in  order.  The 
speaker’s  chair,  if  I remember  rightly,  is  loftier  and 
statelier  than  the  throne  itself.  Both  in  this  hall  and 
in  that  of  the  Lords,  we  were  at  first  surprised  by  the 
narrow  limits  within  which  the  great  ideas  of  the  Lords 
and  Commons  of  England  are  physically  realized ; they 
would  seem  to  require  a vaster  space.  When  we  hear 
of  members  rising  on  opposite  sides  of  the  House,  we 
think  of  them  as  but  dimly  discernible  to  their  oppo- 
nents, and  uplifting  their  voices,  so  as  to  be  heard  afar  ; 
whereas  they  sit  closely  enough  to  feel  each  other’s 
spheres,  to  note  all  expression  of  face,  and  to  give  the 
debate  the  character  of  a conversation.  In  this  view  a 
debate  seems  a much  more  earnest  and  real  thing  than 
as  we  read  it  in  a newspaper.  Think  of  the  debaters 
meeting  each  other’s  eyes,  their  faces  flushing,  their 
looks  interpreting  their  words,  their  speech  growing 
into  eloquence,  without  losing  the  genuineness  of  talk  ! 
Yet,  in  fact,  the  Chamber  of  Peers  is  ninety  feet  long 
and  half  as  broad  and  high,  and  the  Chamber  of  Com- 
mons is  still  larger. 

Thence  we  went  to  Westminster  Hall,  through  a 
gallery  with  statues  on  each  side,  — beautiful  statues 
too,  I thought ; seven  of  them,  of  which  four  were  from 
the  times  of  the  civil  wars,  — Clarendon,  Falkland, 
Hampden,  Selden,  Somers,  Mansfield,  and  Walpole. 
There  is  room  for  more  in  this  corridor,  and  there  are 


LONDON. 


1855.] 


niches  for  hundreds  of  their  marble  brotherhood  through- 
out the  edifice ; but  I suppose  future  ages  will  have  to 
fill  the  greater  part  of  them.  Yet  I cannot  help  imagin- 
ing that  this  rich  and  noble  edifice  has  more  to  do  with 
the  past  than  with  the  future  ; that  it  is  the  glory  of  a de- 
clining empire  ; and  that  the  perfect  bloom  of  this  great 
stone  flower,  growing  out  of  the  institutions  of  England, 
forbodes  that  they  have  nearly  lived  out  their  life.  It 
sums  up  all.  Its  beauty  and  magnificence  are  made 
out  of  ideas  that  are  gone  by. 

We  entered  Westminster  Hall  (which  is  incorpo- 
rated into  this  new  edifice,  and  forms  an  integral  part 
of  it)  through  a lofty  archway,  whence  a double  flight 
of  broad  steps  descends  to  the  stone  pavement.  After 
the  elaborate  ornament  of  the  rooms  we  had  just  been 
viewing,  this  venerable  hall  looks  extremely  simple 
and  bare,  — a gray  stone  floor,  gray  and  naked  stone 
walls,  but  a roof  sufficiently  elaborate,  its  vault  be- 
ing filled  with  carved  beams  and  rafters  of  chestnut,  very 
much  admired  and  wondered  at  for  the  design  and  ar- 
rangement. I think  it  would  have  pleased  me  more  to 
have  seen  a clear  vaulted  roof,  instead  of  this  intricacy 
of  wooden  points,  by  which  so  much  skylight  space  is 
lost.  They  make  (be  it  not  irreverently  said)  the  vast 
and  lofty  apartment  look  like  the  ideal  of  an  immense 
barn.  But  it  is  a noble  space,  and  all  without  the  sup- 
port of  a single  pillar.  It  is  about  eighty  of  my  paces 
from  the  foot  of  the  steps  to  the  opposite  end  of  the 
hall,  and  twenty-seven  from  side  to  side  ; very  high, 
too,  though  not  quite  proportionately  to  its  other  dimen- 
sions. I love  it  for  its  simplicity  and  antique  naked- 
ness, and  deem  it  worthy  to  have  been  the  haunt  and 


334 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


home  of  History  through  the  six  centuries  since  it  was 
built.  I wonder  it  does  not  occur  to  modern  ingenuity 
to  make  a scenic  representation,  in  this  very  hall,  of 
the  ancient  trials  for  life  or  death,  pomps,  feasts,  coro- 
nations, and  every  great  historic  incident  in  the  lives  of 
kings,  Parliaments,  Protectors,  and  all  illustrious  men, 
that  have  occurred  here.  The  whole  world  cannot  show 
another  hall  such  as  this,  so  tapestried  with  recollections 
of  whatever  is  most  striking  in  human  annals. 

Westminster  Abbey  being  just  across  the  street,  we 
went  thither  from  the  hall,  and  sought  out  the  cloisters, 
which  we  had  not  yet  visited.  They  are  in  excellent 
preservation,  — broad  walks,  canopied  with  intermingled 
arches  of  gray  stone,  on  which  some  sort  of  lichen,  or 
other  growth  of  ages  (which  seems,  however,  to  have 
little  or  nothing  vegetable  in  it),  has  grown.  The  pave- 
ment is  entirely  made  of  flat  tombstones,  inscribed  with 
half- effaced  names  of  the  dead  people  beneath  ; and  the 
wall  all  round  bears  the  marble  tablets  which  give  a 
fuller  record  of  their  virtues.  I think  it  was  from  a 
meditation  in  these  cloisters  that  Addison  wrote  one  of 
his  most  beautiful  pieces  in  the  Spectator.  It  is  a pity 
that  this  old  fashion  of  a cloistered  walk  is  not  retained 
in  our  modern  edifices  ; it  was  so  excellent  for  shelter 
and  for  shade  during  a thoughtful  hour,  — this  sombre 
corridor  beneath  an  arched  stone  roof,  with  the  central 
space  of  richest  grass,  on  which  the  sun  might  shine 
or  the  shower  fall,  while  the  monk  or  student  paced 
through  the  prolonged  archway  of  his  meditations. 

As  wTe  came  out  from  the  cloisters,  and  walked  along 
by  the  churchyard  of  the  Abbey,  a woman  came  beg- 
ging behind  us  very  earnestly.  “ A bit  of  bread,”  she 


1 855.  j 


LONDON. 


335 


said,  “ and  I will  give  you  a thousand  blessings ! Hun- 
ger is  hard  to  bear.  0 kind  gentleman  and  kind  lady, 
a penny  for  a bit  of  bread!  It  is  a hard  thing  that  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies  should  see  poor  people  wanting  bread, 
and  make  no  difference  whether  they  are  good  or  bad.” 
And  so  she  followed  us  almost  all  round  the  Abbey, 
assailing  our  hearts  in  most  plaintive  terms,  but  with  no 
success ; for  she  did  it  far  too  well  to  be  anything  but  an 
impostor,  and  no  doubt  she  had  breakfasted  better,  and 
was  likely  to  have  a better  dinner,  than  ourselves.  And 
yet  the  natural  man  cries  out  against  the  philosophy 
that  rejects  beggars.  It  is  a thousand  to  one  that  they 
are  impostors,  but  yet  we  do  ourselves  a wrong  by 
hardening  our  hearts  against  them.  At  last,  without 
turning  round,  I told  her  that  I should  give  her  nothing, 
— with  some  asperity,  doubtless,  for  the  effort  to  refuse 
creates  a bitterer  repulse  than  is  necessajp.  She  still 
followed  us  a little  farther,  but  at  last  gave  it  up,  with 
a deep  groan.  I could  not  have  performed  this  act  of 
heroism  on  my  first  arrival  from  America. 

Whether  the  beggar-woman  had  invoked  curses  on 
us,  and  Heaven  saw  fit  to  grant  some  slight  response, 
I know  not,  but  it  now  began  to  rain  on  my  wife’s  vel- 
vet; so  I put  her  and  J into  a cab,  and  hastened 

to  ensconce  myself  in  Westminster  Abbey  while  the 
shower  should  last.  Poets’  Corner  has  never  seemed 
like  a strange  place  to  me  ; it  has  been  familiar  from 
the  very  first ; at  all  events,  I cannot  now  recollect 
the  previous  conception,  of  which  the  reality  has  taken 
the  place.  I seem  always  to  have  known  that  somewhat 
dim  corner,  with  the  bare  brown  stone-work  of  the  old 
edifice  aloft,  and  a window  shedding  down  its  light  on 


336 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1853. 

the  marble  busts  and  tablets,  yellow  with  lime,  that 
cover  the  three  walls  of  the  nook  up  to  a height  of 
about  twenty  feet.  Prior’s  is  the  largest  and  richest 
monument.  It  is  observable  that  the  bust  and  monu- 
ment of  Congreve  are  in  a distant  part  of  the  Abbey. 
His  duchess  probably  thought  it  a degradation  to  bring 
a gentleman  among  the  beggarly  poets. 

I walked  round  the  aisles,  and  paced  the  nave,  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  Westminster  Abbey,  both 
in  itself  and  for  the  variety  and  interest  of  its  monu- 
ments, is  a thousand  times  preferable  to  St.  Paul’s. 
There  is  as  much  difference  as  between  a snow-bank 
and  a chimney-corner  in  their  relation  to  the  human 
heart.  By  the  by,  the  monuments  and  statues  in  the 
Abbey  seem  all  to  be  carefully  dusted. 

The  shower  being  over,  I walked  down  into  the  city, 

where  I call^I  on  Mr.  B and  left  S ’s  watch  to 

be  examined  and  put  in  order.  He  told  me  that  he 
and  his  brother  had  lately  been  laying  out  and  letting 
a piece  of  land  at  Blackheath,  that  had  been  left  them 
by  their  father,  and  that  the  ground-rent  would  bring 
them  in  two  thousand  pounds  per  annum.  With  such 
an  independent  income,  I doubt  whether  any  American 
would  consent  to  be  anything  but  a gentleman,  — cer- 
tainly not  an  operative  watchmaker.  How  sensible 
these  Englishmen  are  in  some  things ! 

Thence  I went  at  adventure,  and  lost  myself,  of 
course.  At  one  part  of  my  walk  I came  upon  Sb 
Luke’s  Hospital,  whence  I returned  to  St.  Paul’s,  and 
thence  along  Fleet  Street  and  the  Strand.  Contigu- 
ous to  the  latter  is  Holywell  Street,  — a narrow  lane, 


LONDON. 


337 


1855.] 

filled  lip  with  little  bookshops  and  bookstalls,  at  some 
of  which  I saw  sermons  and  other  works  of  divinity, 
old  editions  of  classics,  and  all  such  serious  matters, 
while  at  stalls  and  windows  close  beside  them  (and, 
possibly,  at  the  same  stalls)  there  were  books  with  title- 
pages  displayed,  indicating  them  to  be  of  the  most  inde- 
cent kind. 

October  2d.  — Yesterday  forenoon  I went  with  J— 
into  the  city  to  67  Grace  Church  Street,  to  get  a bank 
post-note  cashed  by  Mr.  Oakford,  and  afterwards  to 
the  offices  of  two  lines  of  steamers,  in  Moorgate  Street 
and  Leadenhall  Street.  The  city  was  very  much 
thronged.  It  is  a marvel  what  sets  so  many  people 
a going  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  Then  it  is  to  be 
considered  that  these  are  but  a small  portion  of  those 
who  are  doing  the  business  of  the  city ; much  the 
larger  part  being  occupied  in  offices  at  desks,  in  dis- 
cussions of  plans  of  enterprise,  out  of  sight  of  the  pub- 
lic, while  these  earnest  hurriers  are  merely  the  froth  in 
the  pot. 

After  seeing  the  steam-officials,  we  went  to  London 
Bridge,  which  always  swarms  with  more  passengers 
than  any  of  the  streets.  Descending  the  steps  that 
lead  to  the  level  of  the  Thames,  we  took  passage  in  a 
boat  bound  up  the  river  to  Chelsea,  of  which  there  is 
one  starting  every  ten  minutes,  the  voyage  being  of 
forty  minutes’  duration.  It  began  to  sprinkle  a little 
just  as  we  started;  but  after  a slight  showeriness,  last- 
ing till  we  had  passed  Westminster  Bridge,  the  day 
grew  rather  pleasant. 


VOL.  I. 


15 


338 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

At  Westminster  Bridge  we  had  a good  view  of  the 
river-front  of  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament,  which 
look  very  noble  from  this  point,  — a long  and  massive 
extent,  with  a delightful  promenade  for  the  legislative 
people  exactly  above  the  margin  of  the  river.  This  is 
certainly  a magnificent  edifice,  and  yet  I doubt  whether 
it  is  so  impressive  as  it  might  and  ought  to  have  been 
made,  considering  its  immensity.  It  makes  no  more 
impression  than  you  can  well  account  to  yourself  for, 
and  you  rather  wonder  that  it  does  not  make  more. 
The  reason  must  be  that  the  architect  has  not  “ builded 
better  than  he  knew.”  He  felt  no  power  higher  and 
wiser  than  himself,  making  him  its  instrument.  He 
reckoned  upon  and  contrived  all  his  effects  with  mal- 
ice aforethought,  and  therefore  missed  the  crowning 
glory,  — that  being  a happiness  which  God,  out  of  his 
pure  grace,  mixes  up  with  only  the  simple-hearted,  best 
efforts  of  men. 


October  3d.  — I again  went  into  the  city  yesterday 
forenoon,  to  settle  about  the  passages  to  Lisbon,  taking 

J with  me.  From  Hungerford  Bridge  we  took  the 

steamer  to  London  Bridge,  that  being  an  easy  and 
speedy  mode  of  accomplishing  distances  that  take  many 
footsteps  through  the  crowded  thoroughfares.  After 
leaving  the  steamer-office,  we  went  back  through  the 
Strand,  and,  crossing  Waterloo  Bridge,  walked  a good 
way  on  to  the  Surrey  side  of  the  river  ; a coarse,  dingy, 
disagreeable  suburb,  with  shops  apparently  for  country 
produce,  for  old  clothes,  second-hand  furniture,  for  iron- 
ware, and  other  things  bulky  and  inelegant.  How  many 


LONDON. 


339 


1855.]  • 

scenes  and  sorts  of  life  are  comprehended  within  Lon- 
don ! There  was  much  in  the  aspect  of  these  streets 
that  reminded  me  of  a busy  country  village  in  America 
on  an  immensely  magnified  scale. 

Growing  rather  weary  anon,  we  got  into  an  omnibus, 
which  took  us  as  far  as  the  Surrey  Zoological  Gardens, 

which  J wished  very  much  to  see.  They  proved 

to  be  a rather  poor  place  of  suburban  amusement ; poor, 
at  least,  by  daylight,  — their  chief  attraction  for  the 
public  consisting  in  out-of-door  representations  of 
battles  and  sieges.  The  storming  of  Sebastopol  (as 
likewise  at  the  Cremorne  Gardens)  was  advertised  for 
the  evening,  and  we  saw  the  scenery  of  Sebastopol, 
painted  on  a vast  scale,  in  the  open  air,  and  really 
looking  like  miles  and  miles  of  hill  and  water  ; with  a 
space  for  the  actual  manoeuvring  of  ships  on  a sheet 
of  real  water  in  front  of  the  scene,  on  which  some 
ducks  were  now  swimming  about,  in  place  of  men-of- 
war.  The  climate  of  England  must  often  interfere  with 
this  sort  of  performance  ; and  I can  conceive  of  nothing 
drearier  for  spectators  or  performers  than  a drizzly 
evening.  Convenient  to  this  central  spot  of  entertain- 
ment there  were  liquor  and  refreshment  rooms,  with 
pies  and  cakes.  The  menagerie,  though  the  ostensible 
staple  of  the  gardens,  is  rather  poor  and  scanty ; pretty 
well  provided  with  lions  and  lionesses,  also  one  or  two 
giraffes,  some  camels,  a polar  bear,  — who  plunged  into 
a pool  of  water  for  bits  of  cake,  — and  two  black  bears, 
who  sat  on  their  haunches  or  climbed  poles ; besides  a 
wilderness  of  monkeys,  some  parrots  and  macaws,  an 
ostrich,  various  ducks,  and  other  animal  and  ornitho- 
logical trumpery ; some  skins  of  snakes  so  well  stuffed 


340 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185 


that  I took  them  for  living  serpents  till  J discov- 

ered the  deception,  and  an  aquarium,  with  a good  many 
common  fishes  swimming  among  sea-weed. 

The  garden  is  shaded  with  trees,  and  set  out  with 
greensward  and  gravel  walks,  from  which  the  people 
were  sweeping  the  withered  autumnal  leaves,  which  now 
fall  every  day.  Plaster  statues  stand  here  and  there, 
one  of  them  without  a head,  thus  disclosing  the  hollow- 
ness of  the  trunk  ; there  were  one  or  two  little  drizzly 
fountains,  with  the  water  dripping  over  the  rock-work, 
of  which  the  English  are  so  fond  ; and  the  buildings  for 
the  animals  and  other  purposes  had  a flimsy,  pasteboard 
aspect  of  pretension.  The  garden  was  in  its  undress; 
few  visitors,  I suppose,  coming  hither  at  this  time  of 
day,  — only  here  and  there  a lady  and  children,  a young 
man  and  girl,  or  a couple  of  citizens,  loitering  about. 
I take  pains  to  remember  these  small  items,  because 
they  suggest  the  day-life  or  torpidity  of  what  may  look 
very  brilliant  at  night.  These  corked-up  fountains, 
slovenly  greensward,  cracked  casts  of  statues,  paste- 
board castles,  and  duck-pond  Bay  of  Balaclava  then 
shining  out  in  magic  splendor,  and  the  shabby  attend- 
ants whom  we  saw  sweeping  and  shovelling  probably 
transformed  into  the  heroes  of  Sebastopol. 

J thought  it  a delightful  place ; but  I soon  grew 

very  weary,  and  came  away  about  four  o’clock,  and, 
getting  into  a city  omnibus,  we  alighted  on  the  hither 
side  of  Blackfriar’s  Bridge.  Turning  into  Fleet  Street, 
I looked  about  for  a place  to  dine  at,  and  chose  the 
Mitre  Tavern,  in  memory  of  Johnson  and  Boswell.  It 
stands  behind  a front  of  modern  shops,  througli  which 
is  an  archway,  giving  admittance  intq  a nayrqw  court- 


1855.] 


LONDON. 


341 


yard,  which,  I suppose,  was  formerly  open  to  FLeet 
Street.  The  house  is  of  dark  brick,  and,  comparing  it 
with  other  London  edifices,  I should  take  it  to  have 
been  at  least  refronted  since  Johnson’s  time  ; but  within, 
the  low,  sombre  coffee-room  which  we  entered  might 
well  enough  have  been  of  that  era  or  earlier.  It  seems 
to  be  a good,  plain,  respectable  inn ; and  the  waiter 
gave  us  each  a plate  of  boiled  beef,  and,  for  dessert,  a 
damson  tart,  which  made  up  a comfortable  dinner. 
After  dinner  we  zigzagged  homeward  through  Clifford’s 
Inn  passage,  Holborn,  Drury  Lane,  the  Strand,  Charing 
Cross,  Pall  Mall,  and  Regent  Street ; but  I remember 
only  an  ancient  brick  gateway  as  particularly  remark- 
able. I think  it  was  the  entrance  to  Lincoln’s  Inn. 
We  reached  home  at  about  six. 

There  is  a woman  who  has  several  times  passed 
through  this  Hanover  Street,  in  which  we  live,  stopping 
occasionally  to  sing  songs  under  the  windows ; and  last 
evening,  between  nine  and  ten  o’clock,  she  came  and  sang 
“ Kathleen  O’Moore  ” richly  and  sweetly.  Her  voice 
rose  up  out  of  the  dim,  chill  street,  and  made  our  hearts 
throb  in  unison  with  it  as  we  sat  in  our  comfortable 
drawing-room.  I never  heard  a voice  that  touched  me 
more  deeply.  Somebody  told  her  to  go  away,  and  she 
stopped  like  a nightingale  suddenly  shot ; but,  finding 

that  S wished  to  know  something  about  her,  Fanny 

and  one  of  the  maids  ran  after  her,  and  brought  her 
into  the  hall.  It  seems  she  was  educated  to  sing  at  the 
opera,  and  married  an  Italian  opera-singer,  who  is  now 
dead  ; lodging  in  a model  lodging-house  at  threepence 
a night,  and  being  a penny  short  to-night,  she  tried  this 
method,  in  hope  of  getting  this  penny.  She  takes  in 


342 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


plain  sewing  when  she  can  get  any,  and  picks  up  a 
trifle  about  the  street  by  means  of  her  voice,  which,  she 
says,  was  once  sweet,  but  has  now  been  injured  by  the 
poorness  of  her  living.  She  is  a pale  woman,  with 
black  eyes,  Fanny  says,  and  may  have  been  pretty  once, 
but  is  not  so  now.  It  seems  very  strange,  that  with 
such  a gift  of  Heaven,  so  cultivated,  too,  as  her  voice  is, 
making  even  an  unsusceptible  heart  vibrate  like  a harp- 
string, she  should  not  have  had  an  engagement  among 
the  hundred  theatres  and  singing-rooms  of  London ; 
that  she  should  throw  away  her  melody  in  the  streets 
for  the  mere  chance  of  a penny,  when  sounds  not  a hun- 
dredth part  so  sweet  are  worth  from  other  lips  purses 
of  gold. 

October  bth.  — It  rained  almost  all  day  on  Wednesday, 
so  that  I did  not  go  out  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
then  only  took  a stroll  along  Oxford  Street  and  Holborn, 
and  back  through  Fleet  Street  and  the  Strand.  Yester- 
day, at  a little  after  ten,  I went  to  the  ambassador’s  to 
get  my  wife’s  passport  for  Lisbon.  While  I was  talk- 
ing with  the  clerk,  Mr. made  his  appearance  in  a 

dressing-gown,  with  a morning  cheerfulness  and  alacrity 
in  his  manner.  He  was  going  to  Liverpool  with  his 
niece,  who  returns  to  America  by  the  steamer  of  Satur- 
day. She  has  had  a good  deal  of  success  in  society 
here ; being  pretty  enough  to  be  remarked  among  Eng- 
lish women,  and  with  cool,  self-possessed,  frank,  and 
quiet  manners,  which  look  very  like  the  highest  breed- 
ing. 

I next  went  to  Westminster  Abbey,  where  I had  long 
promised  myself  another  quiet  visit ; for  I think  I never 


LONDON. 


343 


1855.] 

could  be  weary  of  it ; and  when  I finally  leave  England, 
it  will  be  this  spot  which  I shall  feel  most  unwilling  to 
quit  forever.  I found  a party  going  through  the  seven 
chapels  (or  whatever  their  number  may  be),  and  again 
saw  those  stately  and  quaint  old  tombs,  — ladies  and 
knights  stretched  out  on  marble  slabs,  or  beneath  arches 
and  canopies  of  stone,  let  into  the  walls  of  the  Abbey, 
reclining  on  their  elbows,  in  ruff  and  farthingale  or  riv- 
eted armor,  or  in  robes  of  state,  once  painted  in  rich 
colors,  of  which  only  a few  patches  of  scarlet  now  re- 
main ; bearded  faces  of  noble  knights,  whose  noses,  in 
many  cases,  had  been  smitten  off ; and  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  had  lost  two  fingers  of  her  beautiful  hands,  which 
she  is  clasping  in  prayer.  There  must  formerly  have 
been  very  free  access  to  these  tombs ; for  I observed 
that  all  the  statues  (so  far  as  I examined  them)  were 
scratched  with  the  initials  of  visitors,  some  of  the  names 
being  dated  above  a century  ago.  The  old  coronation- 
chair,  too,  is  quite  covered,  over  the  back  and  seat,  with 
initials  cut  into  it  with  pocket-knives,  just  as  Yankees 
would  do  it ; only  it  is  not  whittled  away,  as  would  have 
been  its  fate  in  our  hands.  Edward  the  Confessor’s 
shrine,  which  is  chiefly  of  wood,  likewise  abounds  in 
these  inscriptions,  although  this  was  esteemed  the  holiest 
shrine  in  England,  so  that  pilgrims  still  come  to  kneel 
and  kiss  it.  Our  guide,  a rubicund  verger  of  cheerful 
demeanor,  said  that  this  was  true  in  a few  instances. 

There  is  a beautiful  statue  in  memory  of  Horace 
Walpole’s  mother ; and  I took  it  to  be  really  a likeness, 
till  the  verger  said  that  it  was  a copy  of  a statue  which 
her  son  had  admired  in  Italy,  and  so  had  transferred  it 
to  his  mother’s  grave.  There  is  something  characteristic 


344  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855 

in  this  mode  of  filial  duty  and  honor.  In  all  these 
chapels,  full  of  the  tombs  and  effigies  of  kings,  dukes, 
arch-prelates,  and  whatever  is  proud  and  pompous  in 
mortality,  there  is  nothing  that  strikes  me  more  than 
the  colossal  statue  of  plain  Mr.  Watt,  sitting  quietly  in 
a chair,  in  St.  Paul’s  Chapel,  and  reading  some  papers. 
He  dwarfs  the  warriors  and  statesmen  ; and  as  to  the 
kings,  we  smile  at  them.  Telford  is  in  another  of  the 
chapels.  This  visit  to  the  chapels  was  much  more  sat- 
isfactory than  my  former  one ; although  I in  vain  strove 
to  feel  it  adequately,  and  to  make  myself  sensible  how 
rich  and  venerable  was  what  I saw.  This  realization 
must  come  at  its  own  time,  like  the  other  happinesses  of 
life.  It  is  unaccountable  that  I could  not  now  find  the 
seat  of  Sir  George  Downing’s  squire,  though  I examined 
particularly  every  seat  on  that  side  of  Henry  VII.’s 

Chapel,  where  I before  found  it.  I must  try  again 

October  6th  — Yesterday  was  not  an  eventful  day. 
I took  J — — with  me  to  the  city,  called  on  Mr.  Sturgis 
at  the  Barings’  House,  and  got  his  checks  for  a bank 
post-note.  The  house  is  at  8 Bishopsgate  Street,  With- 
in. It  has  no  sign  of  any  kind,  but  stands  back  from 
the  street,  behind  an  iron-grated  fence.  The  firm  ap- 
pears to  occupy  the  whole  edifice,  which  is  spacious,  and 
fit  for  princely  merchants.  Thence  I went  and  paid  for 
the  passages  to  Lisbon  (£32)  at  the  Peninsular  Steam 
Company’s  office,  and  thence  to  call  on  General  — ^ — 
I forgot  to  mention,  that,  first  of  all,  I went  to  Mr 

B ’s,  whom  I found  kind  and  vivacious  as  usual. 

It  now  rained  heavily,  and,  being  still  showery  when 
we  came  to  Cheapside  again,  we  first  stood  under  an 
archway  (a  usual  resort  for  passengers  through  London 


SOUTHAMPTON. 


345 


1855.] 

streets),  and  then  betook  ourselves  to  sanctuary,  taking 
refuge  in  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral.  The  afternoon  service  was 
about  to  begin,  so,  after  looking  at  a few  of  the  monuments, 
we  sat  down  in  the  choir,  the  richest  and  most  orna- 
mented part  of  the  cathedral,  with  screens  or  partitions 
of  oak,  cunningly  carved.  Small  white-robed  choristers 
were  flitting  noiselessly  about,  making  preparations  for 
the  service,  which  by  and  by  began.  It  is  a beautiful 
idea,  that,  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  day,  a man 
can  slip  out  of  the  thickest  throng  and  bustle  of  London 
into  this  religious  atmosphere,  and  hear  the  organ,  and 
the  music  of  young,  pure  voices  ; but,  after  all,  the  rites 
are  lifeless  in  our  day.  We  found,  on  emerging,  that 
we  had  escaped  a very  heavy  shower,  and  it  still 
sprinkled  and  misted  as  we  went  homeward  through 
Holborn  and  Oxford  Street. 

SOUTHAMPTON. 

October  1 \th.  — We  all  left  London  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, between  ten  and  eleven,  from  the  Waterloo  station, 
and  arrived  in  Southampton  about  two,  without  meeting 
with  anything  very  remarkable  on  the  way.  We  put 
up  at  Chappie’s  Castle  Hotel,  which  is  one  of  the  class 
styled  “commercial,”  and,  though  respectable,  not  such 
a one  as  the  nobility  and  gentry  usually  frequent.  I saw 
little  difference  in  the  accommodation,  except  that  young 
women  attended  us  instead  of  men,  — a pleasant  change. 

It  was  a showery  day,  but  J and  I walked  out  to 

see  the  shore  and  the  town  and  the  docks,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, the  ship  in  which  S was  to  sail.  The  most 

noteworthy  object  was  the  remains  of  an  old  castle, 
near  the  water-side ; the  square,  gray,  weed-grown, 
15* 


346  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

weird  keep  of  which  shows  some  modern  chimney-pots 
above  its  battlements,  while  remaining  portions  of  the 
fortress  are  made  to  seem  as  one  of  the  walls  for  coal- 
depots,  and  perhaps  for  small  dwellings.  The  English 
characteristically  patch  new  things  into  old  things  in 
this  manner,  materially,  legally,  constitutionally,  and 
morally.  Walking  -along  the  pier,  we  observed  some 
pieces  of  ordnance,  one  of  which  was  a large  brass  can- 
non of  Henry  VIII/s  time,  about  twelve  feet  long,  and 
very  finely  made.  The  bay  of  Southampton  presents  a 
pleasant  prospect,  and  I believe  it  is  the  great  rendez- 
vous of  the  yacht-club.  Old  and  young  seafaring  peo- 
ple were  strolling  about,  and  lounging  at  corners,  just  as 
they  do  on  Sunday  afternoons  in  the  minor  seaports  of 
America. 

From  the  shore  we  went  up  into  the  town,  which  is 
handsome,  and  of  a cheerful  aspect,  with  streets  gen- 
erally wide  and  well  paved,  — a cleanly  town,  not 
smoke-begrimed.  The  houses,  if  not  modern,  are,  at 
least  with  few  exceptions,  new  fronted.  We  saw  one 
relic  of  antiquity,  — a fine  mediaeval  gateway  across  the 
principal  street,  much  more  elevated  than  the  gates  of 
Chester,  with  battlements  at  the  top,  and  a spacious 
apartment  over  the  great  arch  for  the  passage  of  car- 
riages, and  the  smaller  one  on  each  side  for  foot-passen- 
gers. There  were  two  statues  in  armor  or  antique 
costume  on  the  hither  side  of  the  gateway,  and  two  old 
paintings  on  the  other.  This,  so  far  as  I know,  is  the 
only  remnant  of  the  old  wall  of  Southampton. 

On  Monday  the  morning  was  bright,  alternating  with 

a little  showeriness.  U , J , and  I went  into 

the  town  to  do  some  shopping  before  the  steamer  should 


SOUTHAMPTON. 


347 


1S55.] 

sail ; and  a little  after  twelve  we  drove  down  to  the 
dock.  The  Madeira  is  a pleasant-looking  ship  enough, 
not  very  large,  but  accommodating,  I believe,  about 
seventy  passengers.  We  looked  at  my  wife’s  little  state- 
room, with  its  three  berths  for  herself  and  the  two  chil- 
dren ; and  then  sat  down  in  the  saloon*  and  afterwards 
on  deck,  to  spend  the  irksome  and  dreary  hour  or  two 
before  parting.  Many  of  the  passengers  seemed  to  be 
Portuguese,  undersized,  dark,  mustachioed  people, 
smoking  cigars.  John  Bull  was  fairly  represented  too. 

. . . . U was  cheerful,  and  R seemed  anxious 

to  get  off.  Poor  Fanny  was  altogether  cast  down,  and 
shed  tears,  either  from  regret  at  leaving  her  native  land, 
or  dread  of  seasickness,  or  general  despondency,  being 
a person  of  no  spring  of  spirits.  I waited  till  the  captain 
came  on  board,  — a middle-aged  or  rather  elderly  man, 
with  a sensible  expression,  but,  methought,  with  a hard, 
cold  eye,  to  whom  I introduced  my  wife,  recommending 
her  to  his  especial  care,  as  she  was  unattended  by  any 
gentleman ; and  then  we  thought  it  best  to  cut  short  the 
parting  scene.  So  we  bade  one  another  farewell ; and, 
leaving  them  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel,  J and  I re- 

turned to  the  hotel,  and,  after  dining  at  the  table  d'hote , 
drove  down  to  the  railway.  This  is  the  first  great  part- 
ing that  we  have  ever  had. 

It  was  three  o’clock  when  we  left  Southampton.  In 
order  to  get  to  Worcester,  where  we  were  to  spend  the 
night,  we  strode,  as  it  were,  from  one  line  of  railway  to 
another,  two  or  three  times,  and  did  not  arrive  at  our 
journey’s  end  till  long  after  dark. 

At  Worcester  we  put  ourselves  into  the  hands  of  a 


348 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 

cabman,  who  drove  us  to  the  Crown  Hotel,  — one  of  the 
old-fashioned  hotels,  with  an  entrance  through  an  arched 
passage,  by  which  vehicles  were  admitted  into  the  inn 
yard,  which  has  also  an  exit,  I believe,  into  another  street. 
On  one  side  of  the  arch  was  the  coffee-room,  where, 
after  looking  at  our  sleeping-chambers  on  the  other  side 
of  the  arch,  we  had  some  cold  pigeon-pie  for  supper, 
and  for  myself  a pint  of  ale. 

It  should  be  mentioned,  that  in  the  morning,  before 
embarking  S and  the  children  on  board  the  steam- 

er, I saw  a fragment  of  a rainbow  among  the  clouds, 
and  remembered  the  old  adage  bidding  “ sailors  take 
warning.”  In  the  afternoon,  as  J and  I were  rail- 

ing from  Southampton,  we  saw  another  fragmentary 
rainbow,  which,  by  the  same  adage,  should  be  the  44  sail- 
or’s delight.”  The  weather  has  rather  tended  to  confirm 
the  first  omen,  but  the  sea-captains  tell  me  that  the 
steamer  must  have  gone  beyond  the  scope  of  these 
winds. 

WORCESTER. 

October  14 th. — In  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  after 

breakfast  in  the  coffee-room,  J and  I walked  about 

to  see  the  remarkables  of  Worcester.  It  is  not  a par- 
ticularly interesting  city,  compared  with  other  old  Eng- 
lish cities  ; the  general  material  of  the  houses  being  red 
brick,  and  almost  all  modernized  externally,  whatever 
may  be  the  age  of  their  original  framework.  We  saw 
a large  brick  jail  in  castellated  style,  with  battlements, 
— a very  barren  and  dreary -looking  edifice  ; likewise,  in 
the  more  central  part  of  the  town,  a Guildhall  with  a 
handsome  front,  ornamented  with  a statue  of  Queen 


f 855.  j 


WORCESTER. 


349 


Anne  above  the  entrance,  and  statues  of  Charles  I.  and 
Charles  II.  on  either  side  of  the  door,  with  the  motto, 
“ Floreat  semper  ci vitas  fidelis.”  Worcester  seems  to 
pride  itself  upon  its  loyalty.  We  entered  the  building, 
and  in  the  large  interior  hall  saw  some  old  armor 
hanging  on  the  wall  at  one  end,  — corselets,  helmets, 
greaves,  and  a pair  of  breeches  of  chain  mail.  An 
inscription  told  us  that  these  suits  of  armor  had  been 
left  by  Charles  II.  after  the  battle  of  Worcester,  and 
presented  to  the  city  at  a much  later  date  by  a gentle- 
man of  the  neighborhood.  On  the  stone  floor  of  the 
hall,  under  the  armor,  were  two  brass  cannon,  one  of 
which  had  been  taken  from  the  French  in  a naval 
battle  within  the  present  century ; the  other  was  a 
beautiful  piece,  bearing,  I think,  the  date  of  1632,  and 
manufactured  in  Brussels  for  the  Count  de  Burgh,  as 
a Latin  inscription  testified.  This  likewise  was  a relic 
of  the  battle  of  Worcester,  where  it  had  been  lost  by 
Charles.  Many  gentlemen  — connected  with  the  city 
government,  I suppose  — were  passing  through  the 
hall ; and,  looking  through  its  interior  doors,  we  saw 
stately  staircases  and  council-rooms  panelled  with  oak 
or  other  dark  wood.  There  seems  to  be  a good  deal 
of  state  in  the  government  of  these  old  towns. 

Worcester  Cathedral  would  have  impressed  me  much 
had  I seen  it  earlier  ; though  its  aspect  is  less  vener- 
able than  that  of  Chester  or  Lichfield,  having  been 
faithfully  renewed  and  repaired,  and  stone-cutters  and 
masons  were  even  now  at  work  on  the  exterior.  At 
our  first  visit,  we  found  no  entrance;  but  coming  again 
at  ten  o’clock,  when  the  service  was  to  begin,  we  found 
the  door  open,  and  the  chorister-boys,  in  their  white 


350  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

robes,  standing  in  the  nave  and  aisles,  with  elder  people 
in  the  same  garb,  and  a few  black-robed  ecclesiastics 
and  an  old  verger.  The  interior  of  the  cathedral  has 
been  covered  with  a light-colored  paint  at  some  recent 
period.  There  is,  as  I remember,  very  little  stained 
glass  to  enrich  and  bedim  the  light;  and  the  effect 
produced  is  a naked,  daylight  aspect,  unlike  what  I have 
seen  in  any  other  Gothic  cathedral.  The  plan  of  the 
edifice,  too,  is  simple ; a nave  and  side  aisles,  with  great 
clustered  pillars,  from  which  spring  the  intersecting 
arches;  and,  somehow  or  other,  the  venerable  mystery 
which  I have  found  in  Westminster  Abbey  and  else- 
where does  not  lurk  in  these  arches  and  behind  these 
pillars.  The  choir,  no  doubt,  is  richer  and  more  beauti- 
ful ; but  we  did  not  enter  it.  I remember  two  tombs, 
with  recumbent  figures  on  them,  between  the  pillars 
that  divide  the  nave  from  the  side  aisles,  and  there 
were  also  mural  monuments,  — one,  well  executed,  to  an 
officer  slain  in  the  Peninsular  war,  representing  him 
falling  from  his  horse;  another  by  a young  widow 
to  her  husband,  with  an  inscription  of  passionate  grief, 
and  a record  of  her  purpose  finally  to  sleep  beside  him. 
He  died  in  1803.  I did  not  see  on  the  monument  any 
record  of  the  consummation  of  her  purpose ; and  so 
perhaps  she  sleeps  beside  a second  husband.  There 
are  more  antique  memorials  than  these  two  on  the  wall, 
and  I should  have  been  interested  to  examine  them ; 
but  the  service  was  now  about  to  begin  in  the  choir, 
and  at  the  far-off  end  of  the  nave  the  old  verger  waved 
his  hand  to  banish  us  from  the  cathedral.  At  the  same 
time  he  moved  towards  us,  probably  to  say  that  he 
would  show  it  to  us  after  service  ; but  having  little  time, 


1855.] 


WORCESTER. 


351 


and  being  so  moderately  impressed  with  what  I had 
already  seen,  I took  my  departure,  and  so  disappointed 
the  old  man  of  his  expected  shilling  or  half-crown. 
The  tomb  of  King  John  is  somewhere  in  this  cathedral. 

We  renewed  our  rambles  through  the  town,  and, 
passing  the  Museum  of  the  Worcester  Natural  History 

Society,  I yielded  to  J -’s  wish  to  go  in.  There  are 

three  days  in  the  week,  I believe,  on  which  it  is  open 
to  the  public ; but  this  being  one  of  the  close  days,  we 
were  admitted  on  payment  of  a shilling,  It  seemed  a 
very  good  and  well-arranged  collection  in  most  depart^ 

ments  of  Natural  History,  and  J , who  takes  more 

interest  in  these  matters  than  I do,  was  much  delighted. 
We  were  left  to  examine  the  hall  and  galleries  quite  at 
our  leisure.  Besides  the  specimens  of  beasts,  birds, 
shells,  fishes,  minerals,  fossils,  insects,  and  all  other 
natural  things  before  the  flood  and  since,  there  was 
a stone  bearing  a Roman  inscription,  and  various 
antiquities,  coins,  and  medals,  and  likewise  portraits, 
some  of  which  were  old  and  curious. 

Leaving  the  museum,  we  walked  down  to  the  stone 
bridge  over  the  Severn,  which  is  here  the  largest  river 
I have  seen  in  England,  except,  of  course,  the  Mersey 
and  the  Thames.  A flight  of  steps  leads  from  the 
bridge  down  to  a walk  along  the  river-side,  and  this  we 
followed  till  we  reached  the  spot  where  an  angler  was 
catching  chubs  and  dace,  under  the  walls  of  the  bishop’s 
palace,  which  here  faces  the  river.  It  seems  to  be  an 
old  building,  but  with  modern  repairs  and  improve- 
ments. The  angler  had  pretty  good  success  while  we 
were  looking  at  him,  drawing  out  two  or  three  silvery 
fish,  and  depositing  them  in  his  basket,  which  was  al< 


352  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855- 

ready  more  than  half  full.  The  Severn  is  not  a trans- 
parent stream,  and  looks  sluggish,  but  has  really  move- 
ment enough  to  carry  the  angler’s  float  along  pretty 
fast.  There  were  two  vessels  of  considerable  size  (that 
is,  as  large  as  small  schooners)  lying  at  the  bridge. 
We  now  passed  under  an  old  stone  archway,  through  a 
lane  that  led  us  from  the  river-side  up  past  the  cathe- 
dral, whence  a gentleman  and  lady  were  just  emerging, 
and  the  verger  was  closing  the  door  behind  them. 

We  returned  to  our  hotel,  and  ordered  luncheon, — 
some  cold  chicken,  cold  ham,  and  ale,  and  after  paying 
the  bill  (about  fifteen  shillings,  to  which  I added  five 
shillings  for  attendance)  we  took  our  departure  in  a fly 
for  the  railway.  The  waiter  (a  young  woman),  cham- 
bermaid, and  boots,  all  favored  us  with  the  most  be- 
nign and  deferential  looks  at  parting,  whence  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  I had  given  them  more  than  they  had 
any  claim  to  receive.  Nevertheless,  this  English  sys- 
tem of  fees  has  its  good  side,  and  I never  travel  with- 
out finding  the  advantage  of  it,  especially  on  railways, 
wThere  the  officials  are  strictly  forbidden  to  take  fees, 
and  where,  in  consequence,  a fee  secures  twice  as  much 
good  service  as  anywhere  else.  Be  it  recorded,  that  I 
never  knew  an  Englishman  to  refuse  a shilling,  — or, 
for  that  matter,  a halfpenny. 

From  Worcester  we  took  tickets  to  Wolverhampton, 
and  thence  to  Birkenhead.  It  grew  dark  before  we 
reached  Chester,  and  began  to  rain  ; and  when  we  got  to 
Birkenhead  it  was  a pitiless,  pelting  storm,  under  which, 
on  the  deck  of  the  steamboat,  we  crossed  the  detestable 
Mersey,  two  years’  trial  of  which  has  made  me  detest  it 
every  day  more  and  more.  It  being  the  night  of  re- 


LIVERPOOL. 


353 


1855.] 


joicing  for  the  taking  of  Sebastopol  and  the  visit  of  the 
Duke  of  Cambridge,  we  found  it  very  difficult  to  get  a 
cab  on  the  Liverpool  side  ; but  after  much  waiting  in 
the  rain,  and  afterwards  in  one  of  the  refreshment-rooms, 
on  the  landing  stage,  we  took  a Hansom  and  drove  off. 
The  cloudy  sky  reflected  the  illuminations,  and  we  saw 
some  gas-lighted  stars  and  other  devices,  as  we  passed, 
very  pretty,  but  much  marred  by  the  wind  and  rain. 
So  we  finally  arrived  at  Mrs.  Blodgett’s,  and  made  a 
good  supper  of  ham  and  cold  chicken,  like  our  luncheon, 
after  which,  wet  as  we  were,  and  drizzling  as  the 
weather  was,  and  though  it  was  two  hours  beyond  his 

bedtime,  I took  J out  to  see  the  illuminations.  I 

wonder  what  his  mother  would  have  said.  But  the  boy 
must  now  begin  to  see  life  and  to  feel  it. 

There  was  a crowd  of  people  in  the  street ; such  a 
crowd  that  we  could  hardly  make  a passage  through 
them,  and  so  many  cabs  and  omnibuses  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  cross  the  ways.  Some  of  the  illuminations  were 
very  brilliant;  but  there  was  a woful  lack  of  variety 
and  invention  in  the  devices.  The  star  of  the  garter, 
which  kept  flashing  out  from  the  continual  extinguish- 
ment of  the  wind  and  rain,  — V and  A,  in  capital  letters 
of  light,  — were  repeated  a hundred  times ; as  were 
loyal  and  patriotic  mottoes,  — crowns  formed  by  colored 
lamps.  In  some  instances  a sensible  tradesman  had 
illuminated  his  own  sign,  thereby  at  once  advertising  his 
loyalty  and  his  business.  Innumerable  flags  were  sus- 
pended before  the  houses  and  across  the  streets,  and  the 
crowd  plodded  on,  silent,  heavy,  and  without  any 
demonstration  of  joy,  unless  by  the  discharge  of  pistols 
sio«e  at  one’s  ear.  The  rain,  to  be  sure,  was  quite  suf- 


w 


354 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855 


ficient  to  damp  any  joyous  ebullition  of  feeling  ; but 
the  next  day,  when  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  when  the 
streets  were  still  thronged  with  people,  there  was  the 
same  heavy,  purposeless  strolling  from  place  to  place, 
with  no  more  alacrity  of  spirit  than  while  it  rained. 
The  English  do  not  know  how  to  rejoice  ; and,  in  their 
present  circumstances,  to  say  the  truth,  have  not  much 
to  rejoice  for.  We  soon  came  home  ; but  I believe  it 
was  nearly,  if  not  quite  eleven. 

At  Mrs.  Blodgett’s,  Mr.  Archer  (surgeon  to  some 
prison  or  house  of  correction  here  in  Liverpool)  spoke 
of  an  attorney  who  many  years  ago  committed  forgery, 
and,  being  apprehended,  took  a dose  of  prussic  acid. 
Mr.  Archer  came  with  the  stomach-pump,  and  asked 
the  patient  how  much  prussic  acid  he  had  taken.  “ Sir,” 
he  replied,  attorney-like,  “ I decline  answering  that 
question  ! ” He  recovered,  and  afterwards  arrived  at 
great  wealth  in  New  South  Wales. 

November  14 th.  — At  dinner  at  Mr.  Bright’s,  a week 
or  two  ago,  Mr.  Robertson  Gladstone  spoke  of  a magis- 
trate of  Liverpool,  many  years  since,  Sir  John  . 

Of  a morning,  sitting  on  the  bench  in  the  police  court, 
he  would  take  five  shillings  out  of  his  pocket  and  say, 
“ Here,  Mr.  Clerk,  so  much  for  my  fine.  I was  drunk 
last  night ! ” Mr.  Gladstone  witnessed  this  personally. 

November  1 ftth.  — I went  to  the  North  Hospital  yes- 
terday, to  take  the  deposition  of  a dying  man  as  to  his 
ill  treatment  by  the  second  and  third  mates  of  the  ship 
Assyria,  on  the  voyage  from  New  Orleans.  This  hos- 
pital is  a very  gloomy  place,  with  its  wide  bleak  entries 


LIVERPOOL. 


355 


1855.] 

and  staircases,  which  may  be  very  good  for  summer 
weather,  but  which  are  most  ungenial  at  this  bleak 
November  season.  I found  the  physicians  of  the  house 
laughing  and  talking  very  cheerfully  with  Mr.  Wilding, 
who  had  preceded  me.  We  went  forthwith,  up  two 
or  three  pairs  of  stairs,  to  the  ward  where  the  sick  man 
lay,  and  where  there  were  six  or  eight  other  beds,  in 
almost  each  of  which  was  a patient,  — narrow  beds, 
shabbily  furnished.  The  man  whom  I came  to  see  was 
the  only  one  who  was  not  perfectly  quiet ; neither  was 
he  very  restless.  The  doctor,  informing  him  of  my 
presence,  intimated  that  his  disease  might  be  fatal,  and 
that  I was  come  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say  as  to  the 
causes  of  his  death.  Afterwards,  a Testament  was 
sought  for,  in  order  to  swear  him,  and  I administered 
the  oath,  and  made  him  kiss  the  book.  He  then  (in 
response  to  Mr.  Wilding’s  questions)  told  how  he  bad 
been  beaten  and  ill-treated,  banged  and  thwacked,  from 
the  moment  he  came  on  board,  to  which  usage  he  as- 
cribed his  death.  Sometimes  his  senses  seemed  to  sink 
away,  so  that  I almost  thought  him  dead  ; but  by  and 
by  the  question^  would  appear  to  reach  him,  and  bring 
him  back,  and  he  went  on  with  his  evidence,  inter- 
spersing it,  however,  with  dying  groans,  and  almost 
death  rattles.  In  the  midst  of  whatever  he  was  saying, 
he  often  recurred  to  a sum  of  four  dollars  and  a half, 
which  he  said  he  had  put  into  the  hands  of  the  porter 
of  the  hospital,  and  which  he  wanted  to  get  back.  Sev- 
eral times  he  expressed  his  wish  to  return  to  America 
(of  which  he  was  not  a native),  and,  on  the  whole,  I do 
not  think  he  had  any  real  sense  of  his  precarious  con- 
dition, notwithstanding  that  he  assented  to  the  doctor’s 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


356 


[1855. 


hint  to  that  effect.  He  sank  away  so  much  at  one  time, 
that  they  brought  him  wine  in  a tin  cup,  with  a spout 
to  drink  out  of,  and  he  mustered  strength  to  raise  him- 
self in  his  bed  and  drink  ; then  hemmed,  with  rather  a 
disappointed  air,  as  if  it  did  not  stimulate  and  refresh 
him,  as  drink  ought  to  do.  When  he  had  finished  his 
evidence  (which  Mr.  Wilding  took  down  in  writing 
from  his  mouth),  he  marked  his  cross  at  the  foot  of  the 
paper,  and  we  ceased  to  torment  him  with  farther  ques- 
tion. His  deposition  will  probably  do  no  good,  so  far 
as  the  punishment  of  the  persons  implicated  is  con- 
cerned ; for  he  appears  to  have  come  on  board  in  a 
sickly  state,  and  never  to  have  been  well  during  the 
passage.  On  a pallet,  close  by  his  bed,  lay  another 
seaman  of  the  same  ship,  who  had  likewise  been  abused 
by  the  same  men,  and  bore  more  ostensible  marks  of 
ill  usage  than  this  man  did,  about  the  head  and  face. 
There  is  a most  dreadful  state  of  things  aboard  our 
ships.  Hell  itself  can  be  no  worse  than  some  of  them, 
and  I do  pray  that  some  New-Englander  with  the  rage 
of  reform  in  him  may  turn  his  thoughts  this  way.  The 
first  step  towards  better  things  — the  best  practicable 
step  for  the  present — is  to  legalize  flogging  on  ship- 
board ; thereby  doing  away  with  the  miscellaneous 
assaults  and  batteries,  kickings,  fistic u flings,  ^opes,-end^ 
ings,  marline-spikings,  which  the  inferior  officers  contim 
ually  perpetrate,  as  the  only  mode  of  keeping  up  any^ 
thing  like  discipline.  As  in  many  other  instances, 
philanthropy  has  overshot  itself  by  the  prohibition  of 
flogging,  causing  the  captain  to  avoid  the  responsibility 
of  solemn  punishment,  and  leave  his  mates  to  make 
devils  of  themselves,  by  habitual  and  hardly  avoidable 
ill  treatment  of  the  seamen. 


1855.]  LIVERPOOL.  357 

After  I left  the  dying  sailor,  his  features  seemed  to 
contract  and  grow  sharp.  Some  young  medical  students 
stood  about  the  bed,  watching  death  creep  upon  him, 
and  anticipating,  perhaps,  that  in  a day  or  two  they 
would  have  the  poor  fellow’s  body  on  the  dissecting- 
table.  Dead  patients,  I believe,  undergo  this  fate,  unless 
somebody  chooses  to  pay  their  funeral  expenses ; but 
the  captain  of  the  Assyria  (who  seems  to  be  respectable 
and  kind-hearted,  though  master  of  a floating  hell)  tells 
me  that  he  means  to  bury  the  man  at  his  own  cost. 
This  morning  there  is  a note  from  the  surgeon  of  the 
hospital,  announcing  his  death,  and  likewise  the  danger- 
ous state  of  his  shipmate  whom  I saw  on  the  pallet 
beside  him. 

Sea-captains  call  a dress-coat  a “ claw  hammer.” 

November  22 d.  — I went  on  board  the  ship  William 
Lapscott,  lying  in  the  river,  yesterday,  to  take  deposi- 
tions in  reference  to  a homicide  committed  in  New  York. 
I sat  on  a sofa  in  the  cabin,  and  Mr.  Wilding  at  a table, 
with  his  writing-materials  before  him,  and  the  crew 
were  summoned,  one  by  one,  — rough,  piratical-looking 
fellows,  contrasting  strongly  with  the  gewgaw  cabin  in 
which  T received  them.  There  is  no  such  finery  on 
land  as  in  the  cabin  of  one  of  these  ships  in  the  Liver- 
pool trade,  finished  off  with  a complete  panelling  of 
rosewood,  mahogany,  and  bird’s-eye  maple,  polished  and 
varnished,  and  gilded  along  the  cornices  and  the  edges  of 
the  panels.  It  is  all  a piece  of  elaborate  cabinet-work ; 
and  one  does  not  altogether  see  why  it  should  be  given 
to  the  gales,  and  the  salt-sea  atmosphere,  to  be  tossed 


358  ^ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1855. 

upon  the  waves,  and  occupied  by  a rude  shipmaster 
in  his  dreadnaught  clothes,  when  the  fairest  lady  in  the 
land  has  no  such  boudoir.  A telltale  compass  hung 
beneath  the  skylight,  and  a clock  was  fastened  near 
it,  and  ticked  loudly.  A stewardess,  with  the  aspect  of 
a woman  at  home,  went  in  and  out  of  the  cabin,  about 
her  domestic  calls.  Through  the  cabin  door  (it  being 
a house  on  deck)  I could  see  the  arrangement  of  the 
ship. 

The  first  sailor  that  I examined  was  a black-haired, 
powerful  fellow,  in  an  oil-skin  jacket,  with  a good  face 
enough,  though  he,  too,  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
pirate.  In  the  affray  in  which  the  homicide  occurred, 
he  had  received  a cut  across  the  forehead,  and  another 
slantwise  across  his  nose,  which  had  quite  cut  it  in  two, 
on  a level  with  the  face,  and  had  thence  gone  downward 
to  his  lower  jaw.  But  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  could 
give  any  testimony  elucidating  the  matter  into  which  I 
had  come  to  inquire.  A seaman  had  been  stabbed  just 
before  the  vessel  left  New  York,  and  had  been  sent  on 
shore  and  died  there.  Most  of  these  men  were  in  the 
affray,  and  all  of  them  were  within  a few  yards  of  the 
spot  where  it  occurred  ; but  those  actually  present  all 
pleaded  that  they  were  so  drunk  that  the  whole  thing 
was  now  like  a dream,  with  no  distinct  images  ; and,  if 
any  had  been  sober,  they  took  care  to  know  nothing 
that  could  inculpate  any  individual.  Perhaps  they 
spoke  truth ; they  certainly  had  a free  and  honest-like 
way  of  giving  their  evidence,  as  if  their  only  object  was 
to  tell  all  the  truth  they  knew.  But  I rather  think,  in 
the  forecastle,  and  during  the  night-watches,  they  have 
whispered  to  one  another  a great  deal  more  than  they 


LIVERPOOL. 


359 


1855.] 

told  me,  and  have  come  to  a pretty  accurate  conclusion 
as  to  the  man  who  gave  the  stab. 

While  the  examination  proceeded,  there  was  a draw- 
ing of  corks  in  a side  closet;  and,  at  its  conclusion,  the 
captain  asked  us  to  stay  to  dinner,  but  we  excused  our- 
selves, and  drank  only  a glass  of  wine.  The  captain 
apologized  for  not  joining  us,  inasmuch  as  he  had  drunk 
no  wine  for  the  last  seventeen  years.  He  appears  to 
be  a particularly  good  and  trustworthy  man,  and  is  the 
only  shipmaster  whom  I have  met  with,  who  says  that 
a crew  can  best  be  governed  by  kindness.  In  the  inner 
closet  there  was  a cage  containing  two  land-birds,  who 
had  come  aboard  him,  tired  almost  to  death,  three  or 
four  hundred  miles  from  shore ; and  he  had  fed  them 
and  been  tender  of  them,  from  a sense  of  what  was  due 
to  hospitality.  He  means  to  give  them  to  J 

November  28 th.  — I have  grown  wofully  aristocratic 
in  my  tastes,  I fear,  since  coming  to  England ; at  all 
events,  I am  conscious  of  a certain  disgust  at  going  to 
dine  in  a house  with  a small  entrance-hall  and  a narrow 
staircase,  parlor  with  chintz  curtains,  and  all  other  ar- 
rangements on  a similar  scale.  This  is  pitiable.  How- 
ever, I really  do  not  think  I should  mind  these  things, 
were  it  not  for  the  bustle,  the  affectation,  the  intensity, 
of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  It  is  certain  that  a woman 
in  England  is  either  decidedly  a lady  or  decidedly  not 
a lady.  There  seems  to  be  no  respectable  medium. 
Bill  of  fare : broiled  soles,  half  of  a roast  pig,  a haricot 
of  mutton,  stewed  oysters,  a tart,  pears,  figs,  with  sherry 
and  port  wine,  both  good,  and  the  port  particularly  so. 
I ate  some  pig,  and  could  hardly  resist  the  lady’s  lmpoi 


360 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1855. 


tunities  to  eat  more;  though  to  my  fancy  it  tasted  of 
swill,  — had  a flavor  of  the  pigsty.  On  the  parlor  table 
were  some  poor  editions  of  popular  books,  Longfellow’s 
poems  and  others.  The  lady  affects  a literary  taste, 
and  bothered  me  about  my  own  productions, 

A beautiful  subject  for  a romance,  or  for  a sermon, 
would  be  the  subsequent  life  of  the  young  man  whom 
Jesus  bade  to  sell  all  he  had  and  give  to  the  poor  ; and 
he  went  away  sorrowful,  and  is  not  recorded  to  have 
done  what  he  was  bid. 


December  1 \th. — This  has  been  a foggy  morning  and 
forenoon,  snowing  a little  now  and  then,  and  disagree- 
ably cold.  The  sky  is  of  an  inexpressibly  dreary,  dun 
color.  It  is  so  dark  at  times  that  I have  to  hold  my 
book  close  to  my  eyes,  and  then  again  it  lightens  up  a 
little.  On  the  whole,  disgustingly  gloomy ; and  thus  it 
has  been  for  a long  while  past,  although  the  disagreeable- 
ness seems  to  lie  very  near  the  earth,  and  just  above 
the  steeples  and  house-tops  very  probably  there  may  be 
a bright,  sunshiny  day.  At  about  twelve  there  is  a faint 
glow  of  sunlight,  like  the  gleaming  reflection  from  a not 
highly  polished  copper  kettle. 

December  2 §th. — On  Christmas  eve  and  yesterday, 
there  were  little  branches  of  mistletoe  hanging  in  several 
parts  of  the  house,  in  the  kitchen,  the  entries,  the  par- 
lor, and  the  smoking-room,  — suspended  from  the  gas- 
fittings.  The  maids  of  the  house  did  their  utmost  to  en- 
trap  the  gentlemen  boarders,  old  and  young  under  the 


LIVERPOOL. 


361 


1855.] 

privileged  places,  and  there  to  kiss  them,  after  which 
they  were  expected  to  pay  a shilling.  It  is  very  queer, 
being  customarily  so  respectful,  that  they  should  assume 
this  license  now,  absolutely  trying  to  pull  the  gentle- 
men into  the  kitchen  by  main  force,  and  kissing  the 
harder  and  more  abundantly  the  more  they  were  re- 
sisted. A little  rosy-cheeked  Scotch  lass  — at  other 
times  very  modest  — was  the  most  active  in  this  busi- 
ness. I doubt  whether  any  gentleman  but  myself  es- 
caped. I heard  old  Mr.  S parleying  with  the  maids 

last  evening,  and  pleading  his  age  ; but  he  seems  to 
have  met  with  no  mercy,  for  there  was  a sound  of  pro- 
digious smacking  immediately  afterwards.  J was 

assaulted,  and  fought  most  vigorously ; but  was  out- 
rageously kissed,  — receiving  some  scratches,  moreover, 
in  the  conflict.  The  mistletoe  has  white,  wax-looking 
berries,  and  dull  green  leaves,  with  a parasitical  stem. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  Christmas  day,  long  before 
daylight,  I heard  music  in  the  street,  and  a woman’s 
voice,  powerful  and  melodious,  singing  a Christmas 
hymn..  Before  bedtime  I presume  one  half  of  England, 
at  a moderate  calculation,  was  the  worse  for  liquor. 

The  market-houses,  at  this  season,  show  the  national 
taste  for  heavy  feeding,  — carcasses  of  prize  oxen,  im- 
mensely fat  and  bulky  ; fat  sheep,  with  their  woolly 
heads  and  tails  still  on,  and  stars  and  other  devices  in- 
geniously wrought  on  the  quarters ; fat  pigs,  adorned 
with  flowers,  like  corpses  of  virgins  , hares,  wild-fowl, 
geese,  ducks,  turkeys ; and  green  boughs  and  banners 
suspended  about  the  stalls,  — and  a great  deal  of  dirt  and 
griminess  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  market-house,  and 
on  the  persons  of  the  crowd. 

16 


TOL.  I. 


362 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

There  are  some  Englishmen  whom  T like,  — one  or 
two  for  whom  I might  say  I have  an  affection  ; but 
6till  there  is  not  the  same  union  between  us  as  if  they 
were  Americans.  A cold,  thin  medium  intervenes  be- 
twixt our  most  intimate  approaches.  It  puts  me  in  mind 
of  Alnaschar  and  his  princess,  with  the  cold  steel  blade 
of  his  scimitar  between  them.  Perhaps  if  I were  at 
home  I might  feel  differently ; but  in  a foreign  land 
I can  never  forget  the  distinction  between  English  and 
American. 

January  1st,  1856.  — Last  night,  at  Mrs.  Blodgett’s, 
we  sat  up  till  twelve  o’clock  to  open  the  front  door,  and 
let  the  New  Year  in.  After  the  coming  guest  was  fairly 
in  the  house,  the  back  door  was  to  be  opened,  to  let  the 
Old  Year  out ; but  I was  tired,  and  did  not  wait  for  the 
latter  ceremony.  When  the  New  Year  made  its  en- 
trance, there  was  a general  shaking  of  hands,  and  one 
of  the  shipmasters  said  that  it  was  customary  to  kiss  the 
ladies  all  round  ; but  to  my  great  satisfaction,  we  did 
not  proceed  to  such  extremity.  There  was  singing  in 
the  streets,  and  many  voices  of  people  passing,  and 
when  twelve  had  struck,  all  the  bells  of  the  town,  I be- 
lieve, rang  out  together.  I went  up  stairs,  sad  and 

lonely,  and,  stepping  into  J ’s  little  room,  wished 

him  a Happy  New  Year,  as  he  slept,  and  many  of  them. 

To  a cool  observer,  a country  does  not  show  to  best 
advantage  during  a time  of  war.  All  its  self-conceit  is 
doubly  visible,  and,  indeed,  is  sedulously  kept  upper- 
most by  direct  appeals  to  it.  The  country  must  be 
humbugged,  in  order  to  keep  its  courage  up. 


LIVERPOOL. 


363 


1856.] 

Sentiment  seems  to  me  more  abundant  in  middle-aged 
ladies  in  England  than  in  the  United  States.  I don’t 
know  how  it  may  be  with  young  ladies. 

The  shipmasters  bear  testimony  to  the  singular  deli- 
cacy of  common  sailors  in  their  behavior  in  the  presence 
of  women  ; and  they  say  that  this  good  trait  is  still 
strongly  observable  even  in  the  present  race  of  seamen, 
greatly  deteriorated  as  it  is.  On  shipboard,  there  is 
never  an  indecorous  word  or  unseemly  act  said  or  done 
by  sailors  when  a woman  can  be  cognizant  of  it ; and 
their  deportment  in  this  respect  differs  greatly  from  that 
of  landsmen  of  similar  position  in  society.  This  is  re- 
markable, considering  that  a sailor’s  female  acquaint- 
ances are  usually  and  exclusively  of  the  worst  kind,  and 
that  his  intercourse  with  them  has  no  relation  whatever 
to  morality  or  decency.  For  this  very  reason,  I sup- 
pose, he  regards  a modest  woman  as  a creature  divine 
and  to  be  reverenced. 

January  1 6^.  — I have  suffered  wofully  from  low 
spirits  for  some  time  past ; and  this  has  not  often  been 
the  case  since  I grew  to  be  a man,  even  in  the  least 
auspicious  periods  of  my  life.  My  desolate  bachelor 
condition,  I suppose,  is  the  cause.  Really,  I have  no 
pleasure  in  anything,  and  I feel  my  tread  to  be  heavier, 
and  my  physical  movement  more  sluggish,  than  in  hap- 
pier times.  A weight  is  always  upon  me.  My  appetite 
is  not  good.  I sleep  ill,  lying  awake  till  late  at  night, 
to  think  sad  thoughts  and  to  imagine  sombre  things,  and 
awaking  before  light  with  the  same  thoughts  and  fan- 
cies still  in  my  mind.  My  heart  sinks  always  as  I as- 


364 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


cend  the  stairs  to  my  office,  from  a dim  augury  of  ill 
news  from  Lisbon  that  I may  perhaps  hear,  — of  black- 
sealed  letters,  or  some  such  horrors.  Nothing  gives 
me  any  joy.  I have  learned  what  the  bitterness  of  ex- 
ile is,  in  these  days  ; and  I never  should  have  known 

it  but  for  the  absence  of  . “ Remote,  unfriended, 

melancholy,  slow,”  — I can  perfectly  appreciate  that 
line  of  Goldsmith  ; for  it  well  expresses  my  own  torpid, 
unenterprising,  joyless  state  of  mind  and  heart.  I am 
like  an  uprooted  plant,  wilted  and  drooping.  Life 
seems  so  purposeless  as  not  to  be  worth  the  trouble  of 
carrying  it  on  any  farther. 


I was  at  a dinner,  the  other  evening,  at  Mr.  B *s, 

where  the  entertainment  -was  almost  entirely  American, 
— New  York  oysters,  raw,  stewed,  and  fried  ; soup  of 
American  partridges,  particularly  good  ; also  terrapin 
soup,  rich,  but  not  to  my  taste  ; American  pork  and 
beans,  baked  in  Yankee  style  ; a noble  American  turkey, 
weighing  thirty-one  pounds  ; and,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  an  American  round  of  beef,  which  the  English- 
men present  allowed  to  be  delicious,  and  worth  a guinea 
an  ounce.  I forget  the  other  American  dishes,  if  there 
were  any  more,  — O yes  ! — canvas-back  ducks,  com- 
ing on  with  the  sweets,  in  the  usual  English  fashion. 
We  ought  to  have  had  Catawba  wine ; but  this  was 
wanting,  although  there  was  plenty  of  hock,  champagne, 
sherry,  madeira,  port,  and  claret.  Our  host  is  a very 
jolly  man,  and  the  dinner  was  a merrier  and  noisier  one 
than  any  English  dinner  within  my  experience. 

February  8 th.  — I read  to-day,  in  the  little  office-Bible 


LIVERPOOL. 


36S 


185C.J 

(greasy  with  perjuries)  St.  Luke’s  account  of  the  agony, 
the  trial,  the  crucifixion,  and  the  resurrection  ; and  how 
Christ  appeared  to  the  two  disciples,  on  their  way  to 
Emmaus,  and  afterwards  to  a company  of  disciples.  On 
both  these  latter  occasions  he  expounded  the  Scriptures 
to  them,  and  showed  the  application  of  the  old  prophe- 
cies to  himself ; and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  he  made 
them  fully,  or  at  least  sufficiently,  aware  what  his  char- 
acter was,  — whether  God,  or  man,  or  both,  or  something 
between,  together  with  all  other  essential  points  of  doc- 
trine. But  none  of  this  doctrine  or  of  these  expositions 
is  recorded,  the  mere  facts  being  most  simply  stated,  and 
the  conclusion  to  which  he  led  them,  that,  whether  God 
himself,  or  the  Son  of  God,  or  merely  the  Son  of  man, 
he  was,  at  all  events,  the  Christ  foretold  in  the  Jewish 
Scriptures.  This  last,  therefore,  must  have  been  the 
one  essential  point. 

February  18^. — On  Saturday  there  called  on  me  an 
elderly  Robinson-Crusoe  sort  of  man,  Mr.  H , ship- 

wright, I believe,  of  Boston,  who  has  lately  been  trav- 
elling in  the  East.  About  a year  ago  he  was  here, 
after  being  shipwrecked  on  the  Dutch  coast,  and  I as- 
sisted him  to  get  home.  Again,  I have  supplied  him 
with  five  pounds,  and  my  credit  for  an  outside  garment. 
He  is  a spare  man,  with  closely  cropped  gray,  or  rather 
white  hair,  close-cropped  whiskers  fringing  round  his 
chin,  and  a close-cropped  white  mustache,  with  his  under 
lip  and  a portion  of  his  chin  bare  beneath,  — sunburnt 
and  weather-worn.  He  has  been  in  Syria  and  Jerusalem, 
through  the  Desert,  and  at  Sebastopol ; and  says  he 
means  to  get  Ticknor  to  publish  his  travels,  and  the 


366  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

story  of  his  whole  adventurous  life,  on  his  return  home. 
A free-spoken,  confiding,  hardy,  religious,  unpolished, 
simple,  yet  world-experienced  man  ; very  talkative,  and 
boring  me  with  longer  visits  than  I like.  He  has 
brought  home,  among  other  curiosities,  “ a lady’s  arm,” 
as  he  calls  it,  two  thousand  years  old,  — a piece  of  a 
mummy,  of  course ; also  some  coins,  one  of  which,  a 
gold  coin  of  Vespasian,  he  showed  me,  and  said  he 
bought  it  of  an  Arab  of  the  desert.  The  Bedouins  pos- 
sess a good  many  of  these  coins,  handed  down  imme- 
morially  from  father  to  son,  and  never  sell  them  un- 
less compelled  by  want.  He  had  likewise  a Hebrew 
manuscript  of  the  Book  of  Ruth,  on  a parchment  roll, 
which  was  put  into  his  care  to  be  given  to  Lord 
Haddo. 

He  was  at  Sebastopol  during  the  siege,  and  nearly 
got  his  head  knocked  off  by  a cannon-ball.  His 
strangest  statement  is  one  in  reference  to  Lord  Raglan. 
He  says  that  an  English  officer  told  him  that  his  Lord- 
ship  shut  himself  up,  desiring  not  to  be  disturbed,  as  he 
needed  sleep.  When  fifteen  hours  had  gone  by,  his  at- 
tendants thought  it  time  to  break  open  the  door ; and 
Lord  Raglan  was  found  dead,  with  a bottle  of  strych- 
nine by  the  bedside.  The  affair,  so  far  as  the  circum- 
stances indicated  suicide,  was  hushed  up,  and  his  death 
represented  as  a natural  one.  The  English  officer  seems 
to  have  been  an  unscrupulous  fellow,  jesting  thus  with 
the  fresh  memory  of  his  dead  commander  ; for  it  is  im- 
possible to  believe  a word  of  the  story.  Even  if  Lord 
Raglan  had  wished  for  death,  he  would  hardly  have 
taken  strychnine,  when  there  were  so  many  chances  of 
being  honorably  shot.  In  Wood’s  Narrative  of  the 


1856.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


367 


Campaign,  it  is  stated  that  he  died  surrounded  by  the 
members  of  his  staff,  after  having  been  for  some  time  ill. 
It  appears,  however,  by  the  same  statement,  that  no  se- 
rious apprehensions  had  been  entertained,  until,  one  af- 
ternoon, he  shut  himself  up,  desiring  not  to  be  disturbed 
till  evening.  After  two  or  three  hours  he  called  Lord 
Burghersh,  — “Frank,  Frank!”  and  was  found  to  be 
almost  in  a state  of  collapse,  and  died  that  evening. 

Mr.  H ’s  story  might  very  well  have  been  a camp 

rumor. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  British  Ministry,  in  its  notion 
of  a life-peerage,  shows  an  entire  misunderstanding  of 
what  makes  people  desire  the  peerage.  It  is  not  for  the 
immediate  personal  distinction  ; but  because  it  removes 
the  peer  and  his  consanguinity  from  the  common  rank 
of  men,  and  makes  a separate  order  of  them,  as  if  they 
should  grow  angelic.  A life-peer  is  but  a mortal  amid 
the  angelic  throng. 

February  28 th.  — I went  yesterday  with  Mrs. 

and  another  lady,  and  Mr.  M , to  the  West  Derby 

Workhouse 

[Here  comes  in  the  visit  to  the  West  Derby  Work- 
house,  which  was  made  the  subject  of  a paper  in  Our 
Old  Home,  called  “ Outside  Glimpses  of  English  Pov- 
erty.” As  the  purpose  in  publishing  these  passages  from 
the  private  note-books  is  to  give  to  those  who  ask  for  a 
memoir  of  Mr.  Hawthorne  every  possible  incident  re- 
corded by  himself  which  shows  his  character  and  na- 
ture, the  editor  thinks  it  proper  to  disclose  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Hawthorne  was  himself  the  gentleman  of  that  party 


368  ENGLISH  NOTE  BOOKS.  [1856. 

who  took  up  in  his  arms  the  little  child,  so  fearfully 
repulsive  in  its  condition.  And  it  seems  better  to  quote 
his  own  words  in  reference  to  it,  than  merely  to  say  it 
was  he. 

Under  date  February  28,  1856. 

“ After  this,  we  went  to  the  ward  where  the  children 
were  kept,  and,  on  entering  this,  we  saw,  in  the  first 
place,  two  or  three  unlovely  and  unwholesome  littlo 
imps,  who  were  lazily  playing  together.  One  of  them 
(a  child  about  six  years  old,  but  I know  not  whethei 
girl  or  boy)  immediately  took  the  strangest  fancy  foi 
me.  It  was  a wretched,  pale,  half-torpid  little  thing 
with  a humor  in  its  eyes  which  the  Governor  said  wa* 
the  scurvy.  I never  saw,  till  a few  moments  after> 
wards,  a child  that  I should  feel  less  inclined  to  fondle* 
But  this  little,  sickly,  humor-eaten  fright  prowled  around 
me,  taking  hold  of  my  skirts,  following  at  my  heels,  and 
at  last  held  up  its  hands,  smiled  in  my  face,  and,  stand- 
ing directly  before  me,  insisted  on  my  taking  it  up! 
Not  that  it  said  a word,  for  I rather  think  it  was  under- 
witted,  and  could  not  talk  ; but  its  face  expressed  such 
perfect  confidence  that  it  was  going  to  be  taken  up  and 
made  much  of,  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  do  it.  It 
was  as  if  God  had  promised  the  child  this  favor  on  my 
behalf,  and  that  I must  needs  fulfil  the  contract.  I held 
my  undesirable  burden  a little  while  ; and,  after  setting 
the  child  down,  it  still  followed  me,  holding  two  of  my 
fingers  and  playing  with  them,  just  as  if  it  were  a child 
of  my  own.  It  was  a foundling,  and  out  of  all  human 
kind  it  chose  me  to  be  its  father!  We  went  up  stairs 
into  another  ward ; and,  on  coming  down  again,  there 
was  this  same  child  waiting  for  me,  with  a sickly  smile* 


T856.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


3G9 


round  its  defaced  mouth,  and  in  its  dim  red  eyes.  .... 
I never  should  have  forgiven  myself  if  I had  repelled  its 
advances.”  — Ed.] 

After  leaving  the  workhouse,  we  drove  to  Norris 

Green  ; and  Mrs. showed  me  round  the  grounds, 

which  are  very  good  and  nicely  kept.  O these  Eng- 
lish homes,  what  delightful  places  they  are  ! I wonder 
how  many  people  live  and  die  in  the  workhouse,  having 
no  other  home,  because  other  people  have  a great  deal 
more  home  than  enough We  had  a very  pleas- 
ant dinner,  and  Mr.  M and  I walked  back,  four 

miles  and  a half,  to  Liverpool,  where  we  arrived  just 
before  midnight. 

Why  did  Christ  curse  the  fig-tree  ? It  was  not  in 
the  least  to  blame ; and  it  seems  most  unreasonable  to 
have  expected  it  to  bear  figs  out  of  season.  Instead  of 
withering  it  away,  it  would  have  been  as  great  a mira- 
cle, and  far  more  beautiful,  — and,  one  would  think,  of 
more  beneficent  influence,  — to  have  made  it  suddenly 
rich  with  ripe  fruit.  Then,  to  be  sure,  it  might  have 
died  joyfully,  having  answered  so  good  a purpose.  I 
have  been  reminded  of  this  miracle  by  the  story  of  a 
man  in  Heywood,  a town  in  Lancashire,  who  used  such 
horribly  profane  language  that  a plane-tree  in  front  of 
his  cottage  is  said  to  have  withered  away  from  that 
hour.  I can  draw  no  moral  from  the  incident  of  the 
fig-tree,  unless  it  be  that  all  things  perish  from  the 
instant  when  they  cease  to  answer  some  divine  pur- 
pose. 

March  §th.  — Yesterday  I lunched  on  board  Captain 
16* 


x 


370  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

Russell’s  ship,  the  Princeton.  These  daily  lunches  on 
shipboard  might  answer  very  well  the  purposes  of  a 
dinner ; being,  in  fact*  noontide  dinners,  with  soup,  roast 
mutton,  mutton-chops*  and  a macaroni  pudding,  — 
brandy,  port  and  sherry  wines*  There  were  three  el- 
derly Englishmen  at  table,  with  white  heads,  — which, 
I think,  is  oftener  the  predicament  of  elderly  heads 
here  than  in  America.  One  of  these  was  a retired 
Custom-House  officer,  and  the  other  two  were  con- 
nected with  shipping  in  some  way.  There  is  a satis- 
faction in  seeing  Englishmen  eat  and  drink,  they  do  it 
so  heartily,  and,  on  the  whole,  so  wisely,  — trusting  so 
entirely  that  there  is  no  harm  in  good  beef  and  mutton, 
and  a reasonable  quantity  of  good  liquor;  and  these 
three  hale  old  men,  who  had  acted  on  this  wholesome 
faith  for  so  long,  were  proofs  that  it  is  well  on  earth 
to  live  like  earthly  creatures.  In  America,  what 
squeamishness,  what  delicacy,  what  stomachic  appre- 
hension, would  there  not  be  among  three  stomachs  of 
sixty  or  seventy  years’  experience  ! I think  this  fail- 
ure of  American  stomachs  is  partly  owing  to  our  ill 
usage  of  our  digestive  powers,  and  partly  to  our  want 
of  faith  in  them. 

After  lunch,  we  all  got  into  an  omnibus,  and  went 
to  the  Mersey  Iron  Foundry,  to  see  the  biggest  piece 
of  ordnance  in  the  world,  which  is  almost  finished. 
The  overseer  of  the  works  received  us,  and  escorted 
us  courteously  throughout  the  establishment ; which  is 
very  extensive,  giving  employment  to  a thousand  men, 
what  with  night-work  and  day-work.  The  big  gun  is 
still  on  the  axle,  or  turning-machine,  by  means  of 
which  it  has  been  bored.  It  is  made  entirely  of 


LIVERPOOL. 


371 


i856.J 

wrought  and  welded  iron,  fifty  tons  of  which  were 
originally  used ; and  the  gun,  in  its  present  state,  bored 
out  and  smoothed  away,  weighs  nearly  twenty-three 
tons.  It  has,  as  yet,  no  trunnions,  and  does  not  look 
much  like  a cannon,  but  only  a huge  iron  cylinder,  im- 
mensely solid,  and  with  a bore  so  large  that  a young 
man  of  nineteen  shoved  himself  into  it,  the  whole  length, 
with  a light,  in  order  to  see  whether  it  is  duly  smooth 
and  regular.  I suppose  it  will  have  a better  effect,  as 
to  the  impression  of  size,  when  it  is  finished,  polished, 
mounted,  and  fully  equipped,  after  the  fashion  of  ordi- 
nary cannon.  It  is  to  throw  a ball  of  three  hundred 
pounds’  weight  five  miles,  and  woe  be  to  whatever  ship 
or  battlement  shall  bear  the  brunt ! 

After  inspecting  the  gun  we  went  through  other 
portions  of  the  establishment,  and  saw  iron  in  various 
stages  of  manufacture.  I am  not  usually  interested  in 
manufacturing  processes,  being  quite  unable  to  under- 
stand them,  at  least  in  cotton  machinery  and  the  like ; 
but  here  there  were  such  exhibitions  of  mighty  strength, 
both  of  men  and  machines,  that  I had  a satisfaction  in 
looking  on.  We  saw  lumps  of  iron,  intensely  white- 
hot,  and  in  all  but  a melting  state,  passed  through 
rollers  of  various  size  and  pressure,  and  speedily  con- 
verted into  long  bars,  which  came  curling  and  waving 
out  of  the  rollers  like  great  red  ribbons,  or  like  fiery 
serpents  wriggling  out  of  Tophet ; and  finally,  being 
straightened  out,  they  were  laid  to  cool  in  heaps.  Trip- 
hammers are  very  pleasant  things  to  look  at,  working 
so  massively  as  they  do,  and  yet  so  accurately  ; chewing 
up  the  hot  iron,  as  it  were,  and  fashioning  it  into  shape, 
with  a sort  of  mighty  and  gigantic  gentleness  in  their 


372 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

mode  of  action.  What  great  things  man  has  contrived, 
and  is  continually  performing!  What  a noble  brute 
he  is ! 

Also,  I found  much  delight  in  looking  at  the  molten 
iron,  boiling  and  bubbling  in  the  furnace,  and  some- 
times slopping  over,  when  stirred  by  the  attendant. 
There  were  numberless  fires  on  all  sides,  blinding  us 
with  their  intense  glow ; and  continually  the  pounding 
strokes  of  huge  hammers,  some  wielded  by  machinery 
and  others  by  human  arms.  I had  a respect  for  these 
stalwart  workmen,  who  seemed  to  be  near  kindred  of 
the  machines  amid  which  they  wrought,  — mighty  men, 
smiting  stoutly,  and  looking  into  the  fierce  eyes  of  the 
furnace  fearlessly,  and  handling  the  iron  at  a tempera- 
ture which  would  have  taken  the  skin  off  from  ordinary 
fingers.  They  looked  strong,  indeed,  but  pale  ; for  the 
hot  atmosphere  in  which  they  live  cannot  but  be  dele- 
terious, and  I suppose  their  very  strength  wears  them 
quickly  out.  But  I would  rather  live  ten  years  as  an 
iron-smith  than  fifty  as  a tailor. 

So  much  heat  can  be  concentrated  into  a mass  of 
iron,  that  a lump  a foot  square  heats  all  the  atmosphere 
about  it,  and  burns  the  face  at  a considerable  distance. 
As  the  trip-hammer  strikes  the  lump,  it  seems  still 
more  to  intensify  the  heat  by  squeezing  it  together, 
and  the  fluid  iron  oozes  out  like  sap  or  juice. 

“ He  was  ready  for  the  newest  fashions  ! ” — this 
expression  was  used  by  Mrs.  Blodgett  in  reference  to 

Mr. on  his  first  arrival  in  England,  and  it  is  a 

very  tender  way  of  signifying  that  a person  is  rather 
poorly  off  as  to  apparel. 


1856.]  LIVERPOOL  373 

March  1 5th.  — Mr.  — , our  new  ambassador,  ar- 

rived on  Thursday  afternoon  by  the  Atlantic,  and  I 
called  at  the  Adelphi  Hotel,  after  dinner,  to  pay  him 
my  respects.  I found  him  and  his  family  at  supper. 

. . . . They  seem  to  be  plain,  affable  people 

The  ambassador  is  a venerable  old  gentleman,  with  a full 
head  of  perfectly  white  hair,  looking  not  unlike  an  old- 
fashioned  wig  ; and  this,  together  with  his  collarless  white 
neckcloth  and  his  brown  coat,  gave  him  precisely  such 
an  aspect  as  one  would  expect  in  a respectable  person 
of  pre-revolutionary  days.  There  was  a formal  sim- 
plicity, too,  in  his  manners,  that  might  have  belonged 
to  the  same  era.  He  must  have  been  a very  handsome 
man  in  his  youthful  days,  and  is  now  comely,  very  erect, 
moderately  tall,  not  overburdened  with  flesh  ; of  benign 
and  agreeable  address,  with  a pleasant  smile  ; but  his 
eyes,  which  are  not  very  large,  impressed  me  as  sharp 
and  cold.  He  did  not  at  all  stamp  himself  upon  me  as 
a man  of  much  intellectual  or  characteristic  vigor.  I 
found  no  such  matter  in  his  conversation,  nor  did  I feel 
it  in  the  indefinable  way  by  which  strength  always 

makes  itself  acknowledged.  B -,  though,  somehow, 

plain  and  uncouth,  yet  vindicates  himself  as  a large  man 
of  the  world,  able,  experienced,  fit  to  handle  difficult  cir- 
cumstances of  life  ; dignified,  too,  and  able  to  hold  his 

own  in  any  society.  Mr. has  a kind  of  venerable 

dignity;  but  yet,  if  a person  could  so  little  respect  him- 
self as  to  insult  him,  I should  say  that  there  was  no  in- 
nate force  in  Mr.  — — to  prevent  it.  It  is  very  strange 
that  he  should  have  made  so  considerable  a figure  in 
public  life,  filling  offices  that  the  strongest  men  would 
have  thought  worthy  of  their  highest  ambition.  There 


374 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

must  be  something  shrewd  and  sly  under  his  apparent 
simplicity  ; narrow,  cold,  selfish,  perhaps.  I fancied  these 
things  in  his  eyes.  He  has  risen  in  life  by  the  lack  of 
too  powerful  qualities,  and  by  a certain  tact,  which  en- 
ables him  to  take  advantage  of  circumstances  and  op- 
portunities, and  avail  himself  of  his  unobjectionableness, 
just  at  the  proper  time.  I suppose  he  must  be  pro- 
nounced a humbug,  yet  almost  or  quite  an  innocent  one. 
Yet  he  is  a queer  representative  to  be  sent  from  brawl- 
ing and  boisterous  America  at  such  a critical  period. 
It  will  be  funny  if  England  sends  him  back  again,  on 

hearing  the  news  of  ’s  dismissal.  Mr. gives 

me  the  impression  of  being  a very  amiable  man  in  his 
own  family.  He  has  brought  his  son  with  him,  as 
Secretary  of  Legation,  — a small  young  man,  with  a 
little  mustache.  It  will  be  a feeble  embassy. 

I called  again  the  next  morning,  and  introduced 

Mrs. , who,  I believe,  accompanied  the  ladies  about 

town.  This  simplicity  in  Mr. ’s  manner  puzzles 

and  teases  me  ; for,  in  spite  of  it,  there  was  a sort  of 
self-consciousness,  as  if  he  were  being  looked  at,  — as 
if  he  were  having  his  portrait  taken. 

LONDON. 

March  22 d.  — Yesterday,  — no,  day  before  yesterday, 
— I left  Liverpool  for  London  by  rail,  from  the  Lime 
Street  station.  The  journey  was  a dull  and  monotonous 
one,  as  usual.  Three  passengers  were  in  the  same  car- 
riage with  me  at  starting  ; but  they  dropped  off,  and 
from  Rugby  I was  alone.  We  reached  London  after  ten 
o’clock  ; and  I took  a cab  for  St.  James’s  Place,  No.  32, 
where  I found  Mr.  B expecting  me.  He  had  se« 


LONDON. 


375 


1856.] 

cured  a bedroom  for  me  at  this  lodging-house,  and  I am 
to  be  free  of  his  drawing-room  during  my  stay.  We 
breakfasted  at  nine,  and  then  walked  down  to  his  count- 
ing-room, in  Old  Broad  Street,  in  the  city.  It  being  a 
dim,  dingy  morning,  London  looked  very  dull,  the  more 
so  as  it  was  Good  Friday,  and  therefore  the  streets 
were  comparatively  thin  of  people  and  vehicles,  and  had 
on  their  Sunday  aspect.  If  it  were  not  for  the  human 
life  and  bustle  of  London,  it  would  be  a very  stupid 
place,  with  a heavy  and  dreary  monotony  of  un pictu- 
resque streets.  We  went  up  Bolt  Court,  where  Dr.  John- 
son used  to  live  ; and  this  was  the  only  interesting  site 
we  saw.  After  spending  some  time  in  the  counting- 
room,  while  Mr.  read  his  letters,  we  went  to  Lon- 

don Bridge,  and  took  the  steamer  for  Waterloo  Bridge, 
with  partly  an  intent  to  go  to  Richmond,  but  the  day 
was  so  damp  and  dusky  that  we  concluded  otherwise. 
So  we  came  home,  visiting,  on  our  way,  the  site  of  Co- 
vent Garden  Theatre,  lately  burnt  down.  The  exterior 
walls  still  remain  perfect,  and  look  quite  solid  enough 
to  admit  of  the  interior  being  renewed,  but  I believe  it 
is  determined  to  take  them  down. 

After  a slight  lunch  and  a glass  of  wine,  we  walked 
out,  along  Piccadilly,  and  to  Hyde  Park,  which  already 
looks  very  green,  and  where  there  were  a good  many 
people  walking  and  driving,  and  rosy-faced  children  at 
play.  Somehow  or  other  the  shine  and  charm  are  gone 
from  London,  since  my  last  visit ; and  I did  not  very 
much  admire,  nor  feel  much  interested  in  anything. 
We  returned  (and  I,  for  my  part,  was  much  wearied) 
in  time  for  dinner  at  five.  The  evening  was  spent  at 
home  in  various  talk,  and  I find  Mr. a very  agree* 


376 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

able  companion,  and  a young  man  of  thought  and  infor- 
mation, with  a self-respecting  character,  and  I think 
him  a safe  person  to  live  with. 

This  St.  James’s  Place  is  in  close  vicinity  to  St. 
James’s  Palace,  the  gateway  and  not  very  splendid 
front  of  which  we  can  see  from  the  corner.  The  club- 
houses and  the  best  life  of  the  town  are  near  at  hand. 
Addison,  before  his  marriage,  used  to  live  in  St.  James’s 
Place,  and  the  house  where  Mr.  Rogers  recently  died 
is  up  the  court,  — not  that  this  latter  residence  excites 
much  interest  in  my  mind.  I remember  nothing  else 
very  noteworthy  in  this  first  day’s  experience,  except 
that  on  Sir  Watkins  Williams  Wynn’s  door,  not  far 
from  this  house,  I saw  a gold  knocker,  which  is  said 
to  be  unscrewed  every  night  lest  it  should  be  stolen. 
I don’t  know  whether  it  be  really  gold ; for  it  did  not 
look  so  bright  as  the  generality  of  brass  ones.  I re- 
ceived a very  good  letter  from  J this  morning. 

He  was  to  go  to  Mr.  Bright’s  at  Sandhays  yesterday, 
and  remain  till  Monday. 

After  writing  the  above,  I walked  along  the  Strand, 
Fleet  Street,  Ludgate  Hill  and  Cheapside  to  Wood 
Street,  — a very  narrow  street,  insomuch  that  one  has  to 
press  close  against  the  wall  to  escape  being  grazed 
when  a cart  is  passing.  At  No.  77  I found  the  place 
of  business  of  Mr.  Bennoch,  who  came  to  see  me  at 
Rock  Ferry  with  Mr.  Jerdan,  not  long  after  my  arrival 
in  England.  I found  him  in  his  office ; but  he  did  not 
at  first  recognize  me,  so  much  stouter  have  I grown 
during  my  residence  in  England,  — a new  man,  as  he 
says.  Mr.  Bennoch  is  a kindly,  frank,  very  good  man, 
and  was  bounteous  in  his  plans  for  making  my  time 


1856. 


HAMPTON  COURT. 


377 


pass  pleasantly.  We  talked  of , from  whom  he 

has  just  received  a letter,  and  who  says  he  will  fight 
for  England  in  case  of  a war.  I let  Bennoch  know 
that  I,  at  least,  should  take  the  other  side. 

After  arranging  to  go  to  Greenwich  Fair,  and  after- 
wards to  dine  with  Bennoch,  I left  him  and  went  to 

Mr.  ’s  office,  and  afterwards  strayed  forth  again, 

and  crossed  London  Bridge.  Thence  I rambled  rather 
drearily  along  through  several  shabby  and  uninterest- 
ing streets  on  the  other  side  of  the  Thames ; and  the 
dull  streets  in  London  are  really  the  dullest  and  most 
disheartening  in  the  world.  By  and  by  I found  my  way 
to  Southwark  Bridge,  and  so  crossed  to  Upper  Thames 
Street,  which  was  likewise  very  stupid,  though  I be- 
lieve Clenman’s  paternal  house  in  “ Little  Dorrit  ” 

stands  thereabouts Next,  I got  into  Ludgate 

Hill,  near  St  Paul’s,  and  being  quite  foot-weary,  I 
took  a Paddington  omnibus,  and  rode  up  into  Regent 
Street,  whence  I came  home. 

March  24 th.  — Yesterday  being  a clear  day  for  Eng- 
land, we  determined  upon  an  expedition  to  Hampton 
Court ; so  walked  out  betimes  towards  the  Waterloo 
Station  ; but  first  crossed  the  Thames  by  Westminster 
Bridge,  and  went  to  Lambeth  Palace.  It  stands  imme- 
diately on  the  bank  of  the  river,  not  far  above  the  bridge. 
We  merely  walked  round  it,  and  saw  only  an  old  stone 
tower  or  two,  partially  renewed  with  brick,  and  a high 
connecting  wall,  within  which  appeared  gables  and 
other  portions  of  the  palace,  all  of  an  ancient  plan 
and  venerable  aspect,  though  evidently  much  patched 


378 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

up  and  restored  in  the  course  of  the  many  ages  since  its 
foundation.  There  is  likewise  a church,  part  of  which 
looks  old,  connected  with  the  palace.  The  streets  sur- 
rounding it  have  many  gabled  houses,  and  a general  look 
of  antiquity,  more  than  some  other  parts  of  London. 

We  then  walked  to  the  Waterloo  Station,  on  the 
same  side  of  the  river;  and  at  twenty  minutes  past 
one  took  the  rail  for  Hampton  Court,  distant  some 
twelve  or  fifteen  miles.  On  arriving  at  the  terminus, 
we  beheld  Hampton  Palace,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Thames,  — an  extensive  structure,  with  a front  of  red 
brick,  long  and  comparatively  low,  with  the  great  Hall 
which  Wolsey  built  rising  high  above  the  rest.  We 
crossed  the  river  (which  is  here  but  a narrow  stream) 
by  a stone  bridge.  The  entrance  to  the  palace  is  about 
half  a quarter  of  a mile  from  the  railway,  through 
arched  gates,  which  give  a long  perspective  into  the 
several  quadrangles.  These  quadrangles,  one  beyond 
another,  are  paved  with  stone,  and  surrounded  by  the 
brick  walls  of  the  palace,  the  many  windows  of  which 
look  in  upon  them.  Soldiers  were  standing  sentinels 
at  the  exterior  gateways,  and  at  the  various  doors  of 
the  palace ; but  they  admitted  everybody  without 
question  and  without  fee.  Policemen,  or  other  attend- 
ants, were  in  most  of  the  rooms,  but  interfered  with  no 
one ; so  that,  in  this  respect,  it  was  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est places  to  visit  that  I have  found  in  England.  A 
good  many  people,  of  all  classes,  were  strolling  through 
the  apartments. 

We  first  went  into  Wolsey’s  great  Hall,  up  a most 
spacious  staircase,  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  which  were 
covered  with  an  allegorical  fresco  by  Verrio,  wonderfully 


1856.] 


HAMPTON  COURT. 


379 


bright  and  well  preserved ; and  without  caring  about 
the  design  or  execution,  I greatly  liked  the  brilliancy  of 
the  colors.  The  great  Hall  is  a most  noble  and  beau- 
tiful room,  above  a hundred  feet  long  and  sixty  high 
and  broad.  Most  of  the  windows  are  of  stained  or 
painted  glass,  with  elaborate  designs,  whether  modern 
or  ancient  I know  not,  but  certainly  brilliant  in  effect. 
The  walls,  from  the  floor  to  perhaps  half  their  height, 
are  covered  with  antique  tapestry,  which,  though  a good 
deal  faded,  still  retains  color  enough  to  be  a very  effec- 
tive adornment,  and  to  give  an  idea  of  how  rich  a mode 
of  decking  a noble  apartment  this  must  have  been.  The 
subjects  represented  were  from  Scripture,  and  the  fig- 
ures seemed  colossal.  On  looking  closely  at  this  tapes- 
try, you  could  see  that  it  was  thickly  interwoven  with 
threads  of  gold,  still  glistening.  The  windows,  except 
one  or  two  that  are  long,  do  not  descend  below  the  top 
of  this  tapestry,  and  are  therefore  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
above  the  floor ; and  this  manner  of  lighting  a great 
room  seems  to  add  much  to  the  impressiveness  of  the 
enclosed  space.  The  roof  is  very  magnificent,  of  carved 
oak,  intricately  and  elaborately  arched,  and  still  as  per- 
fect to  all  appearance  as  when  it  was  first  made.  There 
are  banners,  so  fresh  in  their  hues,  and  so  untattered, 
that  I think  they  must  be  modern,  suspended  along 
beneath  the  cornice  of  the  hall,  and  exhibiting  Wolsey’s 
arms  and  badges.  On  the  whole,  this  is  a perfect  sight 
in  its  way. 

Next  to  the  hall  there  is  a withdrawing-room,  more 
than  seventy  feet  long,  and  twenty-five  feet  high.  The 
walls  of  this  apartment,  too,  are  covered  witli  ancient 
tapestry,  of  allegorical  design,  but  more  faded  than 


380 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

that  of  the  hall.  There  is  also  a stained-glass  window ; 
and  a marble  statue  of  Venus  on  a couch,  very  lean 
and  not  very  beautiful ; and  some  cartoons  of  Carlo 
Cignani,  which  have  left  no  impression  on  my  memory ; 
likewise,  a large  model  of  a splendid  palace  of  some 
East  Indian  nabob. 

I am  not  sure,  after  all,  thal  Verrio’s  frescoed  grand 
staircase  was  not  in  another  part  of  the  palace  ; for  I 
remember  that  we  went  from  it  through  an  immensely 
long  suite  of  apartments,  beginning  with  the  Guard- 
chamber.  All  these  rooms  are  wainscoted  with  oak, 
which  looks  new,  being,  I believe,  of  the  date  of  Xing 
William’s  reign.  Over  many  of  the  doorways,  or 
around  the  panels,  there  are  carvings  in  wood  by 
Gibbons,  representing  wreaths  of  flowers,  fruit,  and 
foliage,  the  most  perfectly  beautiful  that  can  be  con- 
ceived ; and  the  wood  being  of  a light  hue  (lime-wood, 
I believe),  it  has  a fine  effect  on  the  dark  oak  panelling. 
The  apartments  open  one  beyond  another,  in  long,  long, 
long  succession,  — rooms  of  state,  and  kings’  and 
queens’  bedchambers,  and  royal  closets  bigger  than 
ordinary  drawing-rooms,  so  that  the  whole  suite  must 
be  half  a mile,  or  it  may  be  a mile,  in  extent.  From 
the  windows  you  get  views  of  the  palace-grounds,  broad 
and  stately  walks,  and  groves  of  trees,  and  lawns,  anf 
fountains,  and  the  Thames  and  adjacent  country  be- 
yond. The  walls  of  all  these  rooms  are  absolutely 
covered  with  pictures,  including  works  of  all  the  great 
masters,  which  would  require  long  study  before  a new 
eye  could  enjoy  them , and,  seeing  so  many  of  them  al 
once,  and  having  such  a nothing  of  time  to  look  at 
them  all,  I did  not  even  try  to  see  any  merit  in  them. 


1856.] 


HAMPTON  COURT. 


381 


Vandyke’s  picture  of  Charles  I.,  on  a white  horse  be- 
neath an  arched  gateway,  made  more  impression  on  me 
than  any  other,  and  as  I recall  it  now,  it  seems  as  if  I 
could  see  the  king’s  noble,  melancholy  face,  and  armed 
form,  remembered  not  in  picture,  but  in  reality.  All 
Sir  Peter  Lely’s  lewd  women,  and  Kneller’s,  too,  were 
in  these  rooms  ; and  the  jolly  old  stupidity  of  George 
III.  and  his  family,  many  times  repeated ; and  pictures 
by  Titian,  Rubens,  and  other  famous  hands,  intermixed 
with  many  by  West,  which  provokingly  drew  the  eye 
away  from  their  betters.  It  seems  to  me  that  a picture, 
of  all  other  things,  should  be  by  itself ; whereas  people 
always  congregate  them  in  galleries.  To  endeavor 
really  to  see  them,  so  arranged,  is  like  trying  to  read  a 
hundred  poems  at  once,  — a most  absurd  attempt.  Of 
all  these  pictures,  I hardly  recollect  any  so  well  as  a 
ridiculous  old  travesty  of  the  Resurrection  and  Last 
Judgment,  where  the  dead  people  are  represented  as 
coming  to  life  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet,  — the  flesh 
re-establishing  itself  on  the  bones,  — one  man  pick- 
ing up  his  skull,  and  putting  it  on  his  shoulders,  — and 
all  appearing  greatly  startled,  only  half  awake,  and  at 
a loss  what  to  do  next.  Some  devils  are  dragging 
away  the  damned  by  the  heels  and  on  sledges,  and 
above  sits  the  Redeemer  and  some  angelic  and  sainted 
people,  looking  complacently  down  upon  the  scene  ! 

We  saw,  in  one  of  the  rooms,  the  funeral  canopy 
beneath  which  the  Duke  of  Wellington  lay  in  state,  — 
very  gorgeous,  of  black  velvet  embroidered  with  silver 
and  adorned  with  escutcheons ; also,  the  state  bed 
of  Queen  Aiine,  broad,  and  of  comfortable  appearance, 
though  it  was  a queen’s,  — the  materials  of  the  curtains, 


382 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

quilt,  and  furniture,  red  velvet,  still  brilliant  in  hue; 
also  King  William's  bed  and  his  queen  Mary's,  with 
enormously  tall  posts,  and  a good  deal  the  worse  for 
time  and  wear. 

The  last  apartment  we  entered  was  the  gallery  con- 
taining Raphael's  cartoons,  which  I shall  not  pretend  to 
admire  nor  to  understand.  I can  conceive,  indeed,  that 
there  is  a great  deal  of  expression  in  them,  and  very 
probably  they  may,  in  every  respect,  deserve  all  their 
fame  ; but  on  this  point  I can  give  no  testimony.  To 
my  perception  they  were  a series  of  very  much  faded 
pictures,  dimly  seen  (for  this  part  of  the  palace  was 
now  in  shadow),  and  representing  figures  neither  grace- 
ful nor  beautiful,  nor,  as  far  as  I could  discern,  particu- 
larly grand.  But  I came  to  them  with  a wearied  mind 
and  eye  ; and  also  I had  a previous  distaste  to  them 
through  the  medium  of  engravings. 

But  what  a noble  palace,  nobly  enriched,  is  this 
Hampton  Court ! The  English  government  does  well 
to  keep  it  up,  and  to  admit  the  people  freely  into  it,  for 
it  is  impossible  for  even  a Republican  not  to  feel  some- 
thing like  awe  — at  least,  a profound  respect  — for  all 
this  state,  and  for  the  institutions  which  are  here  rep- 
resented, the  sovereigns  whose  moral  magnificence  de- 
mands such  a residence  ; and  its  permanence,  too, 
enduring  from  age  to  age,  and  each  royal  generation 
adding  new  splendors  to  those  accumulated  by  their 
predecessors.  If  one  views  the  matter  in  another  way, 
to  be  sure,  we  may  feel  indignant  that  such  dolt-heads, 
rowdies,  and  every  way  mean  people,  as  many  of  the 
English  sovereigns  have  been,  should  inhabit  these 
^tely  halls,  contrasting  its  splendors  with  their  little- 


RICHMOND. 


383 


1856.] 

ness  ; but,  on  the  whole,  I readily  consented  within 
myself’  to  be  impressed  for  a moment  with  the  feeling 
that  royalty  has  its  glorious  side.  By  no  possibility 
can  we  ever  have  such  a place  in  America. 

Leaving  Hampton  Court  at  about  four  o’clock,  we 
walked  through  Bushy  Park,  — a beautiful  tract  of 
ground,  well  wooded  with  fine  old  trees,  green  with 
moss,  all  up  their  twisted  trunks,  — through  several 
villages,  Twickenham  among  the  rest,  to  Richmond. 
Before  entering  Twickenham,  we  passed  a lath-and- 
plaster  castellated  edifice,  much  time-worn,  and  with 
the  plaster  peeling  off  from  the  laths,  which  I fancied 
might  be  Horace  Walpole’s  toy-castle.  Not  that  it 
really  could  have  been ; but  it  was  like  the  image, 
wretchedly  mean  and  shabby,  which  one  forms  of  such 
a place,  in  its  decay.  From  Hampton  Court  to  the 
Star  and  Garter,  on  Richmond  Hill,  is  about  six  miles. 
After  glancing  cursorily  at  the  prospect,  which  is  fa- 
mous, and  doubtless  very  extensive  and  beautiful  if 
the  English  mistiness  would  only  let  it  be  seen,  we 
took  a good  dinner  in  the  large  and  handsome  coffee- 
room  of  the  hotel,  and  then  wended  our  way  to  the 
rail  station,  and  reached  home  between  eight  and 
nine  o’clock.  We  must  have  walked  not  far  from  fif- 
teen miles  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

March  25th.  — Yesterday,  at  one  o’clock,  I called  by 
appointment  on  Mr.  Bennoch,  and  lunched  with  him  and 
his  partners  and  clerks.  This  lunch  seems  to  be  a 
legitimate  continuation  of  the  old  London  custom  of 
£he  master  living  at  the  same  table  with  his  apprentices. 
The  meal  was  a dinner  for  the  latter  class.  The  table 


384  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

was  set  in  an  upper  room  of  the  establishment ; and  the 
dinner  was  a large  joint  of  roast  mutton,  to  which  ten 
people  sat  down,  including  a German  silk-merchant  as 
a guest,  besides  myself.  Mr.  Bennoch  was  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  one  of  his  partners  at  the  foot.  For 
the  apprentices  there  was  porter  to  drink,  and  for  the 
partners  and  guests  some  sparkling  Moselle,  and  we 
had  a sufficient  dinner  with  agreeable  conversation. 

Bennoch  said  that  G.  G used  to  be  very  fond  of 

these  lunches  while  in  England. 

After  lunch,  Mr.  Bennoch  took  me  round  the  estab- 
lishment, which  is  quite  extensive,  occupying,  I think, 
two  or  three  adjacent  houses,  and  requiring  more.  He 
showed  me  innumerable  packages  of  ribbons,  and  other 
silk  manufactures,  and  all  sorts  of  silks,  from  the  raw 
thread  to  the  finest  fabrics.  He  then  offered  to  show 
me  some  of  the  curiosities  of  old  London,  and  took  me 
first  to  Barber- Surgeons’  Hall,  in  Monkwell  Street. 
It  was  at  this  place  that  the  first  anatomical  studies 
were  instituted  in  England.  At  the  time  of  its  founda- 
tion, the  Barbers  and  Surgeons  were  one  company ; 
but  the  latter,  I believe,  are  now  the  exclusive  posses- 
sors of  the  Hall.  The  edifice  was  built  by  Inigo 
Jones,  and  the  principal  room  is  a fine  one,  with  finely 
carved  wood-work  on  the  ceiling  and  walls.  There  is 
a skylight  in  the  roof,  letting  down  a sufficient  radi- 
ance on  the  long  table  beneath,  where,  no  doubt,  dead 
people  have  been  dissected,  and  where,  for  many  gener- 
ations, it  has  been  the  custom  of  the  society  to  hold  its 
stated  feasts.  In  this  room  hangs  the  most  valuable 
picture  by  Holbein  now  in  existence,  representing  the 
company  of  Barber-Surgeons  kneeling  before  Henry 


J850.] 


LONDON. 


385 


VIII.,  and  receiving  their  charter  from  his  hands.  The 
picture  is  about  six  feet  square.  The  king  is  dressed 
in  scarlet,  and  quite  fulfils  one’s  idea  of  his  aspect. 
The  Barber-Surgeons,  all  portraits,  are  an  assemblage 
of  grave-looking  personages,  in  dark  costumes.  The 
company  has  refused  five  thousand  pounds  for  this 
unique  picture ; and  the  keeper  of  the  Hall  told  me 
that  Sir  Robert  Peel  had  offered  a thousand  pounds  for 
liberty  to  take  out  only  one  of  the  heads,  that  of  a 
person  named  Pen,  he  conditioning  to  have  a perfect 
fac-simile  painted  in.  I did  not  see  any  merit  in  this 
head  over  the  others. 

Beside  this  great  picture  hung  a most  exquisite  por- 
trait by  Vandyke ; an  elderly,  bearded  man,  of  noble 
and  refined  countenance,  in  a rich,  grave  dress.  There 
are  many  other  pictures  of  distinguished  men  of, the 
company,  in  long  past  times,  and  of  some  of  the  kings 
and  great  people  of  England,  all  darkened  with  age, 
and  producing  a rich  and  sombre  effect,  in  this  stately 
old  hall.  Nothing  is  more  curious  in  London  than 
these  ancient  localities  and  customs  of  the  City  Com- 
panies, — each  trade  and  profession  having  its  own  hall, 
and  its  own  institutions.  The  keeper  next  showed  us 
the  plate  which  is  used  at  the  banquets. 

I should  like  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  feasts. 
I saw  also  an  old  vellum  manuscript,  in  black  letter, 
which  appeared  to  be  a record  of  the  proceedings  of 
the  company ; and  at  the  end  there  were  many  pages 
ruled  for  further  entries,  but  none  had  been  made  in 
the  volume  for  the  last  three  or  four  hundred  years. 

I think  it  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  Barber-Sur- 

vol.  i.  17  Y 


386 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

geons’  Hall,  which  stands  amid  an  intricacy  of  old 
streets,  where  I should  never  have  thought  of  going, 
that  I saw  a row  of  ancient  almshouses,  of  Elizabethan 
structure.  They  looked  wofully  dilapidated.  In  front 
of  one  of  them  was  an  inscription,  setting  forth  that 
some  worthy  alderman  had  founded  this  establishment 
for  the  support  of  six  poor  men  ; and  these  six,  or  their 
successors,  are  still  supported,  but  no  larger  number, 
although  the  value  of  the  property  left  for  that  purpose 
would  now  suffice  for  a much  larger  number. 

Then  Mr.  Bennoch  took  me  to  Cripplegate,  and,  en- 
tering the  door  of  a house,  which  proved  to  be  a sexton’s 
residence,  we  passed  by  a side  entrance  into  the  church 
porch  of  St.  Giles,  of  which  the  sexton’s  house  seems 
to  be  an  indivisible  contiguity.  This  is  a very  ancient 
church,  that  escaped  the  great  fire  of  London.  The  gal- 
leries are  supported  by  arches,  the  pillars  of  which  are 
cased  high  upwards  with  oak ; but  all  this  oaken  work 
and  the  oaken  pews  are  comparatively  modern,  though 
so  solid  and  dark  that  they  agree  well  enough  with  the 
general  effect  of  the  church.  Proceeding  to  the  high 
altar,  we  found  it  surrounded  with  many  very  curious 
old  monuments  and  memorials,  some  in  carved  oak, 
some  in  marble ; grim  old  worthies,  mostly  in  the  cos- 
tume of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  time.  Here  was  the  bust 
of  Speed,  the  historian  ; here  was  the  monument  of 
Fox,  author  of  The  Book  of  Martyrs.  High  up  on 
the  wall,  beside  the  altar,  there  was  a black  wooden 
coffin,  and  a lady  sitting  upright  within  it,,  with  her 
hands  clasped  in  prayer,  it  being  her  awakening  mo- 
ment at  the  Resurrection.  Thence  we  passed  down 
the  centre  aisle,  and  about  midway  we  stopped  before 


LONDON. 


387 


1856.] 

a marble  bust,  fixed  against  one  of  the  pillars.  And 
this  was  the  bust  of  Milton  ! Yes,  and  Milton’s  bones 
lay  beneath  our  feet ; for  he  was  buried  under  the  pew 
over  the  door  of  which  I was  leaning.  The  bust,  I be- 
lieve, is  the  original  of  the  one  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

Treading  over  the  tombstones  of  the  old  citizens  of 
London,  both  in  the  aisles  and  the  porch,  and  within 
doors  and  without,  we  went  into  the  churchyard,  one 
side  of  which  is  fenced  in  by  a portion  of  London  Wall, 
very  solid,  and  still  high,  though  the  accumulation  of 
human  dust  has  covered  much  of  its  base.  This  is  the 
most  considerable  portion  now  remaining  of  the  ancient 
wall  of  London.  The  sexton  now  asked  us  to  go  into 
the  tower  of  the  church,  that  he  might  show  us  the 
oldest  part  of  the  structure,  and  we  did  so,  and,  looking 
down  from  the  organ  gallery,  I saw  a woman  sitting 
alone  in  the  church,  waiting  for  the  rector,  whose 
ghostly  consolation,  I suppose,  she  needed. 

This  old  church  tower  was  formerly  lighted  by  three 
large  windows,  — one  of  them  of  very  great  size ; but 
the  thrifty  churchwardens  of  a generation  or  two  ago 
had  built  them  up  with  brick,  to  the  great  disfigurement 
of  the  church.  The  sexton  called  my  attention  to  the 
organ-pipe,  which  is  of  sufficient  size,  I believe,  to  ad- 
mit three  men. 

From  Cripplegate  we  went  to  Milton  Street  (as  it  is 
now  called),  through  which  we  walked  for  a very  excel- 
lent reason ; for  this  is  the  veritable  Grub  Street,  where 
my  literary  kindred  of  former  times  used  to  congregate. 
It  is  still  a shabby-looking  street,  with  old-fashioned 
houses,  and  inhabited  chiefly  by  people  of  the  poorer 
classes,  though  not  by  authors.  Next  we  went  to  Old 


388 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


Broad  Street,  and,  being  joined  by  Mr.  B , we  set 

off  for  London  Bridge,  turning  out  of  our  direct  course 
to  see  London  stone  in  Watling  Street.  This  famous 
stone  appears  now  to  be  built  into  the  wall  of  St. 
Swithin’s  Church,  and  is  so  encased  that  you  can  only 
see  and  touch  the  top  of  it  through  a circular  hole. 
There  are  one  or  two  long  cuts  or  indentations  in  the 
top,  which  are  said  to  have  been  made  by  Jack  Cade’s 
sword  when  he  struck  it  against  the  stone.  If  so,  his 
sword  was  of  a redoubtable  temper.  Judging  by  what  I 
saw,  London  stone  was  a rudely  shaped  and  unhewn  post. 

At  the  London  Bridge  station,  we  took  the  rail  for 
Greenwich,  and,  it  being  only  about  five  miles  off,  we 
were  not  long  in  reaching  the  town.  It  was  Easter 
Monday  ; and  during  the  first  three  days  of  Easter,  from 
time  immemorial,  a fair  has  been  held  at  Greenwich, 
and  this  was  what  we  had  come  to  see. 

[This  fair  is  described  in  Our  Old  Home,  in  “ A Lon- 
don Suburb.”] 

Reaching  Mr.  Bennoch’s  house,  we  found  it  a pretty 
and  comfortable  one,  and  adorned  with  many  works  of 
art ; for  he  seems  to  be  a patron  of  art  and  literature, 
and  a warm-hearted  man,  of  active  benevolence  and 
vivid  sympathies  in  many  directions.  His  face  shows 
this.  I have  never  seen  eyes  of  a warmer  glow  than 
his.  On  the  walls  of  one  room  there  were  a good  many 
sketches  by  Haydon,  and  several  artists’  proofs  of  fine 
engravings,  presented  by  persons  to  whom  he  had  been 
kind.  In  the  drawing-room  there  was  a marble  bust 

of  Mrs. , and  one,  I think,  of  himself,  and  one  of 

the  Queen,  which  Mr  Bennocli  said  was  very  good, 


BLACKHEATH. 


-89 


1856.] 

and  it  is  unlike  any  other  I have  seen.  It  is  intended 
as  a gift,  from  a number  of  subscribers,  to  Miss  Nightin- 
gale. Likewise  a crayon  sketch  of , looking  rather 

morbid  and  unwholesome,  as  the  poor  lady  really  is. 
Also,  a small  picture  of  Mr.  Bennoch  in  a military 
dress,  as  an  officer,  probably  of  city -horse.  By  and  by 
came  in  a young  gentleman,  son  of  Haydon,  the  painter 
of  high  art,  and  one  or  two  ladies  staying  in  the 

house,  and  anon  Mrs.  . And  so  we  went  in  to 

dinner. 

Bennoch  is  an  admirable  host,  and  warms  his  guests 
like  a household  fire  by  the  influence  of  his  kindly  face 
and  glowing  eyes,  and  by  such  hospitable  demeanor  as 
best  suits  this  aspect.  After  the  cloth  was  removed, 
came  in  Mr.  Newton  Crosland,  a young  man  who  once 
called  on  me  in  Liverpool,  — the  husband  of  a literary 
lady,  formerly  Camilla  Toulmin.  The  lady  herself 
was  coming  to  spend  the  evening.  The  husband  (and 
I presume  the  wife)  is  a decided  believer  in  spiritual 
manifestations.  We  talked  of  politics  and  spiritualism 
and  literature ; and  before  we  rose  from  table,  Mr. 
Bennoch  drank  the  health  of  the  ladies,  and  especially 

of  Mrs.  H , in  terms  very  kind  towards  her  and  me. 

I responded  in  her  behalf  as  well  as  I could,  and  left  it 
to  Mr.  Bowman,  as  a bachelor,  to  respond  for  the  ladies 
generally,  — which  he  did  briefly,  toasting  Mrs.  B . 

We  had  heard  the  sound  of  the  piano  in  the  drawing- 
room for  some  time,  and  now  adjourning  thither,  I had 
the  pleasure  to  be  introduced  to  Mrs.  Newton  Crosland, 
— a rather  tall,  thin,  pale,  and  ladylike  person,  looking,  I 
thought,  of  a sensitive  character.  She  expressed  in  a 
low  tone  and  quiet  way  great  delight  at  seeing  my  dis< 


390 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850. 

tinguished  self!  for  she  is  a vast  admirer  of  The  Scarlet 
Letter,  and  especially  of  the  character  of  Hester;  in- 
deed, I remember  seeing  a most  favorable  criticism  of 
the  book  from  her  pen,  in  one  of  the  London  maga* 
zines 

At  eleven  o'clock  Mrs.  Crosland  entered  the  tiniest 
pony  carriage,  and  set  forth  for  her  own  residence,  with 
a lad  walking  at  the  pony's  head,  and  carrying  a lan  • 
tern 

March  2§th.  — Yesterday  was  not  a very  eventful 
day.  After  writing  in  my  journal  I went  out  at  twelve, 
and  visited,  for  the  first  time,  the  National  Gallery.  It 
is  of  no  use  for  me  to  criticise  pictures,  or  to  try  to  de- 
scribe them,  but  I have  an  idea  that  I might  acquire  a 
taste,  with  a little  attention  to  the  subject,  for  I find  I 
already  begin  to  prefer  some  pictures  to  others.  This 
is  encouraging.  Of  those  that  I saw  yesterday,  I think  I 
liked  several  by  Murillo  best.  There  were  a great  many 
people  in  the  gallery,  almost  entirely  of  the  middle,  with 
a few  of  the  lower  classes ; and  I should  think  that  the 
effect  of  the  exhibition  must  at  least  tend  towards  re- 
finement. Nevertheless,  the  only  emotion  that  I saw 
displayed  was  in  broad  grins  on  the  faces  of  a man  and 
two  women,  at  sight  of  a small  picture  of  Yenus,  with  a 
Satyr  peeping  at  her  with  an  expression  of  gross  animal 
delight  and  merriment.  Without  being  aware  of  it, 
this  man  and  the  two  women  were  of  that  same  Satyr 
breed. 

If  I lived  in  London,  I would  endeavor  to  educate 
myself  in  this  and  other  galleries  of  art ; but  as  the  case 
stands,  it  would  be  of  no  use.  I saw  two  of  Turner’s 


LONDON. 


391 


1856.] 

landscapes  ; but  did  not  see  so  much  beauty  in  them  as 
in  some  of  Glaude’s.  A view  of  the  grand  canal  in 
Venice,  by  Canaletto,  seemed  to  me  wonderful,  — abso- 
lutely perfect,  — a better  reality,  for  I could  see  the 
water  of  the  canal  moving  and  dimpling ; and  the  pal- 
aces and  buildings  on  each  side  were  quite  as  good  in 
their  way. 

Leaving  the  gallery,  I walked  down  into  the  city, 
and  passed  through  Smithfield,  where  I glanced  at  St. 

Bartholemew’s  Hospital Then  I went  into  St. 

Paul’s,  and  walked  all  round  the  great  cathedral,  look- 
ing, I believe,  at  every  monument  on  the  floor.  There 
is  certainly  nothing  very  wonderful  in  any  of  them,  and 
I do  wish  4t  would  not  so  generally  happen  that  English 
warriors  go  into  battle  almost  nude  ; at  least,  we  must 
suppose  so,  from  their  invariably  receiving  their  death- 
wounds  in  that  condition.  I will  not  believe  that  a 
sculptor  or  a painter  is  a man  of  genius  unless  he  can 
make  the  nobleness  of  his  subject  illuminate  and  trans- 
figure any  given  pattern  of  coat  and  breeches.  Never- 
theless, I never  go  into  St.  Paul’s  without  being  im- 
pressed anew  with  the  grandeur  of  the  edifice,  and  the 
general  effect  of  these  same  groups  of  statuary  ranged 
in  their  niches  and  at  the  bases  of  the  pillars  as  adorn- 
ments of  the  cathedral. 

Coming  homeward,  I went  into  the  enclosure  of  the 
Temple,  and  near  the.  entrance  saw  “ Dr.  Johnson’s 
staircase  ” printed  over  a doorway  so  I not  only  looked 
in,  but  went  up  the  first  flight  of  some  broad,  well-worn 
stairs,  passing  my  hand  over  a heavy,  ancient,  broken 
balustrade,  on  which,  no  doubt,  Johnson’s  hand  has 
often  rested.  It  was  here  that  Boswell  used  to  visit 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


392 


[1850. 


him,  in  their  early  acquaintance.  Before  my  lunch,  J 
had  gone  into  Bolt  Court,  where  he  died. 


This  morning  there  have  been  letters  from  Mr. 
Wilding,  enclosing  an  invitation  to  me  to  be  one  of  the 
stewards  of  the  anniversary  dinner  of  the  Literary 
Fund. 

No,  I thank  you,  gentlemen ! 


March  27th.  — Yesterday  I went  out  at  about  twelve, 
and  visited  the  British  Museum ; an  exceedingly  tire- 
some affair.  It  quite  crushes  a person  to  see  so  much 
at  once,  and  I wandered  from  hall  to  hall  with  a weary 
and  heavy  heart,  wishing  (Heaven  forgive  me ! ) that 
the  Elgin  marbles  and  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon  were 
all  burnt  into  lime,  and  that  the  granite  Egyptian 
statues  were  hewn  and  squared  into  building-stones,  and 
that  the  mummies  had  all  turned  to  dust  two  thousand 
years  ago ; and,  in  fine,  that  all  the  material  relics  of 
so  many  successive  ages  had  disappeared  with  the  gen- 
erations that  produced  them.  The  present  is  burdened 
too  much  with  the  past.  We  have  not  time,  in  our 
earthly  existence,  to  appreciate  what  is  warm  with  life, 
and  immediately  around  us ; yet  we  heap  up  these  old 
shells,  out  of  which  human  life  has  long  emerged,  cast- 
ing them  off  forever.  I do  not  see  how  future  ages  are 
to  stagger  onward  under  all  this  dead  weight,  with  the 
additions  that  will  be  continually  made  to  it. 

After  leaving  the  Museum,  I went  to  see  Bennoch, 
and  arrange  with  him  our  expedition  of  to-day  ; and  he 
read  me  a letter  from  Tupper,  very  earnestly  inviting 
me  to  come  and  spend  a night  or  two  with  him.  Then 


1856.] 


ALDERSHOT!  CAMP. 


393 


I wandered  about  the  city,  and  was  lost  in  the  vicinity 
of  Holborn ; so  that  for  a long  while  I was  under  a 
spell  of  bewilderment,  and  kept  returning,  in  the  stran- 
gest way,  to  the  same  point  in  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields.  . . * . 

Mr.  Bowman  and  I went  to  the  Princess’s  Theatre 
in  the  evening*  Charles  Kean  performed  in  Louis  XI. 
very  well  indeed,  — a thoughtful  and  highly  skilled 
actor,  — much  improved  since  I saw  him,  many  years 
ago,  in  America. 

ALDERSHOTT  CAMP. 

April  IsA  — After  my  last  date  on  Thursday,  I 
visited  the  National  Gallery.  At  three  o’clock,  having 
packed  a travelling-bag,  I went  to  Bennoch’s  office,  and 
lunched  with  him  ; and  at  about  five  we  took  the  rail 
from  the  Waterloo  station  for  Aldershott  Camp.  At 
Tamborough  we  were  cordially  received  by  Lieutenant 
Shaw,  of  the  North  Cork  Rifles,  and  were  escorted  by 
him,  in  a fly,  to  his  quarters.  The  camp  is  a large 
city,  composed  of  numberless  wooden  barracks,  ar- 
ranged in  regular  streets,  on  a wide,  bleak  heath,  with 
an  extensive  and  dreary  prospect  on  all  sides.  Lieu- 
tenant Shaw  assigned  me  one  room  in  his  hut,  and  Ben- 
noch  another,  and  made  us  as  comfortable  as  kind 
hospitality  could ; but  the  huts  are  very  small,  and 
the  rooms  have  no  size  at  all ; neither  are  they  air- 
tight, and  the  sharp  wind  whistles  in  at  the  crevices  ; 
and,  on  the  whole,  of  all  discomfortable  places,  I am 
inclined  to  reckon  Aldershott  Camp  the  most  so.  I 
suppose  the  government  has  placed  the  camp  on  that 
windy  heath,  and  built  such  wretched  huts,  for  the  very 
purpose  of  rendering  life  as  little  desirable  as  may  be 
17* 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


394 


[185(5. 


to  the  soldiers,  so  that  they  should  throw  it  away  the 
more  willingly. 

At  seven  o’clock  we  dined  at  the  regimental  mess, 
with  the  officers  of  the  North  Cork.  The  mess-room 
is  by  far  the  most  endurable  place  to  be  found  in  camp. 
The  hut  is  large,  and  the  mess-room  is  capable  of  re- 
ceiving between  thirty  and  forty  guests,  besides  the 
officers  of  the  regiment,  when  a great  dinner-party  is 
given.  As  I saw  it,  the  whole  space  was  divided  into 
a dining-room  and  two  ante-rooms  by  red  curtains 
drawn  across ; and  the  second  ante-room  seems  to  be  a 
general  rendezvous  for  the  officers,  where  they  meet  at 
all  times,  and  talk,  or  look  over  the  newspapers  and 
the  army-register,  which  constitute  the  chief  of  their 
reading.  The  Colonel  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the 
regiment  received  Bennoch  and  me  with  great  cor- 
diality, as  did  all  the  other  officers,  and  we  sat  down  to 
a splendid  dinner. 

All  the  officers  of  the  regiment  are  Irishmen,  and 
all  of  them,  I believe,  men  of  fortune  ; and  they  do 
what  they  can  towards  alleviating  their  hardships  in 
camp  by  eating  and  drinking  of  the  best  that  can  be 
obtained  of  all  good  things.  The  table  service  and 
plate  were  as  fine  as  those  in  any  nobleman’s  establish- 
ment; the  dishes  numerous  and  admirably  got  up;  and 
the  wines  delectable  and  genuine,  — as  they  had  need 
to  be ; for  there  is  a great  consumption  of  them.  I 
liked  these  Irish  officers  exceedingly ; — not  that  it 
would  be  possible  to  live  long  among  them  without 
finding  existence  a bore ; for  they  have  no  thought,  no 
intellectual  movement,  no  ideas,  that  I was  aware  of, 
beyond  horses,  dogs,  drill,  garrisons,  field-days,  whist, 


ALDERSHOTT  CAMP. 


395 


1856.] 

wine,  cigars,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing ; yet  they  were 
really  gentlemen  living  on  the  best  terms  with  one  an- 
other, — courteous,  kind,  most  hospitable,  with  a rich 
Irish  humor,  softened  down  by  social  refinements,  — not 
too  refined  either,  but  a most  happy  sort  of  behavior, 
as  natural  as  that  of  children,  and  with  a safe  freedom 
that  made  me  feel  entirely  at  my  ease.  I think  well  of 
the  Irish  gentlemen,  for  their  sakes ; and  I believe  I 
might  fairly  attribute  to  Lieutenant-Colonel  Stowell 
(next  whom  I sat)  a higher  and  finer  cultivation  than 
the  above  description  indicates.  Indeed,  many  of  them 
may  have  been  capable  of  much  more  intellectual  inter- 
course than  that  of  the  mess-table  ; but  I suppose  it 
would  not  have  been  in  keeping  with  their  camp  life, 
nor  suggested  by  it.  Several  of  the  elder  officers  were 
men  who  had  been  long  in  the  army  ; and  the  Colonel 
— a bluff,  hearty  old  soldier,  with  a profile  like  an 
eagle’s  head  and  beak  — was  a veteran  of  the  Penin- 
sula, and  had  a medal  on  his  breast  with  clasps  for 
three  famous  battles  besides  that  of  Waterloo. 

The  regimental  band  played  during  dinner,  and  the 
Lieutenant-Colonel  apologized  to  me  for  its  not  playing 
“ Hail  Columbia,”  the  tune  not  coming  within  their 
musical  accomplishments.  It  was  no  great  matter,  how- 
ever ; for  I should  not  have  distinguished  it  from  any 
other  tune  ; but,  to  do  me  what  honor  was  possible,  in 
the  way  of  national  airs,  the  band  was  ordered  to  play 
a series  of  negro  melodies,  and  I was  entirely  satisfied. 
It  is  really  funny  that  the  “ wood-notes  wild  ” of  those 
poor  black  slaves  should  have  been  played  in  a foreign 
land  as  an  honorable  compliment  to  one  of  their  white 
countrymen. 


396  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1850. 

After  dinner  we  played  whist,  and  then  had  some 
broiled  bones  for  supper,  and  finally  went  home  to  our 
respective  huts  not  much  earlier  than  four  o’clock.  But 
I don’t  wonder  these  gentlemen  sit  up  as  long  as  they 
can  keep  their  eyes  open  ; for  never  was  there  anything 
so  utterly  comfortless  as  their  camp-beds.  They  are 
really  worse  than  the  bed  of  honor,  — no  Avider,  no 
softer,  no  warmer,  and  affording  not  nearly  so  sound 
sleep.  Indeed,  I got  hardly  any  sleep  at  all,  and  almost 
as  soon  as  I did  close  my  eyes,  the  bugles  sounded,  and 
the  drums  beat  reveille,  and  from  that  moment  the  camp 
was  all  astir ; so  1 pretty  soon  uprose,  and  went  to  the 
mess-room  for  my  breakfast,  feeling  wonderfully  fresh 
and  well,  considering  what  my  night  had  been. 

Long  before  this,  however,  this  whole  regiment,  and 
all  the  other  regiments,  marched  off  to  take  part  in  a 
general  review,  and  Bennoch  and  I followed,  as  soon  as 
we  had  eaten  a few  mutton-chops.  It  was  a bright, 
sunshiny  day ; but  with  a strong  east  wind,  as  piercing 
and  pitiless  as  ever  blew  ; and  this  wide,  undulating 
plain  of  Aldershott  seemed  just  the  place  where  the  east- 
wind  was  at  home.  Still,  it  acted,  on  the  whole,  like  an 
invigorating  cordial ; and  whereas  in  pleasanter  cir- 
cumstances I should  have  lain  down,  and  gone  to  sleep, 
I now  felt  as  if  I could  do  without  sleep  for  a month. 

In  due  time  we  found  out  the  place  of  the  North 
Cork  Regiment  in  the  general  battle-array,  and  were 
greeted  as  old  comrades  by  the  Colonel  and  other  offi- 
cers. Soon  the  soldiers  (who,  when  we  first  reached 
them,  were  strolling  about  or  standing  at  ease)  were 
called  into  order  ; and  anon  we  saw  a group  of  mounted 
officers  riding  along  the  lines,  and  among  them  a gem 


ALDERSHOT!  CAMP. 


397 


1856.] 

tleman  in  a civilian’s  round  hat,  and  plain  frock  and 
trousers,  riding  on  a white  horse.  This  group  of  riders 
turned  the  front  of  the  regiment,  and  then  passed  along 
the  rear,  coming  close  to  where  we  stood ; and  as  the 
plainly  dressed  gentleman  rode  by,  he  bent  towards  me, 
and  I tried  to  raise  my  hat,  but  did  not  succeed  very 
well,  because  the  fierce  wind  had  compelled  me  to  jam 
it  tightly  upon  my  head.  The  Duke  of  Cambridge  (for 
this  was  he)  is  a comely-looking,  gentlemanly  man,  of 
bluff  English  face,  with  a great  deal  of  brown  beard 
about  it.  Though  a pretty  tall  man,  he  appears,  on 
horseback,  broad  and  round  in  proportion  to  his  height. 
I looked  at  him  with  a certain  sort  of  interest,  and  a 
feeling  of  kindness  ; for  one  does  feel  kindly  to  whatever 
human  being  is  anywise  marked  out  from  the  rest,  un- 
less it  be  by  his  disagreeable  qualities. 

The  troops,  from  twelve  to  fifteen  thousand,  now  fell 
into  marching  order,  and  went  to  attack  a wood,  where 
we  were  to  suppose  the  enemy  to  be  stationed.  The 
sham-fight  seemed  to  me  rather  clumsily  managed,  and 
without  any  striking  incident  or  result.  The  officers 

had  prophesied,  the  night  before,  that  General  K *, 

commanding  in  the  camp,  would  make  a muddle  of  it ; 
and  probably  he  did.  After  the  review,  the  Duke  of 
Cambridge  with  his  attendant  officers  took  their  station, 
and  all  the  regiments  marched  in  front  of  him,  saluting 
as  they  passed.  As  each  colonel  rode  by,  and  as  the 
banner  of  each  regiment  was  lowered,  the  Duke  lifted 
his  hat. 

The  most  splendid  effect  of  this  parade  was  the  gleam 
of  the  sun  upon  the  long  line  of  bayonets,  — the  sheen 


398  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l85(V 

of  all  that  steel  appearing  like  a wavering  fringe  of 
light  upon  the  dark  masses  of  troops  below.  It  was 
very  fine.  But  I was  glad  when  all  was  done,  and  I 
could  go  back  to  the  mess-room,  whither  I carried  an 
excellent  appetite  for  luncheon.  After  this  we  walked 
about  the  camp,  — looked  at  some  model  tents,  inspected 
the  arrangements  and  modes  of  living  in  the  huts  of 
the  privates ; and  thus  gained  more  and  more  adequate 
ideas  of  the  vile  uncomfortableness  of  a military  life. 
Finally,  I went  to  the  ante-room  and  turned  over  the 
regimental  literature,  — a peerage  and  baronetage,  — 
an  army  and  militia  register,  a number  of  the  Sporting 
Magazine,  and  one  of  the  United  Service,  while  Ben- 
noch  took  another  walk.  Before  dinner  we  both  tried 
to  catch  a little  nap  by  way  of  compensation  for  last 
night’s  deficiencies  ; but,  for  my  part,  the  attempt  was 
fruitless. 

The  dinner  was  as  splendid  and  as  agreeable  as  that 
of  the  evening  before  ; and  I believe  it  was  nearly  two 
o’clock  when  Bennocli  and  I bade  farewell  to  our  kind 
entertainers.  For  my  part  I fraternized  with  these 
military  gentlemen  in  a way  that  augurs  the  very  best 
things  for  the  future  peace  of  the  two  countries.  They 
all  expressed  the  warmest  sympathies  towards  America, 
and  it  was  easy  to  judge  from  their  conversation  that 
there  is  no  real  friendliness  on  the  part  of  the  military 
towards  the  French.  The  old  antipathy  is  just  as  strong 
as  ever,  — stronger  than  ever,  perhaps,  on  account  of 
the  comparatively  more  brilliant  success  of  the  French 
in  this  Russian  war.  So,  with  most  Christian  sentiments 
of  peace  and  brotherly  love,  we  returned  to  our  hut,  and 
lay  down,  each  in  his  narrow  bed. 


1856. 


WOOTON. 


399 


Early  in  the  morning  the  drums  and  bugles  began 
the  usual  bedevilment ; and  shortly  after  six  I dressed, 
and  we  had  breakfast  at  the  mess-room,  shook  hands 
with  Lieutenant  Shaw  (our  more  especial  host),  and 
drove  off  to  the  railway  station  at  Ash. 

I know  not  whether  I have  mentioned  that  the  vil- 
lages neighboring  to  the  camp  have  suffered  terribly 
as  regards  morality  from  the  vicinity  of  the  soldiers. 
Quiet  old  English  towns,  that  till  within  a little  time 
ago  had  kept  their  antique  simplicity  and  innocence, 
have  now  no  such  thing  as  female  virtue  in  them,  so 
far  as  the  lower  classes  are  concerned.  This  is  ex- 
pressing the  matter  too  strongly,  no  doubt ; but  there  is 
too  much  truth  in  it,  nevertheless  ; and  one  of  the 
officers  remarked  that  even  ladies  of  respectability  had 
grown  much  more  free  in  manners  and  conversation 
than  at  first.  I have  heard  observations  similar  to  this 
from  a Nova-Scotian,  in  reference  to*  the  moral  influence 
of  soldiers  when  stationed  in  the  provinces. 

WOOTON. 

Wooton  stands  in  a hollow,  near  the  summit  of  one 
of  the  long  swells  that  here  undulate  over  the  face 
of  the  country.  There  is  a good  deal  of  wood  behind 
it,  as  should  be  the  case  with  the  residence  of  the 
author  of  the  Sylva ; but  I believe  few,  if  any,  of 
these  trees  are  known  to  have  been  planted  by  John 
Evelyn,  or  even  to  have  been  coeval  with  his  time. 
The  house  is  of  brick,  partly  ancient,  and  consists  of  a 
front  and  two  projecting  wings,  with  a porch  and  en- 
trance in  the  centre.  It  has  a desolate,  meagre  aspect, 


400 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

and  needs  something  to  give  it  life  and  stir  and  jollity. 
The  present  proprietor  is  of  the  old  Evelyn  family,  and 
is  now  one  of  the  two  members  of  Parliament  for 
Surrey;  but  he  is  a very  shy  and  retiring  man,  un- 
married, sees  little  company,  and  seems  either  not  to 
know  how  to  make  himself  comfortable  or  not  to  care 

about  it.  A servant  told  us  that  Mr. had  just 

gone  out,  but  Tupper,  who  is  apparently  on  intimate 
terms  with  him,  thought  it  best  that  we  should  go  into 
the  house,  while  he  went  in  search  of  the  master.  So 
the  servant  ushered  us  through  a hall,  — where  were 
many  family  pictures  by  Lely,  and,  for  aught  I know, 
by  Vandyke,  and  by  Kneller,  and  other  famous  painters, 
— up  a grand  staircase,  and  into  the  library,  the  inner 
room  of  which  contained  the  ponderous  volumes  which 
John  Evelyn  used  to  read.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a 
room  of  most  barren  aspect,  without  a carpet  on  the 
floor,  with  pine  bookcases,  with  a common  whitewashed 
ceiling,  with  no  luxurious  study-chairs,  and  without  a 
fire.  There  was  an  open  folio  on  the  table,  and  a 
sheet  of  manuscript  that  appeared  to  have  been  recently 
written.  I took  down  a book  from  the  shelves  (a  vol- 
ume of  annals,  connected  with  English  history),  and 
Tupper  afterwards  told  us  that  this  one  single  volume, 
for  its  rarity,  was  worth  either  two  or  three  hundred 
pounds.  Against  one  of  the  windows  of  this  library 
there  grows  a magnolia-tree,  with  a very  large  stem, 
and  at  least  fifty  years  old. 

Mrs.  Tupper  and  I waited  a good  while,  and  then 
Bennoch  and  Tupper  came  back,  without  Having  found 

Mr. . Tupper  wished  very  much  to  show  the 

prayer-book  used  by  King  Charles  at  his  execution, 


WOOTON. 


401 


1856.] 

and  some  curious  old  manuscript  volumes  ; but  the  ser- 
vant said  that  his  master  always  kept  these  treasures 
locked  up,  and  trusted  the  key  to  nobody.  We  there- 
fore had  to  take  our  leave  without  seeing  them  ; and  I 
have  not  often  entered  a house  that  one  feels  to  be 
more  forlorn  than  Wooton,  — although  we  did  have  a 
glimpse  of  a dining-room,  with  a table  laid  for  three  or 
four  guests,  and  looking  quite  brilliant  with  plate  and 
glass  and  snowy  napery.  There  was  a fire,  too,  in  this 

one  room.  Mr. is  making  extensive  alterations 

in  the  house,  or  has  recently  done  so,  and  this  is  per- 
haps one  reason  of  its  ungenial  meagreness  and  lack 
of  finish. 

Before  our  departure  from  Wooton,  Tupper  had 

asked  me  to  leave  my  card  for  Mr. ; but  I had  no 

mind  to  overstep  any  limit  of  formal  courtesy  in  dealing 
with  an  Englishman,  and  therefore  declined.  Tupper, 
however,  on  his  own  responsibility,  wrote  his  name, 
Bennoch’s,  and  mine,  on  a piece  of  paper,  and  told  the 
servant  to  show  them  to  Mr. . We  soon  had  ex- 

perience of  the  good  effect  of  this  ; for  we  had  scarcely 
got  back  before  somebody  drove  up  to  Tupper’s  door, 
and  one  of  the  girls,  looking  out,  exclaimed  that  there 

was  Mr. himself,  and  another  gentleman.  He 

had  set  out,  the  instant  he  heard  of  our  call,  to  bring 
the  three  precious  volumes  for  me  to  see.  This  surely 
was  most  kind  ; a kindness  which  I should  never  have 
dreamed  of  expecting  from  a shy,  retiring  man  like 
Mr. . 

So  he  and  his  friend  were  ushered  into  the  dining- 
room, and  introduced.  Mr.  is  a young-looking 

man,  dark,  with  a mustache,  rather  small,  and  though 


402 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


he  has  the  manners  of  a man  who  has  seen  the  world, 
it  evidently  requires  an  effort  in  him  to  speak  to  any- 
body ; and  I could  see  his  whole  person  slightly  writh* 
ing  itself,  as  it  were,  while  he  addressed  me.  This  is 
strange  in  a man  of  his  public  position,  member  for  the 
county,  necessarily  mixed  up  with  life  in  many  forms, 
the  possessor  of  sixteen  thousand  pounds  a year,  and 
the  representative  of  an  ancient  name.  Nevertheless,  I 
liked  him,  and  felt  as  if  I could  become  intimately 
acquainted  with  him,  if  circumstances  were  favorable ; 
but,  at  a brief  interview  like  this,  it  was  hopeless  to 
break  through  two  great  reserves  ; so  I talked  more 
with  his  companion  — a pleasant  young  man,  fresh 

from  college,  I should  imagine  — than  with  Mr. 

himself. 

The  three  books  were  really  of  very  great  interest. 
One  was  an  octavo  volume  of  manuscript  in  John 
Evelyn’s  own  hand,  the  beginning  of  his  published 
diary,  written  as  distinctly  as  print,  in  a small,  clear 
character.  It  can  be  read  just  as  easily  as  any  printed 
book.  Another  was  a Church  of  England  prayer-book, 
which  King  Charles  used  on  the  scaffold,  and  which 
was  stained  with  his  sacred  blood , and  underneath  are 
two  or  three  lines  in  John  Evelyn’s  hand,  certifying 
this  to  be  the  very  book.  It  is  an  octavo,  or  small 
folio,  and  seems  to  have  been  very  little  used,  scarcely 
opened,  except  in  one  spot ; its  leaves  elsewhere  retain- 
ing their  original  freshness  and  elasticity.  It  opens 
most  readily  at  the  commencement  of  the  common  ser- 
vice ; and  there,  on  the  left-hand  page,  is  a discoloration, 
of  a yellowish  or  brownish  hue,  about  two  thirds  of  an 
inch  large,  which,  two  hundred  years  ago  and  a little 


WOOTON. 


403 


1856.] 

more,  was  doubtless  red.  For  on  that  page  had  fallen 
a drop  of  King  Charles’s  blood. 

The  other  volume  was  large,  and  contained  a great 
many  original  letters,  written  by  the  king  during  his 
troubles.  I had  not  time  to  examine  them  with  any 
minuteness,  and  remember  only  one  document,  which 

Mr. pointed  out,  and  which  had  a strange  pathos 

and  pitifulness  in  it.  It  was  a sort  of  due-bill,  promis- 
ing  to  pay  a small  sum  for  beer,  which  had  been  sup- 
plied to  his  Majesty,  so  soon  as  God  should  enable  him, 
or  the  distracted  circumstances  of  his  kingdom  make  it 
possible,  — or  some  touching  and  helpless  expression 
of  that  kind.  Prince  Hal  seemed  to  consider  it  an 
unworthy  matter,  that  a great  prince  should  think  of 
“ that  poor  creature,  small  beer,,,  at  all ; but  that  a 
great  prince  should  not  be  able  to  pay  for  it  is  far 
worse. 

Mr. expressed  his  regret  that  I was  not  staying 

longer  in  this  part  of  the  country,  as  he  would  gladly 
have  seen  me  at  Wooton,  and  he  succeeded  in  saying 
something  about  my  books ; and  I hope  I partly  suc- 
ceeded in  showing  him  that  I was  very  sensible  of  his 
kindness  in  letting  me  see  those  relics.  I cannot  say 
whether  or  no  I expressed  it  sufficiently.  It  is  better 
with  such  a man,  or,  indeed,  with  any  man,  to  say  too 
little  than  too  much  ; and,  in  fact,  it  would  have  been 
indecorous  in  me  to  take  too  much  of  his  kindness  to 
my  own  share,  Bennoch  being  likewise  in  question. 

We  had  a cup  of  coffee,  and  then  took  our  leave ; 
Tupper  accompanying  us  part  way  down  the  village 
street,  and  bidding  us  an  affectionate  farewell. 


404 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

BATTLE  ABBEY. 

Bennoch  and  I recommenced  our  travels,  and,  chang- 
ing from  one  railway  to  another,  reached  Tunbridge 
Wells  at  nine  or  ten  in  the  evening.  . . . The  next 

day  was  spent  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  which  is  famous  for 
a chalybeate  spring,  and  is  a watering-place  of  note, 
most  healthily  situated  on  a high,  breezy  hill,  with  many 
pleasant  walks  in  the  neighborhood From  Tun- 

bridge Wells  we  transported  ourselves  to  Battle,  — the 
village  in  which  is  Battle  Abbey.  It  is  a large  village, 
with  many  antique  houses  and  some  new  ones  ; and 
in  its  principal  street,  on  one  side,  with  a wide,  green 
space  before  it,  you  see  the  gray,  embattled,  outer  wall, 
and  great,  square,  battlemented  entrance  tower  (with 
a turret  at  each  corner),  of  the  ancient  Abbey.  It  is 
the  perfect  reality  of  a Gothic  battlement  and  gateway, 
just  as  solid  and  massive  as  when  it  was  first  built, 
though  hoary  and  venerable  with  the  many  intervening 
centuries.  There  are  only  two  days  in  the  week  on 
which  visitors  are  allowed  entrance,  and  this  was  not 
one  of  them.  Nevertheless,  Bennoch  was  determined 
to  get  in,  and  he  wished  me  to  send  Lady  Webster  my 
card  with  his  own  ; but  this  I utterly  refused,  for  the 
honor  of  America  and  for  my  own  honor ; because  I 
will  not  do  anything  to  increase  the  reputation  we 
already  have  as  a very  forward  people.  Bennoch, 
however,  called  at  a bookshop  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  near  the  gateway  of  the  castle;  and  making 
friends,  as  he  has  a marvellous  tact  in  doing,  with  the 
bookseller,  the  latter  offered  to  take  in  his  card  to  the 
housekeeper,  and  see  if  Lady  Webster  would  not  relax 


BATTLE  ABBEY. 


405 


J856.J 

her  rule  in  our  favor.  Meanwhile,  we  went  into  the 
old  church  of  Battle,  which  was  built  in  Norman  times, 
though  subsequently  to  .the  Abbey.  As  we  entered  the 
church  door,  the  bell  rang  for  joy  at  the  news  of  peace, 
which  had  just  been  announced  by  the  London  papers. 

The  church  has  been  whitewashed  in  modern  times, 
and  does  not  look  so  venerable  as  it  ought,  with  its 
arches  and  pillared  aisles.  In  the  chancel  stands  a 
marble  tomb,  heavy,  rich,  and  elaborate,  on  the  top  of 
which  lie  the  broken-nosed  statues  of  Sir  Anthony 
Browne  and  his  lady,  who  were  the  Lord  and  Lady 
of  Battle  Abbey  in  Henry  VIII.’s  time.  The  knight 
is  in  armor,  and  the  lady  in  stately  garb,  and  (save  for 
their  broken  noses)  they  are  in  excellent  preservation. 
The  pavement  of  the  chancel  and  aisles  is  all  laid 
with  tombstones,  and  on  two  or  three  of  these  there 
were  engraved  brasses,  representing  knights  in  armor, 
and  churchmen,  with  inscriptions  in  Latin.  Some  of 
them  are  very  old.  On  the  walls,  too,  there  are  vari- 
ous monuments,  principally  of  dignitaries  connected  wdth 
the  Abbey.  Two  hatchments,  in  honor  of  persons  re- 
cently dead,  were  likewise  suspended  in  the  chancel. 
The  best  pew  of  the  church  is,  of  course,  that  of  the 
Webster  family.  It  is  curtained  round,  carpeted,  fur- 
nished with  chairs  and  footstools,  and  more  resembles  a 
parlor  than  a pew  ; especially  as  there  is  a fireplace  in 
one  of  the  pointed  archways,  which  I suppose  has  been 
bricked  up  in  order  to  form  it.  On  the  opposite  side 
of  the  aisle  is  the  pewr  of  some  other  magnate,  con- 
taining a stove.  The  rest  of  the  parishioners  have  to 
keep  themselves  warm  with  the  fervor  of  their  own 
piety.  I have  forgotten  what  else  was  interesting,  ex- 


406 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

cept  that  we  were  shown  a stone  coffin,  recently  dug 
up,  in  which  was  hollowed  a place  for  the  head  of  the 
corpse. 

Returning  to  the  bookshop,  we  found  that  Lady 
Webster  had  sent  her  compliments,  and  would  be  very 
happy  to  have  us  see  the  Abbey.  How  thoroughly 
kind  these  English  people  can  be  when  they  like,  and 
how  often  they  like  to  be  so ! 

We  lost  no  time  in  ringing  the  bell  at  the  arched  en- 
trance, under  the  great  tower,  and  were  admitted  by  an 
old  woman  who  lives,  I believe,  in  the  thickness  of  the 
wall.  She  told  us  her  room  used  to  be  the  prison  of 
the  Abbey,  and  under  the  great  arch  she  pointed  to  a 
projecting  beam,  where  she  said  criminals  used  to  be 
hanged.  At  two  of  the  intersecting  points  of  the  arches, 
which  form  the  roof  of  the  gateway,  were  carved  faces 
of  stone,  said  to  represent  King  Harold  and  William 
the  Conqueror.  The  exterior  wall,  of  which  this  tower 
is  the  gateway,  extends  far  along  the  village  street,  and 
encloses  a very  large  space,  within  which  stands  the 
mansion,  quite  secluded  from  unauthorized  visitors,  or 
even  from  the  sight  of  those  without,  unless  it  be  at  very 
distant  eyeshot. 

We  rang  at  the  principal  door  of  the  edifice  (it  is  un- 
der a deep  arch,  in  the  Norman  style,  but  of  modern 
date),  and  a footman  let  us  in,  and  then  delivered  us 
over  to  a respectable  old  lady  in  black.  She  was  a 
Frenchwoman  by  birth,  but  had  been  very  long  in  the 
service  of  the  family,  and  spoke  English  almost  without 
an  accent ; her  French  blood  being  indicated  only  by 
her  thin  and  withered  aspect,  and  a greater  gentility  oi 
manner  than  would  have  been  seen  in  an  Englishwcn 


BATTLE  ABBEY. 


407 


tm.] 

man  of  similar  station.  She  ushered  us  first  into  a 
grand  and  noble  hall,  the  arched  and  carved  oaken  roof 
of  which  ascended  into  the  gable.  It  was  nearly  sixty 
feet  long,  and  its  height  equal  to  its  length,  — as  stately 
a hall,  I should  imagine,  as  is  anywhere  to  be  found  in 
a private  mansion.  It  was  lighted,  at  one  end,  by  a 
great  window,  beneath  which,  occupying  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  hall,  hung  a vast  picture  of  the  Battle  of 
Hastings ; and  whether  a good  picture  or  no,  it  was  a 
rich  adornment  of  the  hall.  The  walls  were  wain- 
scoted high  upward  with  oak  : they  were  almost  covered 
with  noble  pictures  of  ancestry,  and  of  kings  and  great 
men,  and  beautiful  women  ; there  were  trophies  of  armor 
hung  aloft ; and  two  armed  figures,  one  in  brass  mail, 
the  other  in  bright  steel,  stood  on  a raised  dais,  under- 
neath the  great  picture.  At  the  end  of  the  hall,  oppo- 
site the  picture,  a third  of  the  way  up  towards  the  roof, 
was  a gallery.  All  these  things  that  I have  enumer- 
ated were  in  perfect  condition,  without  rust,  untouched 
by  decay  or  injury  of  any  kind ; but  yet  they  seemed 
to  belong  to  a past  age,  and  were  mellowed,  softened  in 
their  splendor,  a little  dimmed  with  time,  — toned  down 
into  a venerable  magnificence.  Of  all  domestic  things 
that  I have  seen  in  England,  it  satisfied  me  most. 

Then  the  Frenchwoman  showed  us  into  various  rooms 
and  offices,  most  of  which  were  contrived  out  of  the  old 
abbey-cloisters,  and  the  vaulted  cells  and  apartments 
in  which  the  monks  used  to  live.  If  any  house  be 
haunted,  I should  suppose  this  might  be.  If  any  church- 
property  bring  a curse  with  it,  as  people  say,  I do  not 
see  how  the  owners  of  Battle  Abbey  can  escape  it,  tak- 
ing possession  of  and  dwelling  in  these  holy  precincts, 


408 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856 


as  they  have  done,  and  laying  their  kitchen  hearth  with 
the  stones  of  overthrown  altars.  The  Abbey  was  first 
granted,  I believe,  to  Sir  Anthony  Browne,  whom  I saw 
asleep  with  his  lady  in  the  church.  It  was  his  first 
wife.  I wish  it  had  been  his  second ; for  she  was 
Surrey’s  Geraldine.  The  posterity  of  Sir  Anthony 
kept  the  place  till  1719,  and  then  sold  it  to  the  Web- 
sters,  a family  of  Baronets,  who  are  still  the  owners 
and  occupants*  The  present  proprietor  is  Sir  Augustus 
Webster,  whose  mother  is  the  lady  that  so  kindly  let 
us  into  the  Abbey. 

Mr.  Bennoch  gave  the  nice  old  French  lady  half  a 
crown,  and  we  next  went  round  among  the  ruined  por- 
tions of  the  Abbey,  under  the  gardener’s  guidance.  We 
saw  two  ivied  towers,  insulated  from  all  other  ruins ; 
and  an  old  refectory,  open  to  the  sky,  and  a vaulted 
crypt,  supported  by  pillars  ; and  we  saw,  too,  the  foun- 
dation and  scanty  remains  of  a chapel,  which  had  been 
long  buried  out  of  sight  of  man,  and  only  dug  up  with- 
in present  memory,  — about  forty  years  ago.  There  had 
always  been  a tradition  that  this  was  the  spot  where 
Harold  had  planted  his  standard,  and  where  his  body 
was  found  after  the  battle ; and  the  discovery  of  the 
ruined  chapel  confirmed  the  tradition. 

I might  have  seen  a great  deal  more,  had  there  been 
time  ; and  I have  forgotten  much  of  what  I did  see  ; but 
it  is  an  exceedingly  interesting  place.  There  is  an 
avenue  of  old  yew-trees,  which  meet  above  like  a clois- 
tered arch  ; and  this  is  called  the  Monks’  Walk.  1 
rather  think  they  were  ivy,  though  growing  unsupported. 

As  we  were  retiring,  the  gardener  suddenly  stopped, 
as  if  he  were  alarmed,  and  motioned  to  us  to  do  the 


HASTINGS. 


1856.] 


409 


same,  saying,  “ I believe  it  is  my  lady ! ” And  so  it 
was,  — a tall  and  stately  lady  in  black,  trimming  shrubs 
in  the  garden.  She  bowed  to  us  very  graciously,  — we 
raised  our  hats,  and  thus  we  met  and  parted  without 
more  ado.  As  we  went  through  the  arch  of  the  en- 
trance tower,  Bennoch  gave  the  old  female  warder  a 
shilling,  and  the  gardener  followed  us  to  get  half  a 
crown. 

HASTINGS. 

We  took  a fly  and  driver  from  the  principal  hotel  of 
Battle,  and  drove  off  for  Hastings,  about  seven  miles  dis- 
tant. Hastings  is  now  a famous  watering  and  sea-bath- 
ing place,  and  seems  to  be  well  sheltered  from  the 
winds,  though  open  to  the  sea,  which  here  stretches  off 
towards  France.  We  climbed  a high  and  steep  hill, 
terraced  round  its  base  with  streets  of  modern  lodging- 
houses,  and  crowned  on  its  summit  with  the  ruins  of  a 
castle,  the  foundation  of  which  was  anterior  to  the  Con- 
quest. This  castle  has  no  wall  towards  the  sea,  the 
precipice  being  too  high  and  sheer  to  admit  of  attack 
on  that  side.  I have  quite  exhausted  my  descriptive 
faculty  for  the  present,  so  shall  say  nothing  of  this  old 
castle,  which  indeed  (the  remains  being  somewhat 
scanty  and  scraggling)  is  chiefly  picturesque  and  inter- 
esting from  its  bold  position  on  such  a headlong  hill. 

Clambering  down  on  another  side  from  that  of  our  as- 
cent, we  entered  the  town  of  Hastings,  which  seems  en- 
tirely modern,  and  made  up  of  lodging-houses,  shops, 
hotels,  parades,  and  all  such  makings  up  of  watering- 
places  generally.  We  took  a delightful  warm  bath, 
washing  off  all  weariness  and  naughtiness,  and  coming 
out  new  men.  Then  we  walked  to  St,  Leonard’s,  — a 
VOL.  i.  18 


410 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

part  of  Hastings,  I believe,  but  a mile  or  two  from  the 
castle,  and  there  called  at  the  lodgings  of  two  friends  of 
Bennoch. 

These  were  Mr.  Martin,  the  author  of  Bon  Gaultier’s 
ballads,  and  his  wife,  the  celebrated  actress,  Helen 
Faucett.  Mr.  Martin  is  a barrister,  a gentleman  whose 
face  and  manners  suited  me  at  once ; a simple,  refined, 
sincere,  not  too  demonstrative  person.  His  wife,  too,  I 
liked  ; a tall,  dark,  fine,  and  ladylike  woman,  with  the 
simplest  manners,  that  give  no  trouble  at  all,  and  so 
must  be  perfect.  With  these  two  persons  I felt  myself, 
almost  in  a moment,  on  friendly  terms,  and  in  true  ac- 
cord, and  so  I talked,  I think,  more  than  I have  at  any 
time  since  coming  to  London. 

We  took  a pleasant  lunch  at  their  house ; and  then 
they  walked  with  us  to  the  railway  station,  and  there 
they  took  leave  of  Bennoch  affectionately  and  of  me 
hardly  less  so  ; for,  in  truth,  we  had  grown  to  be  almost 
friends  in  this  very  little  while.  And  as  we  rattled 
away,  I said  to  Bennoch  earnestly,  “ What  good  people 
they  are ! ” — and  Bennoch  smiled,  as  if  he  had  known 
perfectly  well  that  I should  think  and  say  so.  And 
thus  we  rushed  onward  to  London ; and  I reached  St. 
James’s  Place  between  nine  and  ten  o’clock,  after  a very 
interesting  tour,  the  record  of  which  I wish  I could 
have  kept  as  we  went  along,  writing  each  day’s  history 
before  another  day’s  adventures  began. 


exp  OF  VOL,  !• 


. 


Kenilworth  Castle,  Leicester’s  Building.  See  page  337- 


PASSAGES 


FROM 

THE  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


VOL.  II. 


PASSAGES 


FROM 

HAWTHORNE’S  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


LONDON. — MILTON-CLUB  DINNER. 

April  Uh , 1856.  — On  Tuesday  I went  to  No.  14 
Ludgate  Hill,  to  dine  with  Bennoch  at  the  Milton 
Club ; a club  recently  founded  for  dissenters,  non- 
conformists, and  people  whose  ideas,  religious  or  po- 
litical, are  not  precisely  in  train  with  the  establishment 
in  church  and  state.  I was  shown  into  a large  reading- 
room,  well  provided  with  periodicals  and  newspapers, 
and  found  two  or  three  persons  there  ; but  Bennoch 
had  not  yet  arrived.  In  a few  moments,  a tall  gentle- 
man with  white  hair  came  in,  — a fine  and  intelligent- 
looking  man,  whom  I guessed  to  be  one  of  those  who 
were  to  meet  me.  He  walked  about,  glancing  at  the 
periodicals  ; and  soon  entered  Mr.  Tupper,  and,  without 
seeing  me,  exchanged  warm  greetings  with  the  white- 
haired  gentleman.  “ I suppose,1 ” began  Mr.  Tupper, 
“ you  have  come  to  meet  ” — Now,  conscious  that  my 
name  was  going  to  be  spoken,  and  not  knowing  but  the 
excellent  Mr.  Tupper  might  say  something  which  he 
would  not  quite  like  me  to  overhear,  I advanced  at  once, 
with  outstretched  hand,  and  saluted  him.  He  expressed 
great  joy  at  the  recognition,  and  immediately  introduced 
me  to  Mr.  Hall. 


VOL.  II. 


1 


A 


2 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

The  dining-room  was  pretty  large  and  lofty,  and  there 
were  sixteen  guests  at  table,  most  of  them  authors,  or 
people  connected  with  the  press ; so  that  the  party  rep- 
resented a great  deal  of  the  working  intellect  of  London 
at  this  present  day  and  moment,  — the  men  whose 
plays,  whose  songs,  whose  articles,  are  just  now  in  vogue. 
Mr.  Tom  Taylor  was  one  of  the  very  few  whose  writ- 
ings I had  known  anything  about.  He  is  a tall,  slen- 
der, dark  young  man,  not  English-looking,  and  wearing 
colored  spectacles,  so  that  I should  readily  have  taken 
him  for  an  American  literary  man.  I did  not  have 
much  opportunity  of  talking  with  him,  nor  with  anybody 

else,  except  Dr. , who  seemed  a shrewd,  sensible 

man,  with  a certain  slight  acerbity  of  thought.  Mr. 
Herbert  Ingram,  recently  elected  member  of  Parliament, 
was  likewise  present,  and  sat  on  Bennoch’s  left. 

It  was  a very  good  dinner,  with  an  abundance  of  wine, 
which  Bennoch  sent  round  faster  than  was  for  the  next 
day’s  comfort  of  his  guests.  It  is  singular  that  I should 

thus  far  have  quite  forgotten  W H , whose 

books  I know  better  than  those  of  any  other  person 
there.  He  is  a white-headed,  stout,  firm-looking,  and 
rather  wrinkled-faced  old  gentleman,  whose  temper,  I 
should  imagine,  was  not  the  very  sweetest  in  the  world. 
There  is  an  abruptness,  a kind  of  sub-acidity,  if  not 
bitterness,  in  his  address  ; he  seemed  not  to  be,  in  short, 
so  genial  as  I should  have  anticipated  from  his  books. 

As  soon  as  the  cloth  was  removed,  Bennoch,  without 
rising  from  his  chair,  made  a speech  in  honor  of  his 
eminent  and  distinguished  guest,  which  illustrious  person 
happened  to  be  sitting  in  the  self-same  chair  th^t  I my-. 
$elf  occupied.  I have  no  recollection  of  what  he  said. 


LONDON. 


3 


1856  J 

nor  of  what  I said  in  reply,  but  I remember  that  both 
of  us  were  cheered  and  applauded  much  more  than  the 
occasion  deserved.  Then  followed  about  fifty  other 
speeches  ; for  every  single  individual  at  table  was  called 
up  (as  Tupper  said,  “ toasted  and  roasted  ”),  and,  for  my 

part,  I was  done  entirely  brown  (to  continue  T ~’s 

figure).  Everybody  said  something  kind,  not  a word 
or  idea  of  which  can  I find  in  my  memory.  Certainly, 
if  I never  get  any  more  praise  in  my  life,  I have  had 
enough  of  it  for  once.  I made  another  little  bit  of  a 
speech,  too,  in  response  to  something  that  was  said  in 
reference  to  the  present  difficulties  between  England 
and  America,  and  ended,  as  a proof  that  I deemed  war 
impossible,  with  drinking  success  to  the  British  army, 
and  calling  on  Lieutenant  Shaw,  of  the  Aldershott  Camp, 
to  reply.  I am  afraid  I must  have  said  something  very 
wrong,  for  the  applause  was  vociferous,  and  I could 
hear  the  gentlemen  whispering  about  the  table,  “ Good  ! ” 
“ Good  ! ” “ Yes,  he  is  a fine  fellow,”  and  other 

such  ill-earned  praises ; and  I took  shame  to  myself, 
and  held  my  tongue  (publicly)  the  rest  of  the  evening. 
But  in  such  cases  something  must  be  allowed  to  the 
excitement  of  the  moment,  and  to  the  effect  of  kindness 
and  good-will,  so  broadly  and  warmly  displayed  ; and 
even  a sincere  man  must  not  be  held  to  speak  as  if  he 
were  under  oath. 

We  separated,  in  a blessed  state  of  contentment  with 
one  another,  at  about  eleven ; and  (lest  I should  starve 
before  morning)  I went  with  Mr.  D— — to  take  sup- 
per at  his  house  in  Park  Lane.  Mr.  D is  a pale 

young  gentleman,  of  American  aspect,  being  a West- 
Indian  by  birth.  He  is  one  of  the  principal  writer*  of 


4 


ENGLISH  NOTE  BOOKS. 


[1856. 


editorials  for  the  Times.  We  were  accompanied  in 

the  carriage  by  another  gentleman,  Mr.  M , who  is 

connected  with  the  management  of  the  same  paper.  He 
wrote  the  letters  from  Scutari,  which  drew  so  much  at- 
tention to  the  state  of  the  hospitals.  Mr.  D is  the 

husband  of  the  former  Miss , the  actress,  and  when 

we  reached  his  house,  we  found  that  she  had  just  come 
home  from  the  theatre,  and  was  taking  off  her  stage- 
dress.  Anon  she  came  down  to  the  drawing-room,  — a 
seemingly  good,  simple,  and  intelligent  lady,  not  at  all 
pretty,  and  I should  think,  older  than  her  husband.  She 
was  very  kind  to  me,  and  told  me  that  she  had  read  one 
of  my  books  — The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  — 
thirteen  years  ago  ; which  I thought  remarkable,  be- 
cause I did  not  write  it  till  eight  or  nine  years  after- 
wards. 

The  principal  talk  during  supper  (which  consisted 
of  welsh-rabbit  and  biscuits,  with  champagne  and  soda- 
water)  was  about  the  Times,  and  the  two  contributors 

expressed  vast  admiration  of  Mr. , who  has  the 

chief  editorial  management  of  the  paper.  It  is  odd  to 
find  how  little  we  outsiders  know  of  men  who  really 

exercise  a vast  influence  on  affairs,  for  this  Mr. is 

certainly  of  far  more  importance  in  the  world  than  a 
minister  of  state.  He  writes  nothing  himself ; but  the 
character  of  the  Times  seems  to  depend  upon  his  in- 
tuitive, unerring  judgment;  and  if  ever  he  is  absent 
from  his  post,  even  for  a day  or  two,  they  say  that  the 
paper  immediately  shows  it.  In  reply  to  my  questions, 
they  appeared  to  acknowledge  that  he  was  a man  of 
expediency,  but  of  a very  high  expediency,  and  that  he 
gave  the  public  the  very  best  principles  which  it  was 


LONDON. 


5 


1«56.] 


capable  of  receiving.  Perhaps  it  may  be  so:  the 

Times’s  articles  are  certainly  not  written  in  so  high  a 
moral  vein  as  might  be  wished  ; but  what  they  lack  in 
height  they  gain  in  breadth.  Every  sensible  man  in 
England  finds  his  own  best  common  sense  there ; and, 
in  effect,  I think  its  influence  is  wholesome. 

Apropos  of  public  speaking,  Dr. said  that  Sir 

Lytton  Bulwer  asked  him  (I  think  the  anecdote  was 
personal  to  himself)  whether  he  felt  his  heart  beat  when 
he  was  going  to  speak.  u Yes.”  “ Does  your  voice 
frighten  you  ? ” “ Yes.”  “ Do  all  your  ideas  forsake 

you  ? ” “ Yes.”  “ Do  you  wish  the  floor  to  open  and 

swallow  you  ? ” “ Yes.”  “ Why,  then,  you’ll  make  an 

orator ! ” Dr. told  of  Canning,  too,  how  once, 

before  rising  to  speak  in  the  House  of  Commons,  he 
bade  his  friend  feel  his  pulse,  which  was  throbbing 
terrifically.  “ I know  I shall  make  one  of  my  best 
speeches,”  said  Canning,  “ because  I ’m  in  such  an  awful 
funk  ! ” President  Pierce,  who  has  a great  deal  of  ora- 
torical power,  is  subject  to  a similar  horror  and  reluc- 
tance. 

REFORM-CLUB  DINNER. 

April  5th . — On  Thursday,  at  eight  o’clock,  I went 

to  the  Reform  Club,  to  dine  with  Dr. . The  waiter 

admitted  me  into  a great  basement  hall,  with  a tessellated 
or  mosaic  or  somehow  figured  floor  of  stone,  and  lighted 
from  a dome  of  lofty  height.  In  a few  minutes  Dr. 

appeared,  and  showed  me  about  the  edifice,  which 

is  very  noble  and  of  a substantial  magnificence  that  was 
most  satisfactory  to  behold,  — no  wood-work  imitating 
better  materials,  but  pillars  and  balustrades  of  marble, 
and  everything  what  it  purports  to  be.  The  reading- 


G ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

room  is  very  large,  and  luxuriously  comfortable,  and 
contains  an  admirable  library : there  are  rooms  and 
conveniences  for  every  possible  purpose ; and  whatever 
material  for  enjoyment  a bachelor  may  need,  or  ought 
to  have,  he  can  surely  find  it  here,  and  on  such  reason- 
able terms  that  a small  income  will  do  as  much  for  him 
as  a far  greater  one  on  any  other  system. 

In  a colonnade,  on  the  first  floor,  surrounding  the 
great  basement  hall,  there  are  portraits  of  distinguished 
reformers,  and  black  niches  for  others  yet  to  come. 
Joseph  Hume,  I believe,  is  destined  to  fill  one  of  these 
blanks ; but  I remarked  that  the  larger  part  of  the  por- 
traits, already  hung  up,  are  of  men  of  high  rank,  — the 
Duke  of  Sussex,  for  instance ; Lord  Durham,  Lord 
Grey ; and,  indeed,  I remember  no  commoner.  In 
one  room,  I saw  on  the  wall  the  fac-simile,  so  common 
in  the  United  States,  of  our  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence. 

Descending  again  to  the  basement  hall,  an  elderly 
gentleman  came  in,  and  was  warmly  welcomed  by 

Dr. . He  was  a very  short  man,  but  with  breadth 

enough,  and  a back  excessively  bent,  — bowed  almost 
to  deformity  ; very  gray  hair,  and  a face  and  expression 
of  remarkable  briskness  and  intelligence.  His  profile 
came  out  pretty  boldly,  and  his  eyes  had  the  prominence 
that  indicates,  I believe,  volubility  of  speech,  nor  did  he 
fail  to  talk  from  the  instant  of  his  appearance  ; and  in 
the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  in  his  glance,  and  in  the  whole 
man,  there  was  something  racy,  — a flavor  of  the  humor- 
ist. His  step  was  that  of  an  aged  man,  and  he  put  his 
stick  down  very  decidedly  at  every  footfall ; though  as 
he  afterwards  told  me  that  he  was  only  fifty-two,  he 


LONDON. 


7 


1856.] 

need  not  yet  have  been  infirm.  But  perhaps  he  has 
had  the  gout;  his  feet,  however,  are  by  no  means 

swollen,  but  unusually  small.  Dr. introduced  him 

as  Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold,  and  we  went  into  the  coffee- 
room  to  dine. 

The  coffee-room  occupies  one  whole  side  of  the  edifice, 
and  is  provided  with  a great  many  tables,  calculated  for 
three  or  four  persons  to  dine  at ; and  we  sat  down  at 

one  of  these,  and  Dr. ordered  some  mulligatawny 

soup,  and  a bottle  of  white  French  wine.  The  waiters 
in  the  coffee-room  are  very  numerous,  and  most  of 
them  dressed  in  the  livery  of  the  Club,  comprising 
plush  breeches  and  white-silk  stockings  ; for  these  Eng- 
lish Reformers  do  not  seem  to  include  Republican  sim- 
plicity of  manners  in  their  system.  Neither,  perhaps, 
is  it  anywise  essential. 

After  the  soup,  we  had  turbot,  and  by  and  by  a bottle 
of  Chateau  Margaux,  very  delectable ; and  then  some 
lambs’  feet,  delicately  done,  and  some  cutlets  of  I know 
not  what  peculiar  type ; and  finally  a ptarmigan,  which 
is  of  the  same  race  of  birds  as  the  grouse,  but  feeds 
high  up  towards  the  summits  of  the  Scotch  .mountains. 
Then  some  cheese,  and  a bottle  of  Chambertin.  It  was 
a very  pleasant  dinner,  and  my  companions  were  both 
very  agreeable  men ; both  taking  a shrewd,  satirical, 
yet  not  ill-natured,  view  of  life  and  people,  and  as  for 

Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold,  he  often  reminded  me  of  E- 

C , in  the  richer  veins  of  the  latter,  both  by  his  face 

and  expression,  and  by  a tincture  of  something  at  once 
wise  and  humorously  absurd  in  what  he  said.  But  I 
think  he  has  a kinder,  more  genial,  wholesomer  nature 
than  E , and  under  a very  thin  crust  of  outward 


8 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

acerbity  I grew  sensible  of  a very  warm  heart,  and 
even  of  much  simplicity  of  character  in  this  man,  born 
in  London,  and  accustomed  always  to  London  life. 

I wish  I had  any  faculty  whatever  of  remembering 
what  people  say ; but,  though  I appreciate  anything 
good  at  the  moment,  it  never  stays  in  my  memory  - 
nor  do  I think,  in  fact,  that  anything  definite,  rounded, 
pointed,  separable,  and  transferable  from  the  general 
lump  of  conversation  was  said  by  anybody  I recollect 

that  they  laughed  at  Mr. , and  at  his  shedding  a 

tear  into  a Scottish  river,  on  occasion  of  some  literary 

festival They  spoke  approvingly  of  Bulwer,  as 

valuing  his  literary  position,  and  holding  himself  one  of 
the  brotherhood  of  authors ; and  not  so  approvingly  of 
Charles  Dickens,  who,  born  a plebeian,  aspires  to  aristo- 
cratic society.  But  I said  that  it  was  easy  to  condescend, 
and  that  Bulwer  knew  he  could  not  put  off  his  rank, 
and  that  he  would  have  all  the  advantages  of  it,  in  spite 
of  his  authorship.  We  talked  about  the  position  of 
men  of  letters  in  England,  and  they  said  that  the  aris- 
tocracy hated  and  despised  and  feared  them  ; and  I 
asked  why  it  was  that  literary  men,  having  really  so 
much  power  in  their  hands,  were  content  to  live  unrec- 
ognized in  the  State. 

Douglas  Jerrold  talked  of  Thackeray  and  his  success 
in  America,  and  said  that  he  himself  purposed  going 
and  had  been  invited  thither  to  lecture.  I asked  him 
whether  it  was  pleasant  to  a writer  of  plays  to  see  them 
performed  ; and  he  said  it  was  intolerable,  the  presenta- 
tion of  the  author’s  idea  being  so  imperfect ; and  Dr. 

observed  that  it  was  excruciating  to  hear  one  of 

his  own  songs  sung.  Jerrold  spoke  of  the  Duke  of 


London. 


9 


1856.] 

Devonshire  with  great  warmth,  as  a true,  honest,  simple, 
most  kind-hearted  man,  from  whom  he  himself  had  re- 
ceived great  courtesies  and  kindnesses  (not,  as  I under- 
stood, in  the  way  of  patronage  or  essential  favors)  ; and 
I (Heaven  forgive  me!)  queried  within  myself  whether 
this  English  reforming  author  would  have  been  quite  so 
sensible  of  the  Duke’s  excellence  if  his  Grace  had  not 
been  a duke.  But  indeed,  a nobleman,  who  is  at  the 
same  time  a true  and  whole-hearted  man,  feeling  his 
brotherhood  with  men,  does  really  deserve  some  credit 
for  it. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Jerrold  spoke  with  high 
appreciation  of  Emerson ; and  of  Longfellow,  whose 
Hiawatha  he  considered  a wonderful  performance ; 
and  of  Lowell,  whose  Fable  for  Critics  he  especially 
admired.  I mentioned  Thoreau,  and  proposed  to  send 

his  works  to  Dr. , who,  being  connected  with  the 

Illustrated  News,  and  otherwise  a writer,  might  be  in- 
clined to  draw  attention  to  them.  Douglas  Jerrold  asked 
why  he  should  not  have  them  too.  I hesitated  a little, 
but  as  he  pressed  me,  and  would  have  an  answer,  I said 
that  I did  not  feel  quite  so  sure  of  his  kindly  judgment 
on  Thoreau’s  books ; and  it  so  chanced  that  I used  the 
word  “ acrid,”  for  lack  of  a better,  in  endeavoring  to  ex- 
press my  idea  of  Jerrold’s  way  of  looking  at  men  and 
books.  It  was  not  quite  what  I meant ; but,  in  fact,  he 
often  is  acrid,  and  has  written  pages  and  volumes  of 
acridity,  though,  no  doubt,  with  an  honest  purpose,  and 
from  a manly  disgust  at  the  cant  and  humbug  of  the 
world.  Jerrold  said  no  more,  and  I went  on  talking 
with  Dr.  — — ; but,  in  a minute  or  two,  I became  aware 
that  something  had  gone  wrong,  and,  looking  at  Douglas 
l* 


10 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856, 


Jerrold,  there  was  an  expression  of  pain  and  emotion 
on  his  fa£;e.  By  this  time  a second  bottle  of  Burgundy 
had  been  opened  (Clos  Vougeot,  the  best  the  Club 
could  produce,  and  far  richer  than  the  Chambertin),  and 
that  warm  and  potent  wine  may  have  had  something  to 
do  with  the  depth  and  vivacity  of  Mr.  Jerrold’s  feelings 
But  he  was  indeed  greatly  hurt  by  that  little  word 
“ acrid.”  66  He  knew,”  he  said,  “ that  the  world  con- 
sidered him  a sour,  bitter,  ill-natured  man ; but  that 
such  a man  as  I should  have  the  same  opinion  was  al- 
most more  than  he  could  bear.”  As  he  spoke,  he  threw 
out  his  arms,  sank  back  in  his  seat,  and  I was  really  a 
little  apprehensive  of  his  actual  dissolution  into  tears. 
Hereupon  I spoke,  as  was  good  need,  and  though,  as 
usual,  I have  forgotten  everything  I said,  I am  quite 
sure  it  was  to  the  purpose,  and  went  to  this  good  fellow’s 
heart,  as  it  came  warmly  from  my  own.  I do  remem » 
ber  saying  that  I felt  him  to  be  as  genial  as  the  glass 
of  Burgundy  which  I held  in  my  hand ; and  I think 
that  touched  the  very  right  spot ; for  he  smiled,  and 
said  he  was  afraid  the  Burgundy  was  better  than  he, 
but  yet  he  was  comforted.  Dr. said  that  he  like- 

wise had  a reputation  for  bitterness  ; and  I assured  him, 
if  I might  venture  to  join  myself  to  the  brotherhood  of 
two  such  men,  that  I was  considered  a very  ill-natured 
person  by  many  people  in  my  own  country.  Douglas 
Jerrold  said  he  was  glad  of  it. 

We  were  now  in  sweetest  harmony,  and  Jerrold 
spoke  more  than  it  would  become  me  to  repeat  in  praise 
of  my  own  books,  which  he  said  he  admired,  and  lie 
found  the  man  more  admirable  than  his  books  ! I hope 
so,  certainly. 


FIRFIELD, 


11 


1856.] 

We  now  went  to  the  Hay  market  Theatre,  where 
Douglas  Jerrold  is  on  the  free  list ; and  after  seeing  a 
ballet  by  some  Spanish  dancers,  we  separated,  and  be- 
took ourselves  to  our  several  homes.  I like  Douglas 
Jerrold  very  much. 

April  8 th.  — On  Saturday  evening,  at  ten  o?clock,  I 

went  to  a supper-party  at  Mr.  D ’s,  and  there  met 

five  or  six  people,  — Mr.  Faed,  a young  and  distinguished 
artist ; Dr.  Eliotson,  a dark,  sombre,  taciturn,  powerful- 
looking  man,  with  coal-black  hair,  and  a beard  as  black, 
fringing  round  his  face  ; Mr.  Charles  Reade,  author 
of  Christie  Johnstone  and  other  novels,  and  many 
plays,  — a tall  man,  more  than  thirty,  fair-haired,  and 
of  agreeable  talk  and  demeanor. 


FIRFIELD. 

On  April  6th,  I went  to  the  Waterloo  Station,  and 

there  meeting  Bennoch  and  Dr. , took  the  rail  for 

Woking,  where  we  found  Mr.  Hall’s  carriage  waiting 
to  convey  us  to  Addlestone,  about  five  miles  off.  On 
arriving  we  found  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall  had  not  yet 
returned  from  church.  Their  place  is  an  exceedingly 
pretty  one,  and  arranged  in  very  good  taste.  The 
house  is  not  large ; but  is  filled,  in  every  room,  with  fine 
engravings,  statuettes,  ingenious  prettinesses  or  beauti- 
fulnesses in  the  way  of  flower-stands,  cabinets,  and 
things  that  seem  to  have  bloomed  naturally  out  of  the 
characters  of  its  occupants.  There  is  a conservatory 
connected  with  the  drawing-room,  and  enriched  with 
lively  plants,  one  of  which  has  a certain  interest  as  be- 


12 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850. 

ing  the  plant  on  which  Coleridge’s  eyes  were  fixed 
when  he  died.  This  conservatory  is  likewise  beautified 
with  several  very  fine  casts  of  statues  by  modern 
sculptors,  among  which  was  the  Greek  Slave  of 
Powers,  which  my  English  friends  criticised  as  being 
too  thin  and  meagre ; but  I defended  it  as  in  accordance 
with  American  ideas  of  feminine  beauty.  From  the 
conservatory  we  passed  into  the  garden,  but  did  not 
minutely  examine  it,  knowing  that  Mr.  Hall  would 
wish  to  lead  us  through  it  in  person.  So,  in  the  mean 
time,  we  took  a walk  in  the  neighborhood,  over  stiles 
and  along  by-paths,  for  two  or  three  miles,  till  we 
reached  the  old  village  of  Chertsey,  In  one  of  its 
streets  stands  an  ancient  house,  gabled,  and  with  the 
second  story  projecting  over  the  first,  and  bearing  an 
inscription  to  the  purport  that  the  poet  Cowley  had 
once  resided,  and,  I think,  died  there.  Thence  we 
passed  on  till  we  reached  a bridge  over  the  Thames, 
which  at  this  point,  about  twenty-five  miles  from  Lon- 
don, is  a narrow  river,  but  looks  clean  and  pure,  and 
unconscious  what  abominations  the  city  sewers  will 
pour  into  it  anon.  We  were  caught  in  two  or  three 
showers  in  the  course  of  our  walk ; but  got  back  to 
Firfield  without  being  very  much  wetted. 

Our  host  and  hostess  had  by  this  time  returned  from 
church,  and  Mrs.  Hall  came  frankly  and  heartily  to  the 
door  to  greet  us,  scolding  us  (kindly)  for  having  got 
wet I liked  her  simple,  easy,  gentle,  quiet  man- 

ners, and  I liked  her  husband  too. 

He  has  a wide  and  quick  sympathy,  and  expresses  it 
freely The  world  is  the  better  for  him. 


AIRFIELD. 


13 


1856.] 

The  shower  being  now  over,  we  went  out  upon  the 
beautiful  lawn  before  his  house,  where  there  were  a 
good  many  trees  of  various  kinds,  many  of  which  have 
been  set  out  by  persons  of  great  or  small  distinction, 
and  are  labelled  with  their  names.  Thomas  Moored 
name  was  appended  to  one ; Maria  Edgeworth's  to 
another;  likewise  Fredrika  Bremer's,  Jenny  Lind’s; 
also  Grace  Greenwood's,  and  I know  not  whose  be- 
sides.  This  is  really  a pleasant  method  of  enriching 
one’s  grounds  with  memorials  of  friends,  nor  is  there 
any  harm  in  making  a shrubbery  of  celebrities.  Three 
holes  were  already  dug,  and  three  new  trees  lay  ready 
to  be  planted,  and  for  me  there  was  a sumach  to  plant, 
— a tree  I never  liked  ; but  Mr.  Hall  said  that  they 
had  tried  to  dig  up  a hawthorn,  but  found  it  clung  too 
fast  to  the  soil.  So,  since  better  might  not  be,  and  tell- 
ing Mr.  Hall  that  I supposed  I should  have  a right  to 
hang  myself  on  this  tree  whenever  I chose,  I seized  a 
spade,  and  speedily  shovelled  in  a great  deal  of  dirt ; 
and  there  stands  my  sumach,  an  object  of  interest  to 

posterity  ! Bennoch  also  and  Dr.  set  out  their 

trees,  and  indeed,  it  was  in  some  sense  a joint  affair, 
for  the  rest  of  the  party  held  up  each  tree,  while  its 
godfather  shovelled  in  the  earth ; but,  after  all,  the  gar- 
dener had  more  to  do  with  it  than  we.  After  this  im- 
portant business  was  over,  Mr.  Hall  led  us  about  his 
grounds,  which  are  very  nicely  planned  and  ordered  ; 
and  all  this  he  has  bought,  and  built,  and  laid  out,  from 
the  profits  of  his  own  and  his  wife’s  literary  exertions. 

We  dined  early,  and  had  a very  pleasant  dinner,  and, 
after  the  cloth  was  removed,  Mr.  Hall  was  graciously 
pleased  to  drink  my  health,  following  it  with  a long 


14  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

tribute  to  my  genius.  I answered  briefly;  and  one 
half  of  my  short  speech  was  in  all  probability  very 
foolish 

After  the  ladies  (there  were  three,  one  being  a 
girl  of  seventeen,  with  rich  auburn  hair,  the  adopted 

daughter  of  the  Halls)  had  retired,  Dr.  , having 

been  toasted  himself,  proposed  Mrs.  Hall’s  health. 

I did  not  have  a great  deal  of  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Hall ; but  enough  to  make  me  think  her  a genuine 
and  good  woman,  unspoilt  by  a literary  career,  and 
retaining  more  sentiment  than  even  most  girls  keep  be- 
yond seventeen.  She  told  me  that  it  had  been  the 
dream  of  her  life  to  see  Longfellow  and  myself ! . . . . 
Her  dream  is  half  accomplished  now,  and,  as  they  say 
Longfellow  is  coming  over  this  summer,  the  remainder 
may  soon  be  rounded  out.  On  taking  leave,  our  kind 
hosts  presented  me  with  some  beautiful  flowers,  and 
with  three  volumes  of  a work,  by  themselves,  on  Ire- 
land ; and  Dr.  was  favored  also  with  some 

flowers,  and  a plant  in  a pot,  and  Bennoch  too  had  his 
hands  full,  ....  and  we  went  on  our  way  rejoicing. 

[Here  follows  an  account  of  the  Lord  Mayor’s  din- 
ner, taken  mostly  for  Our  Old  Home  ; but  I think  I 
will  copy  this  more  exact  description  of  the  lady  men- 
tioned in  “ Civic  Banquets.”  — Ed.] 

....  My  eyes  were  mostly  drawn  to  a young 
lady,  who  sat  nearly  opposite  me,  across  the  table, 
She  was,  I suppose,  dark,  and  yet  not  dark,  but  rather 
seemed  to  be  of  pure  white  marble,  yet  not  white ; but 
the  purest  and  finest  complexion,  without  a shade  of 
color  in  it,  yet  anything  but  sallow  or  sickly.  Her  hair 


LONDON. 


15 


I b5u. J 

was  a wonderful  deep  raven-black,  black  as  night,  black 
as  death ; not  raven-black,  for  that  has  a shiny  gloss, 
and  hers  had  not,  but  it  was  hair  never  to  be  painted 
nor  described,  — wonderful  hair,  Jewish  hair.  Her 
nose  had  a beautiful  outline,  though  I could  see  that 
it  was  Jewish  too  ; and  that,  and  all  her  features,  were 
so  fine  that  sculpture  seemed  a despicable  art  beside 
her,  and  certainly  my  pen  is  good  for  nothing.  If  any 
likeness  could  be  given,  however,  it  must  be  by  sculpt- 
ure, not  painting.  She  was  slender  and  youthful,  and 
yet  had  a stately  and  cold,  though  soft  and  womanly 
grace ; and,  looking  at  her,  I saw  what  were  the  wives 
of  the  old  patriarchs  in  their  maiden  or  early-married 
days,  — what  Judith  was,  for,  womanly  as  she  looked, 
I doubt  not  she  cQuld  have  slain  a man  in  a just  cause, 
— what  Bathsheba  was,  only  she  seemed  to  have  no 
sin  in  her,  — perhaps  what  Eve  was,  though  one 
could  hardly  think  her  weak  enough  to  eat  the  ap- 
ple  Whether  owing  to  distinctness  of  race, 

my  sense  that  she  was  a Jewess,  or  whatever  else,  I 
felt  a sort  of  repugnance,  simultaneously  with  my  per- 
ception that  she  was  an  admirable  creature. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS. 

At  ten  o’clock  the  next  day  [after  the  Lord  Mayor’s 
dinner]  I went  to  lunch  with  Bennoch,  and  afterwards 
accompanied  him  to  one  of  the  government  offices  in 
Downing  Street.  He  went  thither,  not  on  official  busi- 
ness, but  on  a matter  connected  with  a monument  to 
Miss  Mitford,  in  which  Mr.  Harness,  a clergyman  and 
some  sort  of  a government  clerk,  is  interested.  I gath- 
ered from  this  conversation  that  there  is  no  great  en 


16 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850. 

thusiasm  about  the  monumental  affair  among  the  British 
public.  It  surprised  me  to  hear  allusions  indicating 
that  Miss  Mitford  was  not  the  invariably  amiable  per- 
son that  her  writings  would  suggest ; but  the  whole 
drift  of  what  they  said  tended,  nevertheless,  towards 
the  idea  that  she  was  an  excellent  and  generous  person, 
loved  most  by  those  who  knew  her  best. 

From  Downing  Street  we  crossed  over  and  entered 
Westminster  Hall,  and  passed  through  it,  and  up  the 
flight  of  steps  at  its  farthest  end,  and  along  the  avenue 
of  statues,  into  the  vestibule  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
It  was  now  somewhat  past  five,  and  we  stood  at  the 
inner  entrance  of  the  House,  to  see  the  members  pass 
in,  Bennoch  pointing  out  to  me  the  distinguished  ones. 
I was  not  much  impressed  with  the  appearance  of  the 
members  generally  ; they  seemed  to  me  rather  shabbier 
than  English  gentlemen  usually,  and  I saw  or  fancied 
in  many  of  them  a certain  self-importance,  as  they 
passed  into  the  interior,  betokening  them  to  be  very 
full  of  their  dignity.  Some  of  them  looked  more 
American  — more  like  American  politicians  — than 
most  Englishmen  do.  There  was  now  and  then  a 
gray-headed  country  gentleman,  the  very  type  of  stu- 
pidity ; and  two  or  three  city  members  came  up  and 
spoke  to  Bennoch,  and  showed  themselves  quite  as  dull, 

in  their  aldermanic  way,  as  the  country  squires 

Bennoch  pointed  out  Lord  John  Russell,  a small,  very 
short,  elderly  gentleman,  in  a brown  coat,  and  so  large 
a hat  — not  large  of  brim,  but  large  like  a peck  meas- 
ure— that  I saw  really  no  face  beneath  it.  By  and  by 
came  a rather  tall,  slender  person,  in  a black  frock-coat, 
buttoned  up,  and  black  pantaloons,  taking  long  steps, 


LONDON. 


IT 


1856.] 

but  I thought  rather  feebly  or  listlessly.  His  shoulders 
were  round,  or  else  he  had  a habitual  stoop  in  them. 
He  had  a prominent  nose,  a thin  face,  and  a sallow, 
very  sallow  complexion  ; . . . . and  had  I seen  him  in 
America,  I should  have  taken  him  for  a hard-worked 
editor  of  a newspaper,  weary  and  worn  with  night  labor 
and  want  of  exercise,  — aged  before  his  time.  It  was 
Disraeli,  and  I never  saw  any  other  Englishman  look 
in  the  least  like  him ; though,  in  America,  his  appear 
ance  would  not  attract  notice  as  being  unusual.  I do 
not  remember  any  other  noteworthy  person  whom  we 
saw  enter ; in  fact,  the  House  had  already  been  some 
time  in  session,  and  most  of  the  members  were  in  their 
places. 

We  were  to  dine  at  the  Refectory  of  the  House  with 
the  new  member  for  Boston  ; and,  meanwhile,  Bennoch 
obtained  admittance  for  us  into  the  Speaker’s  gallery, 
where  we  had  a view  of  the  members,  and  could  hear 
what  was  going  on.  A Mr.  Muntz  was  speaking  on 
the  Income  Tax,  and  he  was  followed  by  Sir  George 
Cornwall  Lewis  and  others ; but  it  was  all  very  unin- 
teresting, without  the  slightest  animation  or  attempt  at 
oratory,  — which,  indeed,  would  have  been  quite  out 
of  place.  We  saw  Lord  Palmerston;  but  at  too  great 
a distance  to  distinguish  anything  but  a gray  head. 
The  House  had  daylight  in  it  when  we  entered,  and 
for  some  time  afterwards ; but,  by  and  by,  the  roof, 
which  I had  taken  to  be  a solid  and  opaque  ceiling, 
suddenly  brightened,  and  showed  itself  to  be  trans- 
parent; a vast  expanse  of  tinted  and  figured  glass, 
through  which  came  down  a great,  mild  radiance  on 
the  members  below.  The  character  of  the  debate, 


18 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

however,  did  not  grow  more  luminous  or  vivacious  ; 
so  we  went  down  into  the  vestibule,  and  there  waited 
for  Mr. , who  soon  came  and  led  us  into  the  Refec- 

tory. It  was  very  much  like  the  coffee-room  of  a club 
The  strict  rule  forbids  the  entrance  of  any  but  members 
of  Parliament ; but  it  seems  to  be  winked  at,  although 
there  is  another  room,  opening  beyond  this,  where  the 
law  of  seclusion  is  strictly  enforced. 

The  dinner  was  good,  not  remarkably  so,  but  good 
enough,  — a soup,  some  turbot  or  salmon,  cutlets,  and  I 
know  not  what  else,  and  claret,  sherry,  and  port ; for, 

as  Mr.  said,  “ he  did  not  wish  to  be  stingy.”  Mr. 

is  a self-made  man,  and  a strong  instance  of  the 

difference  between  the  Englishman  and  the  American, 
when  self-made,  and  without  early  education.  He  is 
no  more  a gentleman  now  than  when  he  began  life,  — 
not  a whit  more  refined,  either  outwardly  or  inwardly  ; 
while  the  American  would  have  been,  after  the  same 
experience,  not  distinguishable  outwardly,  and  perhaps 
as  refined  within,  as  nine  tenths  of  the  gentlemen  born, 
in  the  House  of  Commons.  And,  besides,  an  American 
comes  naturally  to  any  distinctions  to  which  success  in 
life  may  bring  him ; he  takes  them  as  if  they  were  his 
proper  inheritance,  and  in  no  wise  to  be  wondered  at. 

Mr. , on  the  other  hand,  took  evidently  a childish 

delight  in  his  position,  and  felt  a childish  wonder  in 
having  arrived  at  it ; nor  did  it  seem  real  to  him,  after 
all 

We  again  saw  Disraeli,  who  has  risen  from  the  peo- 
ple by  modes  perhaps  somewhat  like  those  of  Mr. . 

He  came  and  stood  near  our  table,  looking  at  the  bill  of 
fare,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room 


1856.] 


LONDON. 


19 


with  another  gentleman,  and  ate  his  dinner.  The  story 
of  his  marriage  does  him  much  credit ; and  indeed  I am 
inclined  to  like  Disraeli,  as  a man  who  has  made  his 
own  place  good  among  a hostile  aristocracy,  and  leads 
instead  of  following  them. 

From  the  House  of  Commons  we  went  to  Albert 
Smith’s  exhibition,  or  lecture,  of  the  ascent  of  Mont 
Blanc,  to  which  Bennoch  had  orders.  It  was  very 
amusing,  and  in  some  degree  instructive.  We  remained 
in  the  saloon  at  the  conclusion  of  the  lecture ; and 
when  the  audience  had  dispersed,  Mr.  Albert  Smith 
made  his  appearance 

Nothing  of  moment  happened  the  next  day,  at  least, 
not  till  two  o’clock,  when  I went  with  Mr.  Bowman  to 
Birch’s  eating-house  (it,  is  not  Birch’s  now,  but  this 
was  the  name  of  the  original  founder,  who  became  an 
alderman,  and  has  long  been  dead)  for  a basin  of  turtle- 
soup.  It  was  very  rich,  very  good,  better  than  we  had 
at  the  Lord  Mayor’s,  and  the  best  I ever  ate. 

In  the  evening  Mr.  J.  B.  Davis,  formerly  our  Sec- 
retary of  Legation,  called  to  take  us  to  dine  at  Mr. 
’s  in  Camden  Town.  Mr. calls  his  resi- 
dence Vermont  House  ; but  it  hardly  has  a claim  to  any 
separate  title,  being  one  of  the  centre  houses  of  a block. 
I forget  whether  I mentioned  his  calling  on  me.  He  is 
a Vermonter,  a graduate  of  Yale  College,  who  has  been 
here  several  years,  and  has  established  a sort  of  book 
brokerage,  buying  libraries  for  those  who  want  them, 
and  rare  works  and  editions  for  American  collectors. 
His  business  naturally  brings  him  into  relations  with 
literary  people  ; and  he  is  himself  a kindly  and  pleas- 
ant man.  On  our  arrival  we  found  Mr.  D and 


20 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[ 185(3. 

one  of  his  sisters  already  there ; and  soon  came  a Mr. 
Peabody,  who,  if  I mistake  not,  is  one  of  the  Salem 
Peabodys,  and  has  some  connection  with  the  present 
eminent  London  Mr  Peabody.  At  any  rate,  he  is  a 
very  sensible,  well-instructed,  and  widely  and  long  trav- 
elled man.  Mr.  Tom  Taylor  was  also  expected  ; but, 
owing  to  some  accident  or  mistake,  he  did  not  come  for 

above  an  hour,  all  which  time  our  host  waited 

But  Mr.  Tom  Taylor,  a wit,  a satirist,  and  a famous 
diner  out,  is  too  formidable  and  too  valuable  a personage 
to  be  treated  cavalierly. 

In  the  interim  Mr.  showed  us  some  rare  old 

books,  which  he  has  in  his  private  collection,  a black- 
letter  edition  of  Chaucer,  and  other  specimens  of  the 
early  English  printers  ; and  I was  impressed,  as  I have 
often  been,  with  the  idea  that  we  have  made  few,  if  any, 
improvements  in  the  art  of  printing,  though  we  have 
greatly  facilitated  the  modes  of  it.  He  showed  us  Dry- 
den’s  translation  of  Virgil,  with  Dr.  Johnson’s  autograph 
in  it ; and  a large  collection  of  Bibles,  of  all  dates,  — 
church  Bibles,  family  Bibles  of  the  common  translation, 
and  older  ones.  He  says  he  has  written  or  is  writing  a 
history  of  the  Bible  (as  a printed  work,  I presume). 
Many  of  these  Bibles  had,  no  doubt,  been  in  actual  and 
daily  use  from  generation  to  generation ; but  they  were 
now  all  splendidly  bound,  and  were  likewise  very  clean 
and  smooth,  — in  fact,  every  leaf  had  been  cleansed  by 
a delicate  process,  a part  of  which  consisted  in  soaking 
the  whole  book  in  a tub  of  water,  during  several  days, 
Mr. is  likewise  rich  in  manuscripts,  having  a Span- 

ish document  with  the  signature  of  the  son  of  Colum 
bus;  a whole  little  volume  in  Franklin’s  handwriting, 


1856.] 


LONDON. 


21 


being  the  first  specimen  of  it ; and  the  original  manu- 
scripts of  many  of  the  songs  of  Burns.  Among  these 
I saw  “ Auld  Lang  Syne,”  and  “ Bruce’s  Address  to  his 
Army.”  We  amused  ourselves  with  these  matters  as  long 
as  we  could ; but  at  last,  as  there  was  to  be  a party  in 
the  evening,  dinner  could  no  longer  be  put  off  ; so  we 
took  our  seats  at  table,  and  immediately  afterwards  Mr. 
Taylor  made  his  appearance  with  his  wife  and  another 
lady. 

Mr.  Taylor  is  reckoned  a brilliant  conversationist ; 
but  I suppose  he  requires  somebody  to  draw  him  out 
and  assist  him ; for  I could  hear  nothing  that  I thought 
very  remarkable  on  this  occasion.  He  is  not  a kind  of 
man  whom  I can  talk  with,  or  greatly  help  to  talk ; 
so,  though  I sat  next  to  him,  nothing  came  of  it.  He 
told  me  some  stories  of  his  life  in  the  Temple,  — little 
funny  incidents,  that  he  afterwards  wrought  into  his 
dramas  ; in  short,  a sensible,  active-minded,  clearly  per* 
ceptive  man,  with  a humorous  way  of  showing  up  men 

and  matters I wish  I could  know  exactly  what 

the  English  style  good  conversation.  Probably  it  is 
something  like  plum-pudding,  — as  heavy,  but  seldom 
so  rich. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Tom  Taylor  and  Mr.  D , with 

their  respective  ladies,  took  their  leave ; but  when  we 
returned  to  the  drawing-room,  we  found  it  thronged  with 
a good  many  people.  Mr.  S.  C.  Hall  was  there  with 
his  wife,  whom  I was  glad  to  see  again,  for  this  was  the 
third  time  of  meeting  her,  and,  in  this  whirl  of  new  ac- 
quaintances, I felt  quite  as  if  she  were  an  old  friend. 
Mr.  William  Howitt  was  also  there,  and  introduced  me 
to  his  wife,  — a very  natural,  kind,  and  pleasant  lady  * 


22 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


|_  185ft. 


and  she  presented  me  to  one  or  two  daughters.  Mr. 
Marston,  the  dramatist,  was  also  introduced  to  me ; and 
Mr.  Helps,  a thin,  scholarly,  cold  sort  of  a man.  Dr. 
Mackay  and  his  wife  were  there,  too  ; and  a certain  Mr 
Jones,  a sculptor,  — a jolly,  large,  elderly  person,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyei  Also  a Mr.  Godwin,  who  impressed 
me  as  quite  a superior  person,  gentlemanly,  cultivated, 
a man  of  sensibility ; but  it  is  quite  impossible  to  take  a 
cilear  imprint  from  any  one  character,  where  so  many 
are  stamped  upon  one’s  notice  at  once.  This  Mr.  God- 
win, as  we  were  discussing  Thackeray,  said  that  he  is 
most  beautifully  tender  and  devoted  to  his  wife,  when- 
ever she  can  be  sensible  of  his  attentions.  He  says 
that  Thackeray,  in  his  real  self,  is  a sweet,  sad  man.  I 
grew  weary  of  so  many  people,  especially  of  the  ladies, 
who  were  rather  superfluous  in  their  oblations,  quite 
stifling  me,  indeed,  with  the  incense  that  they  burnt  un- 
der my  nose.  So  far  as  I could  judge,  they  had  all 
been  invited  there  to  see  me.  It  is  ungracious,  even 
hoggish,  not  to  be  gratified  with  the  interest  they  ex- 
pressed in  me  ; but  then  it  is  really  a bore,  and  one 
does  not  know  what  to  do  or  say.  I felt  like  the  hip- 
popotamus, or  — to  use  a more  modest  illustration  — like 
some  strange  insect  imprisoned  under  a tumbler,  with 
a dozen  eyes  watching  whatever  I did.  By  and  by, 
Mr.  Jones,  the  sculptor,  relieved  me  by  standing  up 
against  the  mantel-piece,  and  telling  an  Irish  story,  not 
to  two  or  three  auditors,  but  to  the  whole  drawing-room , 
all  attentive  as  to  a set  exhibition.  It  was  very  funny. 

The  next  day  after  this  I went  with  Mr.  Bowman  to 
call  on  our  minister,  and  found  that  he,  and  four  of  the 
ladies  of  his  family,  with  his  son,  had  gone  to  the 


1856.]  SCOTLAND.  — GLASGOW.  23 

Queen’s  Drawing-room.  We  lunched  at  the  Welling- 
ton ; and  spent  an  hour  or  more  in  looking  out  of  the 
window  of  that  establishment  at  the  carriages,  with  their 
pompous  coachmen  and  footmen,  driving  to  and  from 
the  Palace  of  St.  James,  and  at  the  Horse  Guards, 
with  their  bright  cuirasses,  stationed  along  the  street 


Then  I took  the  rail  for  Liverpool While  I was 

still  at  breakfast  at  the  Waterloo,  J came  in,  ruddy- 


cheeked,  smiling,  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  looking,  I 
thought,  a good  deal  taller  than  when  I left  him.  And 
so  ended  my  London  excursion,  which  has  certainly 
been  rich  in  incident  and  character,  though  my  account 
of  it  be  but  meagre. 

SCOTLAND.  — GLASGOW. 

May  10^.  — Last  Friday,  May  2d,  I took  the  rail, 
with  Mr.  Bowman,  from  the  Lime  Street  station,  for 
Glasgow.  There  was  nothing  of  much  interest  along 
the  road,  except  that,  when  we  got  beyond  Penrith, 
we  saw  snow  on  the  tops  of  some  of  the  hills.  Twilight 
came  on  as  we  were  entering  Scotland  ; and  I have 
only  a recollection  of  bleak  and  bare  hills  and  villages 
dimly  seen,  until,  nearing  Glasgow,  we  saw  the  red 
blaze  of  furnace-lights  at  frequent  iron-founderies.  We 
put  up  at  the  Queen’s  Hotel,  where  we  arrived  about 
ten  o’clock ; a better  hotel  than  I have  anywhere  found 
in  England,  — new,  well  arranged,  and  with  brisk  at- 
tendance. 

In  the  morning  I rambled  largely  about  Glasgow, 
and  found  it  to  be  chiefly  a modern-built  city,  with 
streets  mostly  wide  and  regular,  and  handsome  houses 
and  public  edifices  of  a dark  gray  stone.  In  front  of 


24 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

our  hotel,  in  an  enclosed  green  space,  stands  a tall 
column  surmounted  by  a statue  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  — a 
good  statue,  I should  think,  as  conveying  the  air  and 
personal  aspect  of  the  man.  There  is  a bronze  eques- 
trian statue  of  the  Queen  in  one  of  the  streets,  and  one 
or  two  more  equestrian  or  other  statues  of  eminent  per- 
sons. I passed  through  the  Trongate  and  the  Gallow- 
Gate,  and  visited  the  Salt-Market,  and  saw  the  steeple 
of  the  Tolbooth,  all  of  which  Scott  has  made  interesting ; 
and  I went  through  the  gate  of  the  University,  and  pen- 
etrated into  its  enclosed  courts,  round  which  the  College 
edifices  are  built.  They  are  not  Gothic,  but  of  the  age, 
I suppose,  of  James  I.,  — with  odd-looking,  conical-roofed 
towers,  and  here  and  there  the  bust  of  a benefactor  in 
niches  round  the  courts,  and  heavy  stone  staircases  as- 
cending from  the  pavement,  outside  the  buildings,  all  of 
dark  gray  granite,  cold,  hard,  and  venerable.  The  Uni- 
versity stands  in  High  Street,  in  a dense  part  of  the 
town,  and  a very  old  and  shabby  part,  too.  I think  the 
poorer  classes  of  Glasgow  excel  even  those  in  Liverpool 
in  the  bad  eminence  of  filth,  uncombed  and  unwashed 
children,  drunkenness,  disorderly  deportment,  evil  smell, 
and  all  that  makes  city  poverty  disgusting.  In  my 
opinion,  however,  they  are  a better-looking  people  than 
the  English  (and  this  is  true  of  all  classes),  more  intelli- 
gent of  aspect,  with  more  regular  features.  I looked 
for  the  high  cheek-bones,  which  have  been  attributed, 
as  a characteristic  feature,  to  the  Scotch,  but  could  not 
find  them.  What  most  distinguishes  them  from  the 
English  is  the  regularity  of  the  nose,  which  is  straight, 
or  sometimes  a little  curved  inward ; whereas  the  Eng- 
lish nose  has  no  law  whatever,  but  disports  itself  in  all 


GLASGOW. 


25 


1856.] 

manner  of  irregularity.  I very  soon  learned  to  recog- 
nize the  Scotch  face,  and  when  not  too  Scotch,  it  is  a 
handsome  one. 

In  another  part  of  the  High  Street,  up  a pretty  steep 
slope,  and  on  one  side  of  a public  green,  near  an  edifice 
which  I think  is  a medical  college,  stands  St.  Mungo’s 
Cathedral.  It  is  hardly  of  cathedral  dimensions,  though 
a large  and  fine  old  church.  The  price  of  a ticket  of 
admittance  is  twopence  ; so  small  that  it  might  be  as 
well  to  make  the  entrance  free.  The  interior  is  in  ex- 
cellent repair,  with  the  nave  and  side  aisles,  and  clus- 
tered pillars,  and  intersecting  arches,  that  belong  to  all 
these  old  churches  ; and  a few  monuments  along  the 
walls.  I was  going  away  without  seeing  any  more  than 
this ; but  the  verger,  a friendly  old  gentleman,  with  a 
hearty  Scotch  way  of  speaking,  told  me  that  the  crypts 
were  what  chiefly  interested  strangers  ; and  so  he  guided 
me  down  into  the  foundation-story  of  tlie  church,  where 
there  is  an  intricacy  and  entanglement  of  immensely 
massive  and  heavy  arches,  supporting  the  structure 
above.  The  view  through  these  arches,  among  the 
great  shafts  of  the  columns,  was  very  striking.  In  the 
central  part  is  a monument ; a recumbent  figure,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  but  it  is  not  known  whom  it  commem- 
orates. There  is  also  a monument  to  a Scotch  prelate, 
which  seems  to  have  been  purposely  defaced,  probably 
in  Covenant  times.  These  intricate  arches  were  the 
locality  of  one  of  the  scenes  in  “ Rob  Roy,”  when  Rob 
gives  Frank  Osbaldistone  some  message  or  warning, 
and  then  escapes  from  him  into  the  obscurity  behind. 
In  one  corner  is  St.  Mungo’s  well,  secured  with  a 

YOL.  II.  2 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


26 


[1856. 


wooden  cover ; but  I should  not  care  to  drink  water 
that  comes  from  among  so  many  old  graves. 

After  viewing  the  cathedral,  I got  back  to  the  hotel 
just  in  time  to  go  from  thence  to  the  steamer  wharf, 
and  take  passage  up  the  Clyde.  There  was  nothing 
very  interesting  in  this  little  voyage.  We  passed  many 
small  iron  steamers,  and  some  large  ones  ; and  green 
fields  along  the  river-shores,  villas,  villages,  and  all  such 
suburban  objects ; neither  am  I quite  sure  of  the  name 
of  the  place  we  landed  at,  though  I think  it  was  Bow- 
ling. Here  we  took  the  railway  for  Balloch  ; and  the 
only  place  or  thing  I remember  during  this  transit  was 
a huge  bluff  or  crag,  rising  abruptly  from  a river-side, 
and  looking,  in  connection  with  its  vicinity  to  the  High- 
lands, just  such  a site  as  would  be  taken  for  the  founda- 
tion of  a castle.  On  inquiry  it  turned  out  that  this  ab- 
rupt and  double-headed  hill  (for  it  has  two  summits, 
with  a cleft  between)  is  the  site  of  Dumbarton  Castle, 
for  ages  one  of  the  strongest  fortresses  in  Scotland,  and 
still  kept  up  as  a garrisoned  place.  At  the  distance 
and  point  of  view  at  which  we  passed  it,  the  castle  made 
no  show. 

Arriving  at  Balloch,  we  found  it  a small  village,  with 
no  marked  features,  and  a hotel,  where  we  got  some 
lunch,  and  then  we  took  a stroll  over  the  bridge  across 
the  Leven,  while  waiting  for  the  steamer  to  take  us  up 
Loch  Lomond.  It  was  a beautiful  afternoon,  warm  and 
sunny  ; and  after  walking  about  a mile,  we  had  a fine 
view  of  Loch  Lomond,  and  of  the  mountains  around  and 
beyond  it,  — Ben  Lomond  among  the  rest.  It  is  vain, 
at  a week’s  distance,  to  try  to  remember  the  shapes  of 
mountains ; so  I shall  attempt  no  description  of  them, 


LOCH  LOMOHD. 


27 


f85G.] 

and  content  myself  with  saying  that  they  did  not  quite 
come  up  to  my  anticipations.  In  due  time  we  returned 
to  our  hotel,  and  found  in  the  coffee-room  a tall,  white- 
haired,  venerable  gentleman,  and  a pleasantdooking 
young  lady,  his  daughter.  They  had  been  eating  lunch, 
and  the  young  lady  helped  her  father  on  with  his  out- 
side garment,  and  his  comforter,  and  gave  him  his  stick, 
just  as  any  other  daughter  might  do,  — r all  of  which  I 
mention  because  he  was  a nobleman ; and,  moreover, 
had  engaged  all  the  post-horses  at  the  inn,  so*that  we 
could  not  continue  our  travels  by  land,  along  the  side  of 
Loch  Lomond,  as  we  had  first  intended.  At  four 
o’clock  the  railway  train  arrived  again,  with  a very 
moderate  number  of  passengers,  who  (and  we  among 
them)  immediately  embarked  on  board  a neat  little 
steamer  which  was  waiting  for  us. 

The  day  was  bright  and  cloudless ; but  there  was  a 
strong,  cold  breeze  blowing  down  the  lake,  so  that  it 
was  impossible,  without  vast  discomfort,  to  stand  in  the 
bow  of  the  steamer  and  look  at  the  scenery.  I looked 
at  it,  indeed,  along  the  sides,  as  we  passed,  and  on 
our  track  behind ; and  no  doubt  it  was  very  fine ; but 
from  all  the  experience  I have  had,  I do  not  think 
scenery  can  be  well  seen  from  the  water.  At  any  rate, 
the  shores  of  Loch  Lomond  have  faded  completely  out 
of  my  memory  ; nor  can  I conceive  that  they  really 
were  very  striking.  At  a year’s  interval,  I can  recollect 
the  cluster  of  hills  around  the  head  of  Lake  Winder- 
mere  ; at  twenty  years’  interval,  I remember  the  shores 
of  Lake  Champlain ; but  of  the  shores  of  this  Scottish 
lake  I remember  nothing  except  some  oddly  shaped 
rocks,  called  “The  Cobbler  and  his  Daughter,”  on  a 


28 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

mountain-top,  just  before  we  landed.  But,  indeed,  we 
had  very  imperfect  glimpses  of  the  hills  along  the  latter 
part  of  the  course  because,  the  wind  had  grown  so  very 
cold  that  we  took  shelter  below,  and  merely  peeped  at 
Loch  Lomond’s  sublimities  from  the  cabin  windows. 

The  whole  voyage  up  Loch  Lomond  is,  I think,  about 
thirty-two  miles  ; but  we  landed  at  a place  called  Tarbet, 
much  short  of  the  ultimate  point.  There  is  here  a large 
hotel ; but  we  passed  it,  and  walked  onward  a mile  or 
two  to  Arroquhar,  a secluded  glen  among  the  hills, 
where  is  a new  hotel,  built  in  the  old  manor-house  style, 
and  occupying  the  site  of  what  was  once  a castle  of  the 
chief  of  the  MacFarlanes.  Over  the  portal  is  a stone 
taken  from  the  former  house,  bearing  the  date  1697. 
There  is  a little  lake  near  the  house,  and  the  hills  shut 
in  the  whole  visible  scene  so  closely  that  there  appears 
no  outlet  nor  communication  with  the  external  world  ; 
but  in  reality  this  little  lake  is  connected  with  Loch 
Long,  and  Loch  Long  is  an  arm  of  the  sea ; so  that 
there  is  water  communication  between  Arroquhar  and 
Glasgow.  We  found  this  a very  beautiful  place;  and 
being  quite  sheltered  from  all  winds  that  blew,  we 
strolled  about  late  into  the  prolonged  twilight,  and  ad- 
mired the  outlines  of  the  surrounding  hills,  and  fancied 
resemblances  to  various  objects  in  the  shapes  of  the 
crags  against  the  evening  sky.  The  sun  had  not  set 
till  nearly,  if  not  quite,  eight  o’clock  ; and  before  the 
daylight  had  quite  gone,  the  northern  lights  streamed 
out,  and  I do  not  think  that  there  was  much  darkness 
over  the  glen  of  Arroquhar  that  night.  At  all  events, 
before  the  darkness  came,  we  withdrew  into  the  coffee- 


room. 


INVERSNAID. 


29 


1850.] 

We  had  excellent  beds  and  sleeping-rooms  in  this 
new  hotel,  and  I remember  nothing  more  till  morning, 
when  we  were  astir  betimes,  and  had  some  chops  for 
breakfast.  Then  our  host,  Mr.  Macregor,  who  is  also 
the  host  of  our  hotel  at  Glasgow,  and  has  many  of  the 
characteristics  of  an  American  landlord,  claiming  to  be 
a gentleman  and  the  equal  of  his  guests,  took  us  in  a 
drosky,  and  drove  us  to  the  shore  of  Loch  Lomond,  at  a 
point  about  four  miles  from  Arroquhar.  The  lake  is  here 
a mile  and  a half  wide,  and  it  was  our  object  to  cross 
to  Inversnaid,  ‘on  the  opposite  shore  ; so  first  we  waved 
a handkerchief,  and  then  kindled  some  straw  on  the 
beach,  in  order  to  attract  the  notice  of  the  ferryman  at 
Inversnaid.  It  was  half  an  hour  before  our  signals  and 
shoutings  resulted  in  the  putting  off  of  a boat,  with  two 
oarsmen,  who  made  the  transit  pretty  speedily ; and 
thus  we  got  across  Loch  Lomond.  At  Inversnaid  there 
is  a small  hotel,  and  over  the  rock  on  which  it  stands  a 
little  waterfall  tumbles  into  the  lake,  — a very  little  one, 
though  I believe  it  is  reckoned  among  the  other  pic- 
turesque features  of  the  scene. 

We  were  now  in  Rob  Roy’s  country,  and  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a mile  or  so,  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  is  Rob 
Roy’s  cave,  where  he  and  his  followers  are  supposed  to 
have  made  their  abode  in  troublous  times.  While  lunch 
was  getting  ready,  we  again  took  the  boat,  and  went 
thither.  Landing  beneath  a precipitous,  though  not 
very  lofty  crag,  we  clambered  up  a rude  pathway,  and 
came  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  which  is  nothing  but  a 
rissure  or  fissures  among  some  great  rocks  that  have 
tumbled  confusedly  together.  There  is  hardly  any- 
where space  enough  for  half  a dozen  persons  to  crowd 


30 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


themselves  together,  nor  room  to  stand  upright.  On 
the  whole,  it  is  no  cave  at  all,  but  only  a crevice  ; and,  in 
the  deepest  and  darkest  part,  you  can  look  up  and  see  the 
sky.  It  may  have  sheltered  Rob  Roy  for  a night,  and 
might  partially  shelter  any  Christian  during  a shower. 

Returning  to  the  hotel,  we  started  in  a drosky  (I  do 
not  know  whether  this  is  the  right  name  of  the  vehi- 
cle, or  whether  it  has  a right  name,  but  it  is  a carriage 
in  which  four  persons  sit  back  to  back,  two  before  and 
two  behind)  for  Aberfoyle.  The  mountain-side  ascends 
very  steeply  from  the  inn  door,  and,  not  to  damp  the 
horse’s  courage  in  the  outset,  we  went  up  on  foot.  The 
guide-book  says  that  the  prospect  from  the  summit  of 
the  ascent  is  very  fine ; but  I really  believe  we  forgot 
to  turn  round  and  look  at  it.  All  through  our  drive, 
however,  we  had  mountain  views  in  plenty,  especially 
of  great  Ben  Lomond,  with  his  snow-covered  head, 
round  which,  since  our  entrance  into  the  Highlands,  we 
had  been  making  a circuit.  Nothing  can  possibly  be 
drearier  than  the  mountains  at  this  season  ; bare,  barren, 
and  bleak,  with  black  patches  of  withered  heath  varie- 
gating the  dead  brown  of  the  herbage  on  their  sides ; 
and  as  regards  trees  the  hills  are  perfectly  naked. 
There  were  no  frightful  precipices,  no  boldly  picturesque 
features,  along  our  road  ; but  high,  weary  slopes,  show- 
ing miles  and  miles  of  heavy  solitude,  with  here  and 
there  a highland  hut,  built  of  stone  and  thatched ; 
and,  in  one  place,  an  old  gray,  ruinous  fortress,  a sta- 
tion of  the  English  troops  after  the  rebellion  of  1745  ; and 
once  or  twice  a village  of  huts,  the  inhabitants  of  which, 
old  and  young,  ran  to  their  doors  to  stare  at  us.  For 
several  miles  after  we  left  Inversnaid,  the  mountain- 


THE  TROSACHS. 


31 


1856.] 

stream  which  makes  the  waterfall  brawled  along  the 
roadside.  All  the  hills  are  sheep-pastures,  and  I never 
saw  such  wild,  rough,  ragged-looking  creatures  as  the 
sheep,  with  their  black  faces  and  tattered  wool.  The 
little  lambs  were  very  numerous,  poor  things,  coming  so 
early  in  the  season  into  this  inclement  region  ; and  it 
was  laughable  to  see  how  invariably,  when  startled  by 
our  approach,  they  scampered  to  their  mothers,  and  im- 
mediately began  to  suck.  It  would  seem  as  if  they 
sought  a draught  from  the  maternal  udder,  wherewith 
to  fortify  and  encourage  their  poor  little  hearts  ; but  I 
suppose  their  instinct  merely  drove  them  close  to  their 
dams,  and,  being  there,  they  took  advantage  of  their  op- 
portunity. These  sheep  must  lead  a hard  life  during 
the  winter ; for  they  are  never  fed  nor  sheltered. 

The  day  was  sunless,  and  very  uncomfortably  cold ; 
and  we  were  not  sorry  to  walk  whenever  the  steepness 
of  the  road  gave  us  cause.  I do  not  remember  what 
o’clock  it  was,  but  not  far  into  the  afternoon,  when  we 
reached  the  Baillie  Nicol-Jarvie  Inn  at  Aberfoyle  ; a 
scene  which  is  much  more  interesting  in  the  pages  of 
Bob  Roy  than  we  found  it  in  reality.  Here  we  got 
into  a sort  of  cart,  and  set  out,  over  another  hill-path, 
as  dreary  as  or  drearier  than  the  last,  for  the  Trosachs. 
On  our  way,  we  saw  Ben  Yenue,  and  a good  many 
other  famous  Bens,  and  two  or  three  lochs  ; and  when 
we  reached  the  Trosachs,  we  should  probably  have 
been  very  much  enraptured  if  our  eyes  had  not  already 
been  weary  with  other  mountain  shapes.  But,  in  truth, 
I doubt  if  anybody  ever  does  really  see  a mountain, 
who  goes  for  the  set  and  sole  purpose  of  seeing  it. 
Na*nre  will  not  let  herself  be  seen  in  such  cases.  You 


32 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


must  patiently  bide  her  time  ; and  by  and  by,  at  some 
unforeseen  moment,  she  will  quietly  and  suddenly 
unveil  herself,  and  for  a brief  space  allow  you  to  look 
right  into  the  heart  of  her  mystery.  But  if  you  call  out 
to  her  peremptorily, 66  Nature  ! unveil  yourself  this  very 
moment ! ” she  only  draws  her  veil  the  closer  ; and  you 
may  look  with  all  your  eyes,  and  imagine  that  you  see 
all  that  she  can  show,  and  yet  see  nothing.  Thus,  I 
saw  a wild  and  confused  assemblage  of  heights,  crags, 
precipices,  which  they  call  the  Trosachs,  but  I saw  them 
calmly  and  coldly,  and  was  glad  when  the  drosky  was 
ready  to  take  us  on  to  Callender.  The  hotel  at  the 
Trosachs,  by  the  by,  is  a very  splendid  one,  in  the  form 
of  an  old  feudal  castle,  with  towers  and  turrets.  All 
among  these  wild  hills  there  is  set  preparation  for  en- 
raptured visitants  ; and  it  seems  strange  that  the  savage 
features  do  not  subside  of  their  own  accord,  and  that 
there  should  still  be  cold  winds  and  snow  on  the  top  of 
Ben  Lomond,  and  rocks  and  heather,  and  ragged  sheep, 
now  that  there  are  so  many  avenues  by  which  the 
common-place  world  is  sluiced  in  among  the  Highlands. 
I think  that  this  fashion  of  the  picturesque  will  pass 
away. 

We  drove  along  the  shore  of  Lake  Vennachar,  and 
onward  to  Callender,  which  I believe  is  either  the  first 
point  in  the  Lowlands  or  the  last  in  the  Highlands.  It 
is  a large  village  on  the  river  Teith.  We  stopped  here 
to  dine,  and  were  some  time  in  getting  any  warmth  into 
our  benumbed  bodies  ; for,  as  I said  before,  it  was  a 
very  cold  day.  Looking  from  the  window  of  the  hotel, 
I saw  a young  man  in  Highland  dress,  with  bare  thighs, 
marching  through  the  village  street  towards  the  Low- 


STIRLING. 


33 


1856.] 

lands,  with  a martial  and  elastic  step,  as  if  he  were 
going  forth  to  conquer  and  occupy  the  world.  I sup- 
pose he  was  a soldier  who  had  been  absent  on  leave, 
returning  to  the  garrison  at  Stirling.  I pitied  his  poor 
thighs,  though  he  certainly  did  not  look  uncomfortable. 

After  dinner,  as  dusk  was  coming  on  and  we  had 
still  a long  drive  before  us  (eighteen  miles,  I believe), 
we  took  a close  carriage  and  two  horses,  and  set  off  for 
Stirling.  The  twilight  was  too  obscure  to  show  many 
things  along  the  road,  and  by  the  time  we  drove  into 
Stirling  we  could  but  dimly  see  the  houses  in  the  long 
street  in  which  stood  our  hotel.  There  was  a good  fire 
in  the  coffee-room,  which  looked  like  a drawing-room  in 
a large  old-fashioned  mansion,  and  was  hung  round  with 
engravings  of  the  portraits  of  the  county  members,  and  a 
master  of  fox-hounds,  and  other  pictures.  We  made 
ourselves  comfortable  with  some  tea,  and  retired  early. 

In  the  morning  we  were  stirring  betimes,  and  found 
Stirling  to  be  a pretty  large  town,  of  rather  ancient 
aspect,  with  many  gray  stone  houses,  the  gables  of 
which  are  notched  on  either  side,  like  a flight  of  stairs. 
The  town  stands  on  the  slope  of  a hill,  at  the  summit 
of  which,  crowning  a long  ascent,  up  which  the  paved 
street  reaches  all  the  way  to  its  gate,  is  Stirling  Castle. 
Of  course  we  went  thither,  and  found  free  entrance, 
although  the  castle  is  garrisoned  by  five  or  six  hun- 
dred men,  among  whom  are  barelegged  Highlanders  (I 
must  say  that  this  costume  is  very  fine  and  becoming, 
though  their  thighs  did  look  blue  and  frost-bitten) 
and  also  some  soldiers  of  other  Scotch  regiments,  with 
tartan  trousers.  Almost  immediately  on  passing  the 
gate,  we  found  an  old  artillery-man,  who  undertook  to 
2* 


c 


34  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [l856. 

show  us  round  the  castle.  Only  a small  portion  of  it 
seems  to  be  of  great  antiquity.  The  principal  edifice 
within  the  castle  wall  is  a palace,  that  was  either  built 
or  renewed  by  James  VI. ; and  it  is  ornamented  with 
strange  old  statues,  one  of  which  is  his  own.  The  old 
Scottish  Parliament  House  is  also  here.  The  most 
ancient  part  of  the  castle  is  the  tower,  where  one  of 
the  Earls  of  Douglas  was  stabbed  by  a king,  and  after- 
wards thrown  out  of  the  window.  In  reading  this 
story,  one  imagines  a lofty  turret,  and  the  dead  man 
tumbling  headlong  from  a great  height ; but,  in  reality, 
the  window  is  not  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  from 
the  garden  into  which  he  fell.  This  part  of  the  castle 
was  burned  last  autumn  ; but  is  now  under  repair,  and 
the  wall  of  the  tower  is  still  stanch  and  strong.  We 
went  up  into  the  chamber  where  the  murder  took  place, 
and  looked  through  the  historic  window. 

Then  we  mounted  the  castle  wall,  where  it  broods 
over  a precipice  of  many  hundred  feet  perpendicular, 
looking  down  upon  a level  plain  below,  and  forth  upon 
a landscape,  every  foot  of  which  is  richly  studded  with 
historic  events.  There  is  a small  peep-hole  in  the  wall, 
which  Queen  Mary  is  said  to  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  looking  through.  It  is  a most  splendid  view  ; in  the 
distance,  the  blue  Highlands,  with  a variety  of  mountain 
outlines  that  I could  have  studied  unweariably ; and  in 
another  direction,  beginning  almost  at  the  foot  of  the 
Castle  Hill,  were  the  Links  of  Forth,  where,  over  a 
plain  of  miles  in  extent  the  river  meandered,  and  cir- 
cled about,  and  returned  upon  itself  again  and  again 
and  again,  as  if  knotted  into  a silver  chain,  which  it 
was  difficult  to  imagine  to  be  all  one  stream.  The  his- 


EDINBURGH.  — HOLYROOD. 


35 


JB56.] 

tory  of  Scotland  might  be  read  from  this  castle  wall, 
as  on  a book  of  mighty  page ; for  here,  within  the  com- 
pass of  a few  miles,  we  see  the  field  where  Wallace  won 
the  battle  of  Stirling,  and  likewise  the  battle-field  of 
Bannockburn,  and  that  of  Falkirk,  and  Sheriffmuir,  and 
I know  not  how  many  besides. 

Around  the  Castle  Hill  there  is  a walk,  with  seats 
for  old  and  infirm  persons,  at  points  sheltered  from  the 
wind.  We  followed  it  downward,  and  I think  we 
passed  over  the  site  where  the  games  used  to  be  held, 
and  where,  this  morning,  some  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
garrison  were  going  through  their  exercises.  I ought 
to  have  mentioned,  that,  passing  through  the  inner 
gateway  of  the  castle,  we  saw  the  round  tower,  and 
glanced  into  the  dungeon,  where  the  Roderic  Dhu  of 
Scott’s  poem  was  left  to  die.  It  is  one  of  the  two  round 
towers,  between  which  the  portcullis  rose  and  fell. 

EDINBURGH.  — THE  PALACE  OF  HOLYROOD. 

At  eleven  o’clock  we  took  the  rail  for  Edinburgh,  and 
I remember  nothing  more,  except  that  the  cultivation 
and  verdure  of  the  country  were  very  agreeable,  after 
our  experience  of  Highland  barrenness  and  desolation, 
until  we  found  the  train  passing  close  at  the  base  of 
the  rugged  crag  of  Edinburgh  Castle.  We  established 
ourselves  at  Queen’s  Hotel,  in  Prince’s  Street,  and 
then  went  out  to  view  the  city.  The  monument  to  Sir 
Walter  Scott  — a rather  fantastic  and  not  very  impres- 
sive affair,  I thought  — stands  almost  directly  in  front 
of  a hotel.  We  went  along  Prince’s  Street,  and  thence, 
by  what  turns  I know  not,  to  the  Palace  of  Holyrood, 
which  stands  on  a low  and  sheltered  site,  and  is  a 


36 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


venerable  edifice.  Arthur’s  Seat  rises  behind  it,  — a 
high  hill,  with  a plain  between.  As  we  drew  near  the 
Palace,  Mr.  Bowman,  who  has  been  here  before, 
pointed  out  the  windows  of  Queen  Mary’s  apartments, 
in  a circular  tower  on  the  left  of  the  gateway.  On 
entering  the  enclosed  quadrangle,  we  bought  tickets  for 
sixpence  each,  admitting  us  to  all  parts  of  the  Palace 
that  are  shown  to  visitors  ; and  first  we  went  into  a 
noble  hall  or  gallery,  — a long  and  stately  room,  hung 
with  pictures  of  ancient  Scottish  kings ; and  though 
the  pictures  were  none  of  them  authentic,  they,  at 
least,  answer  an  excellent  purpose  in  the  way  of 
upholstery.  It  was  here  that  the  young  Pretender 
gave  the  ball  which  makes  one  of  the  scenes  in  Wa- 
verley. 

Thence  we  passed  into  the  old  historic  rooms  of  the 
Palace,  — Darn  ley’s  and  Queen  Mary’s  apartments, 
which  everybody  has  seen  and  described.  They  are  very 
dreary  and  shabby-looking  rooms,  with  bare  floors,  and 
here  and  there  a piece  of  tapestry,  faded  into  a neutral 
tint ; and  carved  and  ornamented  ceilings,  looking  shab- 
bier than  plain  whitewash.  We  saw  Queen  Mary’s 
old  bedstead,  low,  with  four  tall  posts,  — and  her  look- 
ing-glass, which  she  brought  with  her  from  France,  and 
which  has  often  reflected  the  beauty  that  set  every- 
body mad,  — and  some  needlework  and  other  womanly 
matters  of  hers;  and  we  went  into  the  little  closet, 
where  she  was  having  such  a cosey  supper-party  with 
two  or  three  friends,  when  the  conspirators  broke  in, 
and  stabbed  Rizzio  before  her  face.  We  saw,  too,  the 
blood-stain  at  the  threshold  of  the  door  in  the  next 
room,  opening  upon  the  stairs.  The  body  of  Rizzio 


HOLYROOD. 


37 


1856.] 

was  flung  down  here,  and  the  attendant  told  us  that  it 
lay  in  that  spot  all  night.  The  blood-stain  covers  a 
large  space,  — much  larger  than  I supposed,  — and  it 
gives  the  impression  that  there  must  have  been  a great 
pool  and  sop  of  blood  on  all  the  spot  covered  by 
Rizzio’s  body,  staining  the  floor  deeply  enough  never 
to  be  washed  out.  It  is  now  of  a dark  brown  hue ; 
and  I do  not  see  why  it  may  not  be  the  genuine,  verita- 
ble stain.  The  floor,  thereabouts,  appears  not  to  have 
been  scrubbed  much ; for  I touched  it  with  my  finger, 
and  found  it  slightly  rough ; but  it  is  strange  that  the 
many  footsteps  should  not  have  smoothed  it,  in  three 
hundred  years. 

One  of  the  articles  shown  us  in  Queen  Mary’s  apart- 
ments was  the  breastplate  supposed  to  have  been  worn 
by  Lord  Ruthven  at  the  murder,  a heavy  plate  of 
iron,  and  doubtless  a very  uncomfortable  waistcoat. 

HOLYROOD  ABBEY. 

From  the  Palace,  we  passed  into  the  contiguous  ruin 
of  Holyrood  Abbey ; which  is  roofless,  although  the 
front,  and  some  broken  columns  along  the  nave,  and 
fragments  of  architecture  here  and  there,  afford  hints 
of  a magnificent  Gothic  church  in  bygone  times.  It 
deserved  to  be  magnificent ; for  here  have  been  stately 
ceremonials,  marriages  of  kings,  coronations,  investi- 
tures, before  the  high  altar,  which  has  now  been  over- 
thrown or  crumbled  away;  and  the  floor — so  far  as 
there  is  any  floor  — consists  of  tombstones  of  the  old 
Scottish  nobility.  There  are  likewise  monuments, 
bearing  the  names  of  illustrious  Scotch  families ; and 
inscriptions,  in  the  Scotch  dialect,  on  the  walls. 


38 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185ft 

In  one  of  the  front  towers,  — the  only  remaining  one, 
indeed,  — we  saw  the  marble  tomb  of  a nobleman, 
Lord  Belhaven,  who  is  represented  reclining  on  the 
top,  — with  a bruised  nose,  of  course.  Except  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  I do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen 
an  old  monumental  statue  with  the  nose  entire.  In 
all  political  or  religious  outbreaks,  the  mob’s  first  im- 
pulse is  to  hit  the  illustrious  dead  on  their  noses. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  Abbey,  near  the  high  altar, 
is  the  vault  where  the  old  Scottish  kings  used  to  be 
buried ; but,  looking  in  through  the  window,  I saw  only 
a vacant  space,  — no  skull,  nor  bone,  nor  the  least 
fragment  of  a coffin.  In  fact,  I believe  the  royal  dead 
were  turned  out  of  their  last  home,  on  occasion  of  the 
Revolutionary  movements,  at  the  accession  of  William 
III. 

HIGH  STREET  AND  THE  GRASS-MARKET. 

Quitting  the  Abbey  and  the  Palace,  we  turned  into 
the  Canongate,  and  passed  thence  into  High  Street, 
which,  I think,  is  a continuation  of  the  Canongate ; and 
being  now  in  the  old  town  of  Edinburgh,  we  saw  those 
immensely  tall  houses,  seven  stories  high,  where  the 
people  live  in  tiers,  all  the  way  from  earth  to  middle 
air.  They  were  not  so  quaint  and  strange  looking  as  I 
expected  ; but  there  were  some  houses  of  very  antique 
individuality,  and  among  them  that  of  John  Knox, 
which  looks  still  in  good  repair.  One  thing  did  not  in 
the  least  fall'  short  of  my  expectations,  — the  evil  odor, 
for  which  Edinburgh  has  an  immemorial  renown,  — nor 
the  dirt  of  the  inhabitants,  old  and  young.  The  town, 
to  say  the  truth,  when  you  are  in  the  midst  of  it,  has  a 
very  sordid,  grimy,  shabby,  unswept,  unwashen  as- 


EDINBURGH  CASTLE. 


39 


1856.] 

pect,  grievously  at  variance  with  all  poetic  and  roman- 
tic  associations. 

From  the  High  Street  we  turned  aside  into  the 
Grass-Market,  the  scene  of  the  Porteous  Mob  ; and 
we  found  in  the  pavement  a cross  on  the  site  where  the 
execution  of  Porteous  is  supposed  to  have  taken  place. 

THE  CASTLE. 

Returning  then  to  the  High  Street,  we  followed  it 
up  to  the  Castle,  which  is  nearer  the  town,  and  of  more 
easy  access  from  it,  than  I had  supposed.  There  is  a 
large  court  or  parade  before  the  castle  gate,  with  a 
parapet  on  the  abrupt  side  of  the  hill,  looking  towards 
Arthur’s  Seat  and  Salisbury  Crags,  and  overhanging  a 
portion  of  the  old  town.  As  we  leaned  over  this  para- 
pet, my  nose  was  conscious  of  the  bad  odor  of  Edin- 
burgh, although  the  streets,  whence  it  must  have  come, 
were  hundreds  of  feet  below.  I have  had  some  ex- 
perience of  this  ugly  smell  in  the  poor  streets  of  Liver- 
pool ; but  I think  I never  perceived  it  before  crossing 
the  Atlantic.  It  is  the  odor  of  an  old  system  of  life ; 
the  scent  of  the  pine  forests  is  still  too  recent  with  us 
for  it  to  be  known  in  America. 

The  Castle  of  Edinburgh  is  free  (as  appears  to  be 
the  case  with  all  garrisoned  places  in  Great  Britain) 
to  the  entrance  of  any  peaceable  person.  So  we  went 
in,  and  found  a large  space  enclosed  within  the  walls, 
and  dwellings  for  officers,  and  accommodation  for  sol- 
diers, who  were  being  drilled,  or  loitering  about ; and 
as  the  hill  still  ascends  within  the  external  wall  of  the 
castle,  we  climbed  to  the  summit,  and  there  found  an 
old  soldier,  whom  we  engaged  to  be  our  guide.  He 


40 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

showed  us  Mons  Meg,  a great  old  cannon,  broken  at  the 
breech,  but  still  aimed  threateningly  from  the  highest 
ramparts ; and  then  he  admitted  us  into  an  old  chapel, 
said  to  have  been  built  by  a Queen  of  Scotland,  the 
sister  of  Harold,  King  of  England,  and  occupying  the 
very  highest  part  of  the  hill.  It  is  the  smallest  place 
of  worship  I ever  saw,  but  of  venerable  architecture, 
and  of  very  solid  construction.  The  old  soldier  had 
not  much  more  to  show  us  ; but  he  pointed  out  the  win- 
dow whence  one  of  the  kings  of  Scotland  is  said,  when 
a baby,  to  have  been  lowered  down,  the  whole  height 
of  the  castle,  to  the  bottom  of  the  precipice  on  which  it 
stands,  — a distance  of  seven  hundred  feet. 

After  the  soldier  had  shown  us  to  the  extent  of  his 
jurisdiction,  we  went  into  a suite  of  rooms,  in  one  of 
which  I saw  a portrait  of  Queen  Mary,  which  gave  me, 
for  the  first  time,  an  idea  that  she  was  really  a very 
beautiful  woman.  In  this  picture  she  is  wonderfully 
so,  — a tender  womanly  grace,  which  was  none  the  less 
tender  and  graceful  for  being  equally  imbued  with 
queenly  dignity  and  spirit.  It  was  too  lovely  a head 
to  be  cut  off.  I should  be  glad  to  know  the  authenticity 
of  this  picture. 

I do  not  know  that  we  did  anything  else  worthy 
of  note,  before  leaving  Edinburgh.  There  is  matter 
enough,  in  and  about  the  town,  to  interest  the  visitor 
for  a very  long  time  ; but  when  the  visit  is  calculated 
on  such  brevity  as  ours  was,  we  get  weary  of  the  place, 
before  even  these  few  hours  come  to  an  end.  Thus, 
for  my  part,  I was  not  sorry  when,  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  we  took  the  rail  for  Melrose,  where  we  duly 
arrived,  and  put  up  at  the  George  Inn. 


1856.] 


MELROSE. 


41 


MELROSE. 

Melrose  is  a village  of  rather  antique  aspect,  situated 
on  the  slope  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  Eildon  Hills, 
which,  from  this  point  of  view,  appear  like  one  hill, 
with  a double  summit.  The  village,  as  I said,  has  an 
old  look,  though  many  of  the  houses  have  at  least  been 
refronted  at  some  recent  date  ; but  others  are  as  ancient, 
I suppose,  as  the  days  when  the  Abbey  was  in  its 
splendor,  — a rustic  and  peasant-like  antiquity,  how- 
ever, low-roofed,  and  straw-thatched.  There  is  an  aged 
cross  of  stone  in  the  centre  of  the  town. 

Our  first  object,  of  course,  was  to  see  the  Abbey, 
which  stands  just  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  is 
attainable  only  by  applying  at  a neighboring  house,  the 
inhabitant  of  which  probably  supports  himself,  and  most 
comfortably,  too,  as  a showman  of  the  ruin.  He  un- 
locked the  wooden  gate,  and  admitted  us  into  what  is 
left  of  the  Abbey,  comprising  only  the  ruins  of  the 
church,  although  the  refectory,  the  dormitories,  and  the 
other  parts  of  the  establishment,  formerly  covered  the 
space  now  occupied  by  a dozen  village  houses.  Mel- 
rose Abbey  is  a very  satisfactory  ruin,  all  carpeted 
along  its  nave  and  transepts  with  green  grass ; and 
there  are  some  well-grown  trees  within  the  walls.  We 
saw  the  window,  now  empty,  through  which  the  tints 
of  the  painted  glass  fell  on  the  tombstone  of  Michael 
Scott,  and  the  tombstone  itself,  broken  in  three  pieces, 
but  with  a cross  engraven  along  its  whole  length.  It 
must  have  been  the  monument  of  an  old  monk  or  abbot, 
rather  than  a wizard.  There,  too,  is  still  the  “ marble 
stone  ” on  which  the  monk  and  warrior  sat  them  down. 


42* 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

and  which  is  supposed  to  mark  the  resting-place  of 
Alexander  of  Scotland.  There  are  remains,  both  with- 
out and  within  the  Abbey,  of  most  curious  and  wonder- 
fully minute  old  sculpture,  — foliage,  in  places  where  it 
is  almost  impossible  to  see  them,  and  where  the  sculp- 
tor could  not  have  supposed  that  they  would  be  seen, 
but  which  yet  are  finished  faithfully,  to  the  very  veins 
of  each  leaf,  in  stone  ; and  there  is  a continual  variety 
of  this  accurate  toil.  On  the  exterior  of  the  edifice 
there  is  equal  minuteness  of  finish,  and  a great  many 
niches  for  statues ; all  of  which,  I believe,  are  now 
gone,  although  there  are  carved  faces  at  some  points 
and  angles.  The  graveyard  around  the  Abbey  is  still 
the  only  one  which  the  village  has,  and  is  crowded 
with  gravestones,  among  which  I read  the  inscription 
of  one  erected  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  the  memory  of 
Thomas  Pardy,  one  of  his  servants.  Some  sable  birds 
— either  rooks  or  jackdaws  — were  flitting  about  the 
ruins,  inside  and  out. 

Mr.  Bowman  and  I talked  about  revisiting  Melrose 
by  moonlight ; but,  luckily,  there  was  to  be  no  moon 
that  evening.  I do  not  myself  think  that  daylight  and 
sunshine  make  a ruin  less  effective  than  twilight  or 
moonshine.  In  reference  to  Scott’s  description,  I think 
he  deplorably  diminishes  the  impressiveness  of  the 
scene  by  saying  that  the  alternate  buttresses,  seen  by 
moonlight,  look  as  if  made  of  ebon  and  ivory.  It  sug- 
gests a small  and  very  pretty  piece  of  cabinet-work  ; 
not  these  gray,  rough  walls,  which  Time  has  gnawed 
upon  for  a thousand  years,  without  eating  them  away. 

Leaving  the  Abbey,  we  took  a path  or  a road  which 
led  us  to  the  river  Tweed,  perhaps  a quarter  of  a mile 


DRYBURGH  ABBEY. 


43 


185(5.] 

off;  and  we  crossed  it  by  a foot-bridge,  — a pretty 
wide  stream,  a dimpling  breadth  of  transparent  water 
flowing  between  low  banks,  with  a margin  of  pebbles 
We  then  returned  to  our  inn,  and  had  tea,  and  passed 
a quiet  evening  by  the  fireside.  This  is  a good,  unpre- 
tentious inn  ; and  its  visitors’  book  indicates  that  it  af- 
fords general  satisfaction  to  those  who  come  here. 

In  the  morning  we  breakfasted  on  broiled  salmon, 
taken,  no  doubt,  in  the  neighboring  Tweed.  There 
was  a very  coarse-looking  man  at  table  with  us,  who 
informed  us  that  he  owned  the  best  horse  anywhere 
round  the  Eildon  Hills,  and  could  make  the  best  cast 
for  a salmon,  and  catch  a bigger  fish  than  anybody,  — 
with  other  self-laudation  of  the  same  kind.  The  waiter 
afterwards  told  us  that  he  was  the  son  of  an  Admiral  in 
the  neighborhood  ; and  soon,  his  horse  being  brought 
to  the  door,  we  saw  him  mount  and  ride  away.  He  sat 
on  horseback  with  ease  and  grace,  though  I rather  sus- 
pect, early  as  it  was,  that  he  was  already  in  his  cups. 
The  Scotch  seem  to  me  to  get  drunk  at  very  unseason- 
able hours.  I have  seen  more  drunken  people  here 
than  during  all  my  residence  in  England,  and,  generally, 
early  in  the  day.  Their  liquor,  so  far  as  I have  ob- 
served, makes  them  good-natured  and  sociable,  impart- 
ing a perhaps  needed  geniality  to  their  cold  natures. 

After  breakfast  we  took  a drosky,  or  whatever  these 
fore-and-aft-seated  vehicles  are  called,  and  set  out  for 

DRYBURGH  ABBEY, 

three  miles  distant.  It  was  a cold  though  rather  bright 
morning,  with  a most  shrewd  and  bitter  wind,  which 
blew  directly  in  my  face  as  I sat  beside  the  driver. 


44 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


An  English  wind  is  bad  enough,  but  methinks  a Scotch 
one  is  rather  worse  ; at  any  rate,  I was  half  frozen,  and 
wished  Dryburgh  Abbey  in  Tophet,  where  it  would 
have  been  warmer  work  to  go  and  see  it.  Some  of 
the  border  hills  were  striking,  especially  the  Cowden 
Knowe,  which  ascends  into  a prominent  and  lofty  peak. 
Such  villages  as  we  passed  did  not  greatly  differ  from 
English  villages.  By  and  by  we  came  to  the  banks  of 
the  Tweed,  at  a point  where  there  is  a ferry.  A car- 
riage was  on  the  river-bank,  the  driver  waiting  beside 
it ; for  the  people  who  came  in  it  had  already  been  fer- 
ried across  to  see  the  Abbey. 

The  ferryman  here  is  a young  girl  ; and,  stepping  in- 
to the  boat,  she  shoved  off,  and  so  skilfully  took  advan- 
tage of  the  eddies  of  the  stream,  which  is  here  deep  and 
rapid,  that  we  were  soon  on  the  other  side.  She  was 
by  no  means  an  uncomely  maiden,  with  pleasant  Scotch 
features,  and  a quiet  intelligence  of  aspect,  gleaming 
into  a smile  when  spoken  to ; much  tanned  with  all 
kinds  of  weather,  and,  though  slender,  yet  so  agile  and 
muscular  that  it  was  no  shame  for  a man  to  let  himself 
be  rowed  by  her. 

From  the  ferry  we  had  a walk  of  half  a mile,  more 
or  less,  to  a cottage,  where  we  found  another  young  girl, 
whose  business  it  is  to  show  the  Abbey.  She  was  of 
another  mould  than  the  ferry-maiden,  — a queer,  shy 
plaintive  sort  of  a body,  — and  answered  all  our  ques- 
tions in  a low,  wailing  tone.  Passing  through  an  apple- 
orchard,  we  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  Abbey,  the 
ruins  of  which  are  much  more  extensive  and  more 
picturesque  than  those  of  Melrose,  being  overrun  with 
bushes  and  shrubbery,  and  twined  about  with  ivy,  and 


DRYBURGH  ABBEY. 


45 


1856.] 

all  such  vegetation  as  belongs,  naturally,  to  old  walls. 
There  are  the  remains  of  the  refectory,  and  other  do- 
mestic parts  of  the  Abbey,  as  well  as  the  church,  and 
all  in  delightful  state  of  decay,  — not  so  far  gone  but 
that  we  had  bits  of  its  former  grandeur  in  the  columns 
and  broken  arches,  and  in  some  portions  of  the  edifice 
that  still  retain  a roof. 

In  the  chapter-house  we  saw  a marble  statue  of 
Newton,  wofully  maltreated  by  damps  and  weather; 
and  though  it  had  no  sort  of  business  there,  it  fitted  in- 
to the  ruins  picturesquely  enough.  There  is  another 
statue,  equally  unauthorized  ; both  having  been  placed 
here  by  a former  Earl  of  Buchan,  who  seems  to  have 
been  a little  astray  in  his  wits. 

On  one  side  of  the  church,  within  an  arched  recess, 
are  the  monuments  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his  family, 
— three  ponderous  tombstones  of  Aberdeen  granite,  pol- 
ished, but  already  dimmed  and  dulled  by  the  weather. 
The  whole  floor  of  the  recess  is  covered  by  these  monu- 
ments, that  of  Sir  Walter  being  the  middle  one,  with 
Lady  (oi;,  as  the  inscription  calls  her,  Dame)  Scott  be- 
yond him,  next  to  the  church  wall,  and  some  one  of  his 
sons  or  daughters  on  the  hither  side.  The  effect  of  his 
being  buried  here  is  to  make  the  whole  of  Dryburgh 
Abbey  his  monument.  There  is  another  arched  re- 
cess, twin  to  the  Scott  burial-place,  and  contiguous  to  it, 
in  which  are  buried  a Pringle  family;  it  being  their 
ancient  place  of  sepulture.  The  spectator  almost  inev- 
itably feels  as  if  they  were  intruders,  although  their 
rights  here  are  of  far  older  date  than  those  of  Scott. 

Dryburgh  Abbey  must  be  a most  beautiful  spot  of  a 
summer  afternoon ; and  it  was  beautiful  even  on  this 


46 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

not  very  genial  morning,  especially  when  the  sun  blinked 
out  upon  the  ivy,  and  upon  the  shrubberied  paths  that 
wound  about  the  ruins.  I think  I recollect  the  birds 
chirruping  in  this  neighborhood  of  it.  After  viewing  it 
sufficiently,  — sufficiently  for  this  one  time,  — we  went 
back  to  the  ferry,  and,  being  set  across  by  the  same 
Undine,  we  drove  back  to  Melrose.  No  longer  riding 
against  the  wind,  I found  it  not  nearly  so  cold  as  before. 
I now  noticed  that  the  Eildon  Hills,  seen  from  this  di- 
rection, rise  from  one  base  into  three  distinct  summits, 
ranged  in  a line.  According  to  “ The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,”  they  were  cleft  into  this  shape  by  the  magic  of 
Michael  Scott.  Reaching  Melrose  ....  without  alight- 
ing, we  set  off  for 

ABBOTSFORD, 

three  miles  off.  The  neighborhood  of  Melrose,  leading 
to  Abbotsford,  has  many  handsome  residences  of  mod- 
ern build  and  very  recent  date,  — suburban  villas,  each 
with  its  little  lawn  and  garden  ground,  such  as  we  see 
in  the  vicinity  of  Liverpool.  I noticed,  too,  one  castel- 
lated house,  of  no  great  size,  but  old,  and  looking  as  if 
its  tower  were  built,  not  for  show,  but  for  actual  defence 
in  the  old  border  warfare. 

We  were  not  long  in  reaching  Abbotsford.  The 
house,  which  is  more  compact,  and  of  considerably  less 
extent  than  I anticipated,  stands  in  full  view  from  the 
road,  and  at  only  a short  distance  from  it,  lower  down 
towards  the  river.  Its  aspect  disappointed  me ; but  so 
does  everything.  It  is  but  a villa,  after  all ; no  castle, 
nor  even  a large  manor-house,  and  very  unsatisfactory 
when  you  consider  it  in  that  light.  Indeed,  it  im- 
pressed me,  not  as  a real  house,  intended  for  the  home 


1856.]  ABBOTSFORD.  47 

of  human  beings,  — a house  to  die  in  or  to  be  born 
in,  — but  as  a plaything,  — something  in  the  same  cate- 
gory as  Horace  Walpole’s  Strawberry  Hill.  The  pres- 
ent owner  seems  to  have  found  it  insufficient  for  the 
actual  purposes  of  life ; for  he  is  adding  a wing,  which 
promises  to  be  as  extensive  as  the  original  structure. 

We  rang  at  the  front  door  (the  family  being  now  ab- 
sent), and  were  speedily  admitted  by  a middle-aged  or 
somewhat  elderly  man,  — the  butler,  I suppose,  or 
some  upper  servant,  — who  at  once  acceded  to  our  re- 
quest to  be  permitted  to  see  the  house.  We  stepped 
from  the  porch  immediately  into  the  entrance-hall ; and 
having  the  great  Hall  of  Battle  Abbey  in  my  memory, 
and  the  ideal  of  a baronial  hall  in  my  mind,  I was  quite 
taken  aback  at  the  smallness  and  narrowness  and  low- 
ness of  this ; which,  however,  is  a very  fine  one,  on  its 
own  little  scale.  In  truth,  it  is  not  much  more  than  a 
vestibule.  The  ceiling  is  carved  ; and  every  inch  of 
the  walls  is  covered  with  claymores,  targets,  and  other 
weapons  and  armor,  or  old-time  curiosities,  tastefully 
arranged,  many  of  which,  no  doubt,  have  a history  at- 
tached to  them,  — or  had,  in  Sir  Walter’s  own  mind. 
Our  attendant  was  a very  intelligent  person,  and  point- 
ed out  much  that  was  interesting  ; but  in  such  a multi- 
tudinous variety  it  was  almost  impossible  to  fix  the  eye 
upon  any  one  thing.  Probably  the  apartment  looked 
smaller  than  it  really  was,  on  account  of  being  so  wains- 
coted and  festooned  with  curiosities.  I remember 
nothing  particularly,  unless  it  be  the  coal-grate  in  the 
fireplace,  which  was  one  formerly  used  by  Archbishop 
Sharpe,  the  prelate  whom  Balfour  of  Burley  murdered. 
Either  in  this  room  or  the  next  one,  there  was  a glass 


48 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185a 


case  containing  the  suit  of  clothes  last  worn  by  Scott,  — 
a short  green  coat,  somewhat  worn,  with  silvered  but- 
tons, a pair  of  gray  tartan  trousers,  and  a white  hat. 
It  was  in  the  hall  that  we  saw  these  things ; for  there 
too,  I recollect,  were  a good  many  walking-sticks  that 
had  been  used  by  Scott,  and  the  hatchet  with  which  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  lopping  branches  from  his  trees,  as 
he  walked  among  them. 

From  the  hall  we  passed  into  the  study,  — a small 
room,  lined  with  the  books  which  Sir  Walter,  no  doubt, 
was  most  frequently  accustomed  to  refer  to ; and  our 
guide  pointed  out  some  volumes  of  the  Moniteur , which 
he  used  while  writing  the  history  of  Napoleon.  Proba- 
bly these  were  the  driest  and  dullest  volumes  in  his 
whole  library.  About  mid-height  of  the  walls  of  the 
study  there  is  a gallery,  with  a short  flight  of  steps  for 
the  convenience  of  getting  at  the  upper  books.  A study- 
table  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  at  one  end 
of  the  table  stands  an  easy-chair,  covered  with  morocco, 
and  with  ample  space  to  fling  one’s  self  back.  The 
servant  told  me  that  I might  sit  down  in  this  chair,  for 
that  Sir  Walter  sat  there  while  writing  his  romances, 
“and  perhaps,”  quoth  the  man,  smiling,  “ you  may  catch 
some  inspiration.”  What  a bitter  word  this  would  have 
been  if  he  had  known  me  to  be  a romance-writer ! 
“ No,  I never  shall  be  inspired  to  write  romances ! ” I 
answered,  as  if  such  an  idea  had  never  occurred  to  me. 
I sat  down,  however.  This  study  quite  satisfied  me,  be- 
ing planned  on  principles  of  common  sense,  and  made 
to  work  in,  and  without  any  fantastic  adaptation  of  old 
forms  to  modern  uses. 

Next  to  the  study  is  the  library,  an  apartment  of 


ABBOTSFORD. 


49 


1856.] 

respectable  size,  and  containing  as  many  books  as  it 
can  hold,  all  protected  by  wire-work.  I did  not  observe 
what  or  whose  works  were  here ; but  the  attendant 
showed  us  one  whole  compartment  full  of  volumes  hav- 
ing reference  to  ghosts,  witchcraft,  and  the  supernatural 
generally.  It  is  remarkable  that  Scott  should  have 
felt  interested  in  such  subjects,  being  such  a worldly 
and  earthly  man  as  he  was ; but  then,  indeed,  almost 
all  forms  of  popular  superstition  do  clothe  the  ethereal 
with  earthly  attributes,  and  so  make  it  grossly  percep- 
tible. 

The  library,  like  the  study,  suited  me  well,  — merely 
the  fashion  of  the  apartment,  I mean,  — and  I doubt 
not  it  contains  as  many  curious  volumes  as  are  any- 
where to  be  met  with  within  a similar  space.  The 
drawing-room  adjoins  it ; and  here  we  saw  a beautiful 
ebony  cabinet,  which  was  presented  to  Sir  Walter  by 
George  IV.  ; and  some  pictures  of  much  interest,  — one 
of  Scott  himself  at  thirty -five,  rather  portly,  with  a 
heavy  face,  but  shrewd  eyes,  which  seem  to  observe  you 
closely.  There  is  a full-length  of  his  eldest  son,  an  offi- 
cer of  dragoons,  leaning  on  his  charger ; and  a portrait 
of  Lady  Scott,  — a brunette,  with  black  hair  and  eyes, 
very  pretty,  warm,  vivacious,  and  un-English  in  her  as- 
pect. I am  not  quite  sure  whether  I saw  all  these  pic- 
tures in  the  drawing-room,  or  some  of  them  in  the  dining- 
room ; but  the  one  that  struck  me  most  — and  very 
much  indeed  — was  the  head  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots, 
literally  the  head  cut  off,  and  lying  on  a dish.  It  is 
said  to  have  been  painted  by  an  Italian  or  French  artist, 
two  days  after  her  death.  The  hair  curls  or  flows  all 
about  it;  the  face  is  of  a death-like  hue,  but  has  an  ex- 
3 


VOL.  II. 


D 


50 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


pression  of  quiet,  after  much  pain  and  trouble,  — very 
beautiful,  very  sweet  and  sad ; and  it  affected  me 
strongly  with  the  horror  and  strangeness  of  such  a head 
being  severed  from  its  body.  Methinks  I should  not 
like  to  have  it  always  in  the  room  with  me.  I thought 
of  the  lovely  picture  of  Mary  that  I had  seen  at  Edin- 
burgh Castle,  and  reflected  what  a symbol  it  would  be, 
— how  expressive  of  a human  being  having  her  destiny 
in  her  own  hands,  — if  that  beautiful  young  Queen  were 
painted  as  carrying  this  dish,  containing  her  own  woful 
head,  and  perhaps  casting  a curious  and  pitiful  glance 
down  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  not  her  own. 

Also,  in  the  drawing-room,  there  was  a plaster  cast 
of  Sir  Walter’s  face,  taken  after  death  ; the  only  one  in 
existence,  as  our  guide  assured  us.  It  is  not  often  that 
one  sees  a homelier  set  of  features  than  this ; no  eleva- 
tion, no  dignity,  whether  bestowed  by  nature  or  thrown 
over  them  by  age  or  death  ; sunken  cheeks,  the  bridge 
of  the  nose  depressed,  and  the  end  turned  up  ; the 
mouth  puckered,  and  no  chin  whatever,  or  hardly  any. 
The  expression  was  not  calm  and  happy ; but  rather  as 
if  he  were  in  a perturbed  slumber,  perhaps  nothing 
short  of  nightmare.  I wonder  that  the  family  allow 
this  cast  to  be  shown,  — the  last  record  that  there  is  of 
Scott’s  personal  reality,  and  conveying  such  a wretched 
and  unworthy  idea  of  it. 

Adjoining  the  drawing-room  is  the  dining-room,  in 
one  corner  of  which,  between  two  windows,  Scott  died. 
It  was  now  a quarter  of  a century  since  his  death ; but 
it  seemed  to  me  that  we  spoke  with  a sort  of  hush  in 
our  voices,  as  if  he  were  still  dying  here,  or  had  but 
just  departed  I remember  nothing  else  in  this  room. 


ABBOTSFORD. 


51 


1856.] 

The  next  one  is  the  armory,  which  is  the  smallest  of  all 
that  we  had  passed  through ; but  its  walls  gleam  with 
the  steel  blades  of  swords,  and  the  barrels  of  pistols, 
matchlocks,  firelocks,  and  all  manner  of  deadly  weapons, 
whether  European  or  Oriental ; for  there  are  many 
trophies  here  of  East-Indian  warfare.  I saw  Rob  Roy’s 
gun,  rifled  and  of  very  large  bore ; and  a beautiful  pis- 
tol, formerly  Claverhouse’s ; and  the  sword  of  Mon- 
trose, given  him  by  King  Charles,  the  silver  hilt  of 
which  I grasped.  There  was  also  a superb  claymore, 
in  an  elaborately  wrought  silver  sheath,  made  for  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  and  presented  to  him  by  the  Highland 
Society,  for  his  services  in  marshalling  the  clans  when 
George  IV.  came  to  Scotland.  There  were  a thousand 
other  things,  which  I knew  must  be  most  curious,  yet 
did  not  ask  nor  care  about  them,  because  so  many 
curiosities  drive  one  crazy,  and  fret  one’s  heart  to  death. 
On  the  whole,  there  is  no  simple  and  great  impression 
left  by  Abbotsford ; and  I felt  angry  and  dissatisfied 
with  myself  for  not  feeling  something  which  I did  not 
and  could  not  feel.  But  it  is  just  like  going  to  a muse- 
um, if  you  look  into  particulars  ; and  one  learns  from  it, 
too,  that  Scott  could  not  have  been  really  a wise  man, 
nor  an  earnest  one,  nor  one  that  grasped  the  truth  of 
life ; he  did  but  play,  and  the  play  grew  very  sad 
toward  its  close.  In  a certain  way,  however,  I under- 
stand his  romances  the  better  for  having  seen  his  house  ; 
and  his  house  the  better  for  having  read  his  romances. 
They  throw  light  on  one  another. 

We  had  now  gone  through  all  the  show-rooms ; and 
the  next  door  admitted  us  again  into  the  entrance-hall, 
where  we  recorded  our  names  in  the  visitors’  book.  It 


52 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

contains  more  names  of  Americans,  I should  judge,  from 
casting  my  eyes  back  over  last  year’s  record,  than  of  alV 
other  people  in  the  world,  including  Great  Britain. 

Bidding  farewell  to  Abbotsford,  I cannot  but  confess 
a sentiment  of  remorse  for  having  visited  the  dwelling- 
place  — as  just  before  I visited  the  grave  — of  the 
mighty  minstrel  and  romancer  with  so  cold  a heart  and 
in  so  critical  a mood,  — his  dwelling-place  and  his 
grave  whom  I had  so  admired  and  loved,  and  who  had 
done  so  much  for  my  happiness  when  I was  young. 
But  I,  and  the  world  generally,  now  look  at  him  from  a 
different  point  of  view  ; and,  besides,  these  visits  to  the 
actual  haunts  of  famous  people,  though  long  dead,  have 
the  effect  of  making  us  sensible,  in  some  degree,  of  their 
human  imperfections,  as  if  we  actually  saw  them  alive. 
I felt  this  effect,  to  a certain  extent,  even  with  respect 
to  Shakespeare,  when  I visited  Stratford-on-Avon.  As 
for  Scott,  I still  cherish  him  in  a warm  place,  and  I do 
not  know  that  I have  any  pleasanter  anticipation,  as  re- 
gards books,  than  that  of  reading  all  his  novels  over 
again  after  we  get  back  to  the  Wayside. 

[This  Mr.  Hawthorne  did,  aloud  to  his  family,  the 
year  following  his  return  to  America.  — Ed.] 

It  was  now  one  or  two  o’clock,  and  time  for  us  to 
take  the  rail  across  the  borders.  Many  a mile  behind 
us,  as  we  rushed  onward,  we  could  see  the  threefold 
Eildon  Hill,  and  probably  every  pant  of  the  engine 
carried  us  over  some  spot  of  ground  which  Scott  has 
made  fertile  with  poetry.  For  Scotland  — cold,  cloudy, 
barren  little  bit  of  earth  that  it  is  — owes  all  the  inter- 
est that  the  world  feels  in  it  to  him.  Few  men  have 
done  so  much  for  their  country  as  he.  However,  having 


BERWICK.  — NEWCASTLE. 


53 


1856.] 

no  guide-book,  we  were  none  the  wiser  for  what  we  saw 
out  of  the  window  of  the  rail-carriage ; but,  now  and 
then,  a castle  appeared,  on  a commanding  height,  visible 
for  miles  round,  and  seemingly  in  good  repair,  — now, 
in  some  low  and  sheltered  spot,  the  gray  walls  of  an 
abbey ; now,  on  a little  eminence,  the  ruin  of  a border 
fortress,  and  near  it  the  modern  residence  of  the  laird, 
with  its  trim  lawn  and  shrubbery.  We  were  not  long 
in  coming  to 

BERWICK, 

a town  which  seems  to  belong  both  to  England  and 
Scotland,  or  perhaps  is  a kingdom  by  itself,  for  it  stands 
on  both  sides  of  the  boundary  river,  the  Tweed,  where 
it  empties  into  the  German  Ocean.  From  the  railway 
bridge  we  had  a good  view  over  the  town,  which  looks 
ancient,  with  red  roofs  on  all  the  gabled  houses ; and  it 
being  a sunny  afternoon,  though  bleak  and  chill,  the 
sea-view  was  very  fine.  The  Tweed  is  here  broad,  and 
looks  deep,  flowing  far  beneath  the  bridge,  between 

high  banks.  This  is  all  that  I can  say  of  Berwick, 

(pronounced  Berrick),  for  though  we  spent  above  an 
hour  at  the  station  waiting  for  the  train,  we  were  so 

long  in  getting  our  dinner  that  we  had  not  time  for 

anything  else.  I remember,  however,  some  gray  walls, 
that  looked  like  the  last  remains  of  an  old  castle,  near 
the  railway  station.  We  next  took  the  train  for 

NEWCASTLE, 

the  way  to  which,  for  a considerable  distance,  lies 
within  sight  of  the  sea ; and  in  close  vicinity  to  the 
shore  we  saw  Holy  Isle,  on  which  are  the  ruins  of  an 
abbey.  Norham  Castle  must  be  somewhere  in  this 


54 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856 

neighborhood,  on  the  English  shore  of  the  Tweed.  It 
was  pretty  late  in  the  afternoon  — almost  nightfall  — 
when  we  reached  Newcastle,  over  the  roofs  of  which, 
as  over  those  of  Berwick,  we  had  a view  from  the 
railway,  and  like  Berwick,  it  was  a congregation  of 
mostly  red  roofs;  but,  unlike  Berwick  (the  atmosphere 
over  which  was  clear  and  transparent),  there  came  a 
gush  of  smoke  from  every  chimney,  which  made  it  the 
dimmest  and  smokiest  place  I ever  saw.  This  is 
partly  owing  to  the  iron  founderies  and  furnaces  ; ' but 
each  domestic  chimney,  too,  was  smoking  on  its  own 
account,  — coal  b^ing  so  plentiful  there,  no  doubt,  that 
the  fire  is  always  kept  freshly  heaped  with  it,  reason  or 
none.  Out  of  this  smoke-cloud  rose  tall  steeples  ; and 
it  was  discernible  that  the  town  stretched  widely 
over  an  uneven  surface,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne, 
which  is  navigable  up  hither  ten  miles  from  the  sea 
for  pretty  large  vessels. 

We  established  ourselves  at  the  Station  Hotel,  and 
then  walked  out  to  see  something  of  the  town  ; but  I 
remember  only  a few  streets  of  duskiness  and  dinginess, 
with  a glimpse  of  the  turrets  of  a castle  to  which  we 
could  not  find  our  way.  So,  as  it  was  getting  twilight- 
ish  and  very  cold,  we  went  back  to  the  hotel,  which  is 
a very  good  one,  better  than  any  one  I have  seen  in  the 
South  of  England,  and  almost  or  quite  as  good  as  those 
of  Scotland.  The  coffee-room  is  a spacious  and  hand- 
some apartment,  adorned  with  a full-length  portrait  of 
Wellington,  and  other  pictures,  and  in  the  whole  es- 
tablishment there  was  a well-ordered  alacrity  and  lib- 
eral provision  for  the  comfort  of  guests  that  one  sel- 
dom sees  in  English  inns.  There  are  a good  many 


NEWCASTLE. 


55 


1856.] 

American  guests  in  Newcastle,  and  through  all  the 
North. 

An  old  Newcastle  gentleman  and  his  friend  came 
into  the  smoking-room,  and  drank  three  glasses  of  hot 
whiskey-toddy  apiece,  and  were  still  going  on  to  drink 
more  when  we  left  them.  These  respectable  persons 
probably  went  away  drunk  that  night,  yet  thought  none 
the  worse  of  themselves  or  of  one  another  for  it.  It  is 
like  returning  to  times  twenty  years  gone  by  for  a 
New-Englander  to  witness  such  simplicity  of  manners. 

The  next  morning,  May  8th,  I rose  and  break- 
fasted early,  and  took  the  rail  soon  after  eight  o’clock, 
leaving  Mr.  Bowman  behind ; for  he  had  business  in 
Newcastle,  and  would  not  follow  till  some  hours  after- 
wards. There  is  no  use  in  trying  to  make  a narrative 
of  anything  that  one  sees  along  an  English  railway. 
All  I remember  of  this  tract  of  country  is  that  one  of 
the  stations  at  which  we  stopped  for  an  instant  is  called 
“ Washington,”  and  this  is,  no  doubt,  the  old  family 
place,  where  the  De  Wessyngtons,  afterwards  the  Wash- 
ingtons, were  first  settled  in  England.  Before  reaching 
York,  first  one  old  lady  and  then  another  (Quaker) 
lady  got  into  the  carriage  along  with  me  ; and  they 
seemed  to  be  going  to  York,  on  occasion  of  some  fair  or 
celebration.  This  was  all  the  company  I had,  and  their 
advent  the  only  incident.  It  was  about  eleven  o’clock 
when  I beheld  York  Cathedral  rising  huge  above 
the  old  city,  which  stands  on  the  river  Ouse,  sep- 
arated by  it  from  the  railway  station,  but  commu- 
nicating by  a ferry  (or  two)  and  a bridge.  I wan- 
dered forth,  and  found  my  way  over  the  latter  into  the 
ancient  and  irregular  streets  of 


56 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856, 


YORK, 

crooked,  narrow,  or  of  unequal  width,  puzzling,  and 
many  of  them  bearing  the  name  of  the  particular  gate 
in  the  old  walls  of  the  city  to  which  they  lead.  There 
were  no  such  fine,  ancient,  stately  houses  as  some  of 
those  in  Shrewsbury  were,  nor  such  an  aspect  of  an- 
tiquity as  in  Chester  ; but  still  York  is  a quaint  old 
place,  and  what  looks  most  modern  is  probably  only 
something  old,  hiding  itself  behind  a new  front,  as 
elsewhere  in  England. 

I found  my  way  by  a sort  of  instinct,  as  directly  as 
possible,  to 

YORK  MINSTER. 

It  stands  in  the  midst  of  a small  open  space,  — or  a 
space  that  looks  small  in  comparison  with  the  vast  bulk 
of  the  cathedral.  I was  not  so  much  impressed  by  its 
exterior  as  I have  usually  been  by  Gothic  buildings, 
because  it  is  rectangular  in  its  general  outline  and  in  its 
towers,  and  seems  to  lack  the  complexity  and  mysteri- 
ous plan  which  perplexes  and  wonder-strikes  me  in 
most  cathedrals.  Doubtless,  however,  if  I had  known 
better  how  to  admire  it,  I should  have  found  it  wholly 
admirable.  At  all  events,  it  has  a satisfactory  huge- 
ness. Seeking  my  way  in,  I at  first  intruded  upon  the 
Registry  of  Deeds,  which  occupies  a building  patched 
up  against  the  mighty  side  of  the  cathedral,  and  hardly 
discernible,  so  small  the  one  and  so  large  the  other.  I 
finally  hit  upon  the  right  door,  and  I felt  no  disappoint- 
ment in  my  first  glance  around  at  the  immensity  of  en- 
closed space  ; — I see  now  in  my  mind’s  eye  a dim 
length  of  nave,  a breadth  in  the  transepts  like  a great 


YORK. 


57 


1856.] 

plain,  and  such  an  airy  height  beneath  the  central  tower 
that  a worshipper  could  certainly  get  a good  way  towards 
heaven  without  rising  above  it.  I only  wish  that  the 
screen,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  between  the  choir  and 
nave,  could  be  thrown  down,  so  as  to  give  us  leave  to 
take  in  the  whole  vastitude  at  once.  I never  could  un- 
derstand why,  after  building  a great  church,  they  choose 
to  sunder  it  in  halves  by  this  mid-partition.  But  let 
me  be  thankful  for  what  I got,  and  especially  for  the 
height  and  massiveness  of  the  clustered  pillars  that  sup- 
port the  arches  on  which  rests  the  central  tower.  I 
remember  at  F urness  Abbey  I saw  two  tall  pillars  sup- 
porting a broken  arch,  and  thought  it  the  most  majestic 
fragment  of  architecture  that  could  possibly  be.  But 
these  pillars  have  a nobler  height,  and  these  arches  a 
greater  sweep.  What  nonsense  to  try  to  write  about  a 
cathedral ! 

There  is  a great,  cold  bareness  and  bleakness  about 
the  interior;  for  there  are  very  few  monuments,  and 
those  seem  chiefly  to  be  of  ecclesiastical  people.  I saw 
no  armed  knights,  asleep  on  the  tops  of  their  tombs ; 
but  there  was  a curious  representation  of  a skeleton,  at 
full  length,  under  the  table-slab  of  one  of  the  monu- 
ments. The  walls  are  of  a grayish  hue,  not  so  agree- 
able as  the  rich  dark  tint  of  the  inside  of  Westminster 
Abbey ; but  a great  many  of  the  windows  are  still 
filled  with  ancient  painted  glass,  the  very  small  squares 
and  pieces  of  which  are  composed  into  splendid  de- 
signs of  saints  and  angels,  and  scenes  from  Script- 
ure. 

There  were  a few  watery  blinks  of  sunshine  out-of- 
doors,  and  whenever  these  came  through  the  old  paint* 

3* 


58 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


ed  windows,  some  of  the  more  vivid  colors  were  faintly 
thrown  upon  the  pavement  of  the  cathedral,  — very 
faintly,  it  is  true  ; for,  in  the  first  place,  the  sunshine  was 
not  brilliant ; and  painted  glass,  too,  fades  in  the  course 
of  the  ages,  perhaps,  like  all  man’s  other  works.  There 
were  two  or  three  windows  of  modern  manufacture,  and 
far  more  magnificent,  as  to  brightness  of  color  and  ma- 
terial beauty,  than  the  ancient  ones  ; but  yet  they  looked 
vulgar,  glaring,  and  impertinent  in  comparison,  because 
such  revivals  or  imitations  of  a long-disused  art  cannot 
have  the  good  faith  and  earnestness  of  the  originals. 
Indeed,  in  the  very  coloring,  I felt  the  same  difference 
as  between  heart’s  blood  and  a scarlet  dye.  It  is  a pity, 
however,  that  the  old  windows  cannot  be  washed,  both 
inside  and  out,  for  now  they  have  the  dust  of  centuries 
upon  them. 

The*  screen  or  curtain  between  the  nave  and  choir 
has  eleven  carved  figures,  at  full  length,  which  appeared 
to  represent  kings,  some  of  them  wearing  crowns,  and 
bearing  sceptres  or  swords.  They  were  in  wood,  and 
wrought  by  some  Gothic  hand.  These  carvings,  and 
the  painted  windows,  and  the  few  monuments,  are  all 
the  details  that  the  mind  can  catch  hold  of  in  the  im- 
mensity of  this  cathedral ; and  I must  say  that  it  was  a 
dreary  place  on  that  cold,  cloudy  day.  I doubt  whether 
a cathedral  is  a sort  of  edifice  suited  to  the  English 
climate.  The  first  buildings  of  the  kind  were  probably 
erected  by  people  who  had  bright  and  constant  sun- 
shine, and  who  desired  a shadowy  awfulness  — like  that 
of  a forest,  with  its  arched  wood-paths  — into  which  to 
retire  in  their  religious  moments. 

In  America,  on  a hot  summer’s  day,  how  delightful  its 


YORK. 


59 


1856.] 

cooJ  and  solemn  depths  would  be  ! The  painted  win- 
dows, too,  were  evidently  contrived,  in  the  first  instance, 
by  persons  who  saw  how  effective  they  would  prove 
when  a vivid  sun  shone  through  them.  But  in  Eng- 
land, the  interior  of  a cathedral,  nine  days  out  of  ten,  is 
a vast  sullenness,  and  as  chill  as  death  and  the  tomb. 
At  any  rate,  it  was  so  tp-day,  and  so  thought  one  of  the 
old  vergers,  who  kept  walking  as  briskly  as  he  could 
along  the  width  of  the  transepts.  There  were  several 
of  these  old  men  when  I first  came  in,  but  they  went 
off,  all  but  this  one,  before  I departed.  None  of  them 
said  a word  to  me,  nor  I to  them  : and  admission  to  the 
Minster  seems  to  be  entirely  free. 

After  emerging  from  this  great  gloom,  I wandered  to 
and  fro  about  York,  and  contrived  to  go  astray  within 
no  very  wide  space.  If  its  history  be  authentic,  it  is  an 
exceedingly  old  city,  having  been  founded  about  a thou- 
sand years  before  the  Christian  era.  There  used  to  be 
a palace  of  the  Roman  emperors  here,  and  the  Emperor 
Severus  died  here,  as  did  some  of  his  successors  ; and 
Constantine  the  Great  was  born  here.  I know  not 
what,  if  any,  relics  of  those  earlier  times  there  may  be ; 
but  York  is  still  partly  surrounded  with  a wall,  and  has 
several  gates,  which  the  city  authorities  take  pains  to 
keep  in  repair.  I grew  weary  in  my  endeavor  to  find 
my  way  back  to  the  railway,  and  inquired  it  of  one  of 
the  good  people  of  York,  — a respectable,  courteous, 
gentlemanly  person,  — and  he  told  me  to  walk  along  the 
walls.  Then  he  went  on  a considerable  distance  : but 
seemed  to  repent  of  not  doing  more  for  me;  so  he 
waited  till  I came  up,  and,  walking  along  by  my  side, 
pointed  out  the  castle,  now  the  jail,  and  the  place  of 


GO 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185G 


execution,  and  directed  me  to  the  principal  gateway 
of  the  city,  and  instructed  me  how  to  reach  the  ferry. 
The  path  along  the  wall  leads,  in  one  place,  through  a 
room  over  the  arch  of  a gateway,  — a low,  thick-walled, 
stone  apartment,  where  doubtless  the  gatekeeper  used 
to  lodge,  and  to  parley  with  those  who  desired  en- 
trance. 

I found  my  way  to  the  ferry  over  the  Ouse*,  accord- 
ing to  this  kind  Yorkist’s  instructions.  The  ferryman 
told  me  that  the  fee  for  crossing  was  a halfpenny,  which 
seemed  so  ridiculously  small  that  I offered  him  more  , 
but  this  unparalleled  Englishman  declined  taking  any- 
thing beyond  his  rightful  halfpenny.  This  seems  so 
wonderful  to  me  that  I can  hardly  trust  my  own 
memory. 

Reaching  the  station,  I got  some  dinner,  and  at  four 
o’clock,  just  as  I was  starting,  came  Mr.  Bowman,  my 
very  agreeable  and  sensible  travelling  companion.  Our 
journeying  together  was  ended  here ; for  he  was  to 
keep  on  to  London,  and  I to  return  to  Liverpool.  So 
we  parted,  and  I took  the  rail  westward  across  England, 
through  a very  beautiful,  and  in  some  degree  pictur- 
esque, tract  of  country,  diversified  with  hills,  through 
the  valleys  and  vistas  of  which  goes  the  railroad,  with 
dells  diverging  from  it  on  either  hand,  and  streams  and 
arched  bridges,  and  old  villages,  and  a hundred  pleasant 
English  sights.  After  passing  Rochdale,  however,  the 
dreary  monotony  of  Lancashire  succeeded  this  variety. 
Between  nine  and  ten  o’clock  I reached  the  Tithebarn 
station  in  Liverpool.  Ever  since  until  now,  May  17th, 
I have  employed  my  leisure  moments  in  scribbling  off 
the  journal  of  my  tour ; but  it  has  greatly  lost  by  not. 


YORK. 


61 


1856.] 

having  been  written  daily,  as  the  scenes  and  occur- 
rences were  fresh  The  most  picturesque  points  can  be 
seized  in  no  other  way,  and  the  hues  of  the  affair  fade 
as  quickly  as  those  of  a dying  dolphin  ; or  as,  according 
to  Audubon,  the  plumage  of  a dead  bird. 

One  thing  that  struck  me  as  much  as  anything  else 
in  the  Highlands  I had  forgotten  to  put  down.  In  our 
walk  at  Balloch,  along  the  road  within  view  of  Loch 
Lomond  and  the  neighboring  hills,  it  was  a brilliant 
sunshiny  afternoon,  and  I never  saw  any  atmosphere  so 
beautiful  as  that  among  the  mountains.  It  was  a clear, 
transparent,  ethereal  blue,  as  distinct  as  a vapor,  and  yet 
by  no  means  vaporous,  but  a pure,  crystalline  medium. 
I have  witnessed  nothing  like  this  among  the  Berkshire 
hills  nor  elsewhere. 

York  is  full  of  old  churches,  some  of  them  very 
antique  in  appearance,  the  stones  weather-worn,  their 
edges  rounded  by  time,  blackened,  and  with  all  the 
tokens  of  sturdy  and  age-long  decay ; and  in  some  of 
them  I noticed  windows  quite  full  of  old  painted  glass,  a 
dreary  kind  of  minute  patchwork,  all  of  one  dark  and 
dusty  hue,  when  seen  from  the  outside.  Yet  had  I seen 
them  from  the  interior  of  the  church,  there  doubtless 
would  have  been  rich  and  varied  apparitions  of  saints, 
with  their  glories  round  their  heads,  and  bright-winged 
angels,  and  perhaps  even  the  Almighty  Father  himself, 
so  far  as  conceivable  and  representable  by  human 
powers.  It  requires  light  from  heaven  to  make  them 
visible.  If  the  church  were  merely  illuminated  from 
the  inside,  — that  is  by  what  light  a man  can  get  from 
his  own  understanding,  — the  pictures  would  be  invisible, 
or  wear  at  best  but  a miserable  aspect. 


62 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


LIVERPOOL. 

May  ^kth.  — Day  before  yesterday  I had  a call  at 
the  Consulate  from  one  of  the  Potentates  of  the  Earth, 
— a woolly-haired  negro,  rather  thin  and  spare,  be- 
tween forty  and  fifty  years  of  age,  plainly  dressed  ; at 
the  first  glimpse  of  whom,  I could  readily  have  mis- 
taken him  for  some  ship’s  steward,  seeking  to  enter  a 
complaint  of  his  captain.  However,  this  was  President 
Roberts,  of  Liberia,  introduced  by  a note  from  Mrs. 
O’Sullivan,  whom  he  has  recently  met  in  Madeira.  I 
was  rather  favorably  impressed  with  him  ; for  his  de- 
portment was  very  simple,  and  without  any  of  the 
flourish  and  embroidery  which  a negro  might  be  likely 
to  assume  on  finding  himself  elevated  from  slavery  to 
power.  He  is  rather  shy,  — reserved,  at  least,  and 
undemonstrative,  yet  not  harshly  so,  — in  fine,  with  man- 
ners that  offer  no  prominent  points  for  notice  or  criticism ; 
although  I felt,  or  thought  I felt,  that  his  color  w^  con- 
tinually before  his  mind,  and  that  he  walks  cautiously 
among  men,  as  conscious  that  every  new  introduction 
is  a new  experiment.  He  is  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
an  interesting  man  (so  far  as  I discovered  in  a very 
brief  interview),  apart  from  his  position  and  history  ; 
his  face  is  not  striking,  nor  so  agreeable  as  if  it  were 
jet  black  ; but  there  may  be  miles  and  miles  of  depth 
in  him  which  I know  nothing  of.  Our  conversation 
was  of  the  most  unimportant  character;  for  he  had 
called  merely  to  deliver  the  note,  and  sat  only  a few 
minutes,  during  which  he  merely  responded  to  my  ob- 
servations, and  originated  no  remarks.  Intelligence, 
discretion,  tact, — these  are  probably  his  traits;  not 
force  of  character  and  independence. 


MANCHESTER. 


63 


1856.} 

The  same  day  I took  the  rail  from  the  Lime  Street 
station  for 

MANCHESTER, 

to  meet  Bennoch,  who  had  asked  me  thither  to  dine 
with  him.  I had  never  visited  Manchester  before, 
though  now  so  long  resident  within  twenty  miles  of  it ; 
neither  is  it  particularly  worth  visiting,  unless  for  the 
sake  of  its  factories,  which  I did  not  go  to  see.  It  is  a 
dingy  and  heavy  town,  with  very  much  the  aspect  of 
Liverpool,  being,  like  the  latter,  built  almost  entirely 
within  the  present  century.  I stopped  at  the  Albion 
Hotel,  and,  as  Bennoch  was  out,  I walked  forth  to 
view  the  city,  and  made  only  such  observations  as  are 
recorded  above.  Opposite  the  hotel  stands  the  Infirm- 
ary, — a very  large  edifice,  which,  when  erected,  was  on 
the  outskirts,  or  perhaps  in  the  rural  suburbs,  of  the 
town,  but  it  is  now  almost  in  its  centre.  In  the  en- 
closed space  before  it  stands  the  statue  of  Peel,  and  sits 
a statue  of  Dr.  Dalton,  the  celebrated  chemist,  who  was 
a native  of  Manchester. 

Returning  to  the  hotel,  I sat  down  in  the  room 
where  we  were  to  dine,  and  in  due  time  Bennoch  made 
his  appearance,  with  the  same  glow  and  friendly 
warmth  in  his  face  that  I had  left  burning  there  when 
we  parted  in  London.  If  this  man  has  not  a heart, 
then  no  man  ever  had.  I like  him  inexpressibly  for 
his  heart  and  for  his  intellect,  and  for  his  flesh  and  blood  ; 
and  if  he  has  faults,  I do  not  know  them,  nor  care  tp 
know  them,  nor  value  him  the  less  if  I did  know  them. 
He  went  to  his  room  to  dress  ; and  in  the  mean  time 
a middle-aged,  dark  man,  of  pleasant  aspect,  with  black 
hair,  black  eyebrows,  and  bright,  dark  eyes  came  in, 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


G4 


[1856* 


limping  a little,  but  not  much.  He  seemed  not  quite  a 
man  of  the  world,  a little  shy  in  manner,  yet  he  ad- 
dressed me  kindly  and  sociably.  I guessed  him  to  be 
Mr.  Charles  Swain,  the  poet,  whom  Mr.  Bennoch  had 
invited  to  dinner.  Soon  came  another  guest  whom  Mr. 

Swain  introduced  to  me  as  Mr.  , editor  of  the 

Manchester  Examiner.  Then  came  Bennoch,  who 
made  us  all  regularly  acquainted,  or  took  for  granted 

that  we  were  so ; and  lastly  appeared  a Mr.  W , a 

merchant  in  Manchester,  and  a very  intelligent  man  ; 
and  the  party  was  then  complete.  Mr.  Swain,  the  poet, 
is  not  a man  of  fluent  conversation  ; he  said,  indeed, 
very  little,  but  gave  me  the  impression  of  amiability 
and  simplicity  of  character,  with  much  feeling. 


Mr.  W is  a very  sensible  man.  He  has  spent 

two  or  three  years  in  America,  and  seems  to  have 
formed  juster  conclusions  about  us  than  most  of  his 
countrymen  do.  He  is  the  only  Englishman,  I think, 
whom  I have  met,  who  fairly  acknowledges  that  the 
English  do  cherish  doubt,  jealousy,  suspicion,  in  short, 
an  unfriendly  feeling,  towards  the  Americans.  It  is 
wonderful  how  every  American,  whatever  class  of  the 
English  he  mingles  with,  is  conscious  of  this  feeling, 

and  how  no  Englishman,  except  this  sole  Mr.  W , 

will  confess  it.  He  expressed  some  very  good  ideas,  too, 
about  the  English  and  American  press,  and  the  reasons 
why  the  Times  may  fairly  be  taken  as  the  exponent  of 
British  feeling  towards  us,  while  the  New  York  Her- 
ald, immense  as  its  circulation  is,  can  be  considered,  in 
no  similar  degree  or  kind,  the  American  exponent. 

We  sat  late  at  table,  and  after  the  other  guests  had 


MANCHESTER. 


65 


1856.] 

retired,  Bennoch  and  I had  some  very  friendly  talk, 
and  he  proposed  that  on  my  wife’s  return  we  should 
take  up  our  residence  in  his  house  at  Blackheath,  while 
Mrs.  Bennoch  and  himself  were  absent  for  two  months 
on  a trip  to  Germany.  If  his  wife  and  mine  ratify  the 
idea,  we  will  do  so. 

The  next  morning  we  went  out  to  see  the  Exchange, 
and  whatever  was  noticeable  about  the  town.  Time 
being  brief,  I did  not  visit  the  cathedral,  which,  I be- 
lieve, is  a thousand  years  old.  There  are  many  hand- 
some shops  in  Manchester ; and  we  went  into  one 
establishment,  devoted  to  pictures,  engravings,  and 
decorative  art  generally,  which  is  most  perfect  and  ex- 
tensive. The  firm,  if  I remember,  is  that  of  the  Messrs. 
Agnew,  and,  though  originating  here,  they  have  now  a 
house  in  London.  Here  I saw  some  interesting  objects, 
purchased  by  them  at  the  recent  sale  of  the  Rogers’ 
collection ; among  other  things,  a slight  pencil  and 
water-color  sketch  by  Raphael.  An  unfinished  affair, 
done  in  a moment,  as  this  must  have  been,  seems  to 
bring  us  closer  to  the  hand  that  did  it  than  the  most 
elaborately  painted  picture  can.  Were  I to  see  the 
Transfiguration,  Raphael  would  still  be  at  the  distance 
of  centuries.  Seeing  this  little  sketch,  I had  him  very 
near  me.  I know  not  why,  — perhaps  it  might  be 
fancied  that  he  had  only  laid  down  the  pencil  for  an 
instant,  and  would  take  it  up  again  in  a moment  more. 
I likewise  saw  a copy  of  a handsome,  illustrated  edition 
of  Childe  Harold,  presented  by  old  John  Murray  to 
Mr.  Rogers,  with  an  inscription  on  the  fly-leaf,  purport- 
ing that  it  was  a token  of  gratitude  from  the  publisher, 
because,  when  everybody  else  thought  him  imprudent 


66 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

in  giving  four  hundred  guineas  for  the  poem,  Mr.  Rogers 
told  him  it  would  turn  out  the  best  bargain  he  ever  made. 

There  was  a new  picture  by  Millais,  the  distinguished 
Pre-Raphaelite  artist,  representing  a melancholy  parting 
between  two  lovers.  The  lady’s  face  had  a great  deal 
of  sad  and  ominous  expression  ; but  an  old  brick  wall, 
overrun  with  foliage,  was  so  exquisitely  and  elaborately 
wrought  that  it  was  hardly  possible  to  look  at  the  per- 
sonages of  the  picture.  Every  separate  leaf  of  the 
climbing  and  clustering  shrubbery  was  painfully  made 
out ; and  the  wall  was  reality  itself,  with  the  weather- 
stains,  and  the  moss,  and  the  crumbling  lime  between 
the  bricks.  It  is  not  well  to  be  so  perfect  in  the  inani- 
mate, unless  the  artist  can  likewise  make  man  and 
woman  as  lifelike,  and  to  as  great  a depth,  too,  as  the 
Creator  does. 

Bennoch  left  town  for  some  place  in  Yorkshire,  and 
I for  Liverpool.  I asked  him  to  come  and  dine  with 
me  at  the  Adelphi,  meaning  to  ask  two  or  three  people 
to  meet  him ; but  he  had  other  engagements,  and  could 
not  spare  a day  at  present,  though  he  promises  to  come 
before  long. 

Dining  at  Mr.  Rathbone’s  one  evening  last  week 
(May  21st),  it  was  mentioned  that 

BORROW, 

author  of  the  Bible  in  Spain,  is  supposed  to  be  of 
gypsy  descent  by  the  mother’s  side.  Hereupon  Mr. 
Martineau  mentioned  that  he  had  been  a schoolfellow 
of  Borrow,  and  though  he  had  never  heard  of  his  gypsy 
blood,  he  thought  it  probable,  from  Borrow’s  traits  of 


LIVERPOOL. 


67 


1856.] 

character,  Jl>  *a]4  that  Borrow  had  once  run  away 
from  school;  and  carried  with  him  a party  of  other  boys, 
meaning  to  lead  a wandering  life. 

If  an  Englishman  were  individually  acquainted  with 
all  our  twenty-five  millions  of  Americans,  and  liked 
every  one  of  them,  and  believed  that  each  man  of  those 
millions  was  a Christian,  honest,  upright,  and  kind, 
he  would  doubt,  despise,  and  hate  them  in  the  aggre- 
gate, however  he  might  love  and  honor  the  individuals. 

Captain  and  his  wife  Oakum  ; they  spent  an 

evening  at  Mrs.  B ’s.  The  Captain  is  a Marble- 

head man  by  birth,  not  far  from  sixty  years  old  ; very 
talkative  and  anecdotic  in  regard  to  his  adventures ; 
funny,  good-humored,  and  full  of  various  nautical  expe- 
rience. Oakum  (it  is  a nickname  which  he  gives  his 
wife)  is  an  inconceivably  tall  woman,  — taller  than 
he,  — six  feet,  at  least,  and  with  a well-proportioned 
largeness  in  all  respects,  but  looks  kind  and  good,  gen- 
tle, smiling,  — and  almost  any  other  woman  might  sit 
like  a baby  on  her  lap.  She  does  not  look  at  all  awful 
and  belligerent,  like  the  massive  English-women  one 
often  sees.  You  at  once  feel  her  to  be  a benevolent 
giantess,  and  apprehend  no  harm  from  her.  She  is  a 
lady,  and  perfectly  well  mannered,  but  with  a sort  of 
naturalness  and  simplicity  that  becomes  her  ; for  any  the 
slightest  affectation  would  be  so  magnified  in  her  vast 
personality  that  it  would  be  absolutely  the  height  of  the 
ridiculous.  This  wedded  pair  have  no  children,  and 
Oakum  has  so  long  accompanied  her  husband  on  his 
voyages  that  I suppose  by  this  time  she  could  com- 


G8 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

mand  a ship  as  well  as  he.  They  sat  till  pretty  late, 
diffusing  cheerfulness  all  about  them,  and  then,  “ Come, 
Oakum,”  cried  the  Captain,  “ we  must  hoist  sail ! ” and 
up  rose  Oakum  to  the  ceiling,  and  moved  tower-like  to 
the  door,  looking  down  with  a benignant  smile  on  the 
poor  little  pygmy  women  about  her.  “ Six  feet,”  did  I 
say  ? Why,  she  must  be  seven,  eight,  nine  ; and,  what- 
ever be  her  size,  she  is  as  good  as  she  is  big. 

Jane  11th.  — Monday  night  (9th),  just  as  I was  re- 
tiring, I received  a telegraphic  message  announcing  my 
wife’s  arrival  at 

SOUTHAMPTON. 

So,  the  next  day,  I arranged  the  consular  business 

for  an  absence  of  ten  days,  and  set  forth  with  J , 

and  reached  Birmingham  between  eight  and  nine,  even- 
ing. We  put  up  at  the  Queen’s  Hotel,  a very  large  es- 
tablishment, contiguous  to  the  railway.  Next  morning 
we  left  Birmingham,  and  made  our  first  stage  to  Leam- 
ington, where  we  had  to  wait  nearly  an  hour*  which  we 
spent  in  wandering  through  some  of  the  streets  that  had 
been  familiar  to  us  last  year.  Leamington  is  certainly 
a beautiful  town,  new,  bright,  clean,  and  as  unlike  as 
possible  to  the  business  towns  of  England.  However, 
the  sun  was  burning  hot,  and  I could  almost  have  fancied 
myself  in  America.  From  Leamington  we  took  tickets 
for  Oxford,  where  we  were  obliged  to  make  another 
stop  of  two  hours  ; and  these  we  employed  to  what 
advantage  we  could,  driving  up  into  town,  and  stray- 
ing hither  and  thither,  till  J ’s  weariness  weighed 

upon  me,  and  I adjourned  with  him  to  a hotel.  Oxford 
is  ari  ugly  old  town,  of  crooked  and  irregular  streets, 


1856.] 


TO  SOUTHAMPTON. 


69 


gabled  houses,  mostly  plastered  of  a buff  or  yellow  hue  ; 
some  new  fronts  ; and  as  for  the  buildings  of  the  Univer- 
sity, they  seem  to  be  scattered  at  random,  without  any 
reference  to  one  another.  I passed  through  an  old 
gateway  of  Christ-Church,  and  looked  at  its  enclosed 
square,  and  that  is,  in  truth,  pretty  much  all  I then  saw 
of  the  University  of  Oxford.  From  Christ-Church  we 
rambled  along  a street  that  led  us  to  a bridge  across 
the  Isis ; and  we  saw  many  row-boats  lying  in  the 
river,  — the  lightest  craft  imaginable,  unless  it  were  an 
Indian  canoe.  The  Isis  is  but  a narrow  stream,  and 
with  a sluggish  current.  I believe  the  students  of  Ox- 
ford are  famous  for  their  skill  in  rowing. 

To  me  as  well  as  to  J the  hot  streets  were  terri- 

bly oppressive ; so  we  went  into  the  Roebuck  Hotel, 
where  we  found  a cool  and  pleasant  coffee-room.  The 
entrance  to  this  hotel  is  through  an  arch,  opening  from 
High  Street,  and  giving  admission  into  a paved  court, 
the  buildings  all  around  being  part  of  the  establishment, 
— old  edifices  with  pointed  gables  and  old-fashioned 
projecting  windows,  but  all  in  fine  repair,  and  wearing 
a most  quiet,  retired,  and  comfortable  aspect.  The 
court  was  set  all  round  with  flowers,  growing  in  pots  or 
large  pedestaled  vases;  on  one  side  was  the  coffee- 
room,  and  all  the  other  public  apartments,  and  the 
other  side  seemed  to  be  taken  up  by  the  sleeping-cham- 
bers and  parlors  of  the  guests.  This  arrangement  of 
an  inn,  I presume,  is  very  ancient,  and  it  resembles 
what  I have  seen  in  the  hospitals,  free  schools,  and 
other  charitable  establishments  in  the  old  English 

o 

towns ; and,  indeed,  all  large  houses  were  arranged  on 
somewhat  the  same  principle. 


70 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

By  and  by  two  or  three  young  men  came  in,  in  wide- 
awake hats,  and  loose,  blouse-like,  summerish  garments  ; 
and  from  their  talk  I found  them  to  be  students  of  the 
University,  although  their  topics  of  conversation  were 
almost  entirely  horses  and  boats.  One  of  them  sat  down 
to  cold  beef  and  a tankard  of  ale ; the  other  two  drank 
a tankard  of  ale  together,  and  went  away  without  pay- 
ing for  it,  — rather  to  the  waiter’s  discontent.  Students 
are  very  much  alike,  all  the  world  over,  and,  I suppose, 
in  all  time ; but  I doubt  whether  many  of  my  fellows  at 
college  would  have  gone  off  without  paying  for  their  beer. 

We  reached  Southampton  between  seven  and  eight 
o’clock.  I cannot  write  to-day. 

June  15^. — The  first  day  after  we  reached  South- 
ampton was  sunny  and  pleasant ; but  we  made  little  use 

of  the  fine  weather,  except  that  S and  I walked 

once  along  the  High  Street,  and  J and  I took  a 

little  ramble  about  town  in  the  afternoon.  The  next 
day  there  was  a high  and  disagreeable  wind,  and  I did 
not  once  stir  out  of  the  house.  The  third  day,  too,  I 
kept  entirely  within  doors,  it  being  a storm  of  wind  and 
rain.  The  Castle  Hotel  stands  within  fifty  yards  of  the 
water-side ; so  that  this  gusty  day  showed  itself  to  the 
utmost  advantage,  — the  vessels  pitching  and  tossing  at 
their  moorings,  the  waves  breaking  white  out  of  a tumult- 
uous gray  surface,  the  opposite  shore  glooming  mistily 
at  the  distance  of  a mile  or  two ; and  on  the  hither  side 
boatmen  and  seafaring  people  scudding  about  the  pier 
in  water-proof  clothes ; and  in  the  street,  before  the 
hotel  door,  a cabman  or  two,  standing  drearily  beside 
his  horse.  But  we  were  sunny  within  doors. 


SALISBURY. 


7l 


*8 56.] 

Yesterday  it  was  breezy,  sunny,  shadowy,  showery  ; 
and  we  ordered  a cab  to  take  us  to  Clifton  Villa,  to  call 

on  Mrs. , a friend  of  B ’s,  who  called  on  us 

the  day  after  our  arrival.  Just  as  we  were  ready  to 

start,  Mrs. again  called,  and  accompanied  us  back 

to  her  house.  It  is  in  Shirley,  about  two  miles  from 
Southampton  pier,  and  is  a pleasant  suburban  villa, 
with  a pretty  ornamented  lawn  and  shrubbery  about  it. 

Mrs. is  an  instructress  of  young  ladies  ; and  at 

B ’s  suggestion,  she  is  willing  to  receive  us  for  two 

or  three  weeks,  during  the  vacation,  until  we  are  ready 
to  go  to  London.  She  seems  to  be  a pleasant  and  sen- 
sible woman,  and  to-morrow  we  shall  decide  whether  to 
go  there.  There  was  nothing  very  remarkable  in  this 
drive  ; and,  indeed,  my  stay  hereabouts  thus  far  has 
been  very  barren  of  sights  and  incidents  externally  in- 
teresting, though  the  inner  life  has  been  rich. 

Southampton  is  a very  pretty  town,  and  has  not  the 
dinginess  to  which  I have  been  accustomed  in  many 
English  towns.  The  High  Street  reminds  me  very 
much  of  American  streets  in  its  general  effect ; the 
houses  being  mostly  stuccoed  white  or  light,  and  cheer- 
ful in  aspect,  though  doubtless  they  are  centuries  old 
at  heart.  The  old  gateway,  which  I presume  I have 
mentioned  in  describing  my  former  visit  to  Southampton, 
stands  across  High  Street,  about  in  the  centre  of  the 
town,  and  is  almost  the  only  token  of  antiquity  that 
presents  itself  to  the  eye. 

SALISBURY. 

June  11th . — Yesterday  morning,  June  16th,  S , 

Mrs.  — 3 and  I took  the  rail  for  Salisbury,  where  we 


72 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


duly  arrived  without  any  accident  or  anything  noticeable, 
except  the  usual  verdure  and  richness  of  an  English 
summer  landscape.  From  the  railway  station  we  walked 
up  into  Salisbury,  with  the  tall  spire  (four  hundred  feet 
high)  of  the  cathedral  before  our  eyes.  Salisbury  is 
an  antique  city,  but  with  streets  more  regular  than  1 
have  seen  in  most  old  towns,  and  the  houses  have  a 
more  picturesque  aspect  than  those  of  Oxford,  for 
instance,  where  almost  all  are  mean-looking  alike, — 
though  I could  hardly  judge  of  Oxford  on  that  hot, 
weary  day.  Through  one  or  more  of  the  streets 
there  runs  a swift,  clear  little  stream,  which,  being  close 
to  the  pavement,  and  bordered  with  stone,  may  be 
called,  I suppose,  a kennel,  though  possessing  the  trans- 
parent purity  of  a rustic  rivulet.  It  is  a brook  in  city 
garb.  We  passed  under  the  pointed  arch  of  a gateway, 
which  stands  in  one  of  the  principal  streets,  and  soon 
came  in  front  of 

THE  CATHEDRAL. 

I do  not  remember  any  cathedral  with  so  fine  a site  as 
this,  rising  up  out  of  the  centre  of  a beautiful  green,  ex- 
tensive enough  to  show  its  full  proportions,  relieved  and 
insulated  from  all  other  patchwork  and  impertinence 
of  rusty  edifices.  It  is  of  gray  stone,  and  looks  as  per- 
fect as  when  just  finished,  and  with  the  perfection,  too, 
that  could  not  have  come  in  less  than  six  centuries  of 
venerableness,  with  a view  to  which  these  edifices 
seem  to  have  been  built.  A new  cathedral  would  lack 
the  last  touch  to  its  beauty  and  grandeur.  It  needs  to 
be  mellowed  and  ripened,  like  some  pictures ; although 
I suppose  this  awfulness  of  antiquity  was  supplied,  in 


t856.]  SALISBURY.  73 

the  minds  of  the  generation  that  built  cathedrals,  by 
the  sanctity  which  they  attributed  to  them.  Salisbury 
Cathedral  is  far  more  beautiful  than  that  of  York,  the 
exterior  of  which  was  really  disagreeable  to  my  eye  ; 
but  this  mighty  spire  and  these  multitudinous  gray 
pinnacles  and  towers  ascend  towards  heaven  with  a 
kind  of  natural  beauty,  not  as  if  man  had  contrived 
them.  They  might  be  fancied  to  have  grown  up,  just 
as  the  spires  of  a tuft  of  grass  do,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  have  a law  of  propriety  and  regularity  among 
themselves.  The  tall  spire  is  of  such  admirable  pro- 
portion that  it  does  not  seem  gigantic  ; and  indeed  the 
effect  of  the  whole  edifice  is  of  beauty  rather  than 
weight  and  massiveness.  Perhaps  the  bright,  balmy 
sunshine  in  which  we  saw  it  contributed  to  give  it  a 
tender  glory,  and  to  soften  a little  its  majesty. 

When  we  went  in,  we  heard  the  organ,  the  forenoon 
service  being  near  conclusion.  If  I had  never  seen 
the  interior  of  York  Cathedral,  I should  have  been 
quite  satisfied,  no  doubt,  with  the  spaciousness  of  this 
nave  and  these  side  aisles,  and  the  height  of  their 
arches,  and  the  girth  of  these  pillars  ; but  with  that 
recollection  in  my  mind  they  fell  a little  short  of  gran- 
deur. The  interior  is  seen  to  disadvantage,  and  in  a 
way  the  builder  never  meant  it  to  be  seen ; because 
there  is  little  or  no  painted  glass,  nor  any  such  mystery 
as  it  makes,  but  only  a colorless,  common  daylight,  re- 
vealing everything  without  remorse.  There  is  a gen- 
eral light  hue,  moreover,  like  that  of  whitewash,  over 
the  whole  of  the  roof  and  walls  of  the  interior,  pillars* 
monuments,  and  all ; whereas,  originally,  every  pillar 
was  polished,  and  the  ceiling  was  ornamented  in  hriJ- 
4 


VOL.  II. 


74 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

liant  colors,  and  the  light  came,  many-hued,  through  the 
windows,  on  all  this  elaborate  beauty,  in  lieu  of  which 
there  is  nothing  now  but  space. 

Between  the  pillars  that  separate  the  nave  from  the 
side  aisles,  there  are  ancient  tombs,  most  of  which  have 
recumbent  statues  on  them.  One  of  these  is  Long- 
sword,  Earl  of  Salisbury,  son  of  Fair  Rosamond,  in 
chain  mail ; and  there  are  many  other  warriors  and  bish- 
ops, and  one  cross-legged  Crusader,  and  on  one  tomb- 
stone a recumbent  skeleton,  which  I have  likewise 
seen  in  two  or  three  other  cathedrals.  The  pavement 
of  the  aisles  and  nave  is  laid  in  great  part  with  flat 
tombstones,  the  inscriptions  on  which  are  half  obliterated, 
and  on  the  walls,  especially  in  the  transepts,  there  are 
tablets,  among  which  I saw  one  to  the  poet  Bowles, 
who  was  a canon  of  this  cathedral.  The  ecclesiastical 
dignitaries  bury  themselves  and  monument  themselves 
to  the  exclusion  of  almost  everybody  else,  in  these  latter 
times  ; though  still,  as  of  old,  the  warrior  has  his  place. 
A young  officer,  slain  in  the  Indian  wars,  was  memorial- 
ized by  a tablet,  and  may  be  remembered  by  it,  six 
hundred  years  hence,  as  we  now  remember  the  old 
Knights  and  Crusaders.  It  deserves  to  be  mentioned 
that  I saw  one  or  two  noses  still  unbroken  among  these 
recumbent  figures.  Most  of  the  antique  statues,  on 
close  examination,  proved  to  be  almost  entirely  covered 
with  names  and  initials,  scratched  over  the  once  polished 
surface.  ’ The  cathedral  and  its  relics  must  have  been 
far  less  carefully  watched,  at  some  former  period,  than 
now. 

Between  the  nave  and  the  choir,  as  usual,  there  is  a 
screen  that  half  destroys  the  majesty  of  the  building, 


1856.  J 


SALISBURY. 


75 


by  abridging  the  spectator  of  the  long  vista  which  he 
might  otherwise  have  of  the  whole  interior  at  a glance. 
We  peeped  through  the  barrier,  and  saw  some  elaborate 
monuments  in  the  chancel  beyond;  but  the  doors  of  the 
screen  are  kept  locked,  so  that  the  vergers  may  raise 
a revenue  by  showing  strangers  through  the  richest 
part  of  the  cathedral.  By  and  by  one  of  these  vergers 
came  through  the  screen,  with  a gentleman  and  lady 
whom  he  was  taking  round,  and  we  joined  ourselves  to 
the  party.  He  showed  us  into  the  cloisters,  which 
had  long  been  neglected  and  ruinous,  until  the  time  of 
Bishop  Dennison,  the  last  prelate,  who  has  been  but  a 
few  years  dead.  This  Bishop  has  repaired  and  restored 
the  cloisters  in  faithful  adherence  to  the  original  plan ; 
and  they  now  form  a most  delightful  walk  about  a 
pleasant  and  verdant  enclosure,  in  the  centre  of  which 
sleeps  good  Bishop  Dennison,  with  a wife  on  either  side 
of  him,  all  three  beneath  broad  flat  stones.  Most  clois- 
ters are  darksome  and  grim  ; but  these  have  a broad 
paved  walk  beneath  the  vista  of  arches,  and  are  light, 
airy,  and  cheerful ; and  from  one  corner  you  can  get 
the  best  possible  view  of  the  whole  height  and  beautiful 
proportion  of  the  cathedral  spire.  One  side  of  this 
cloistered  walk  seems  to  be  the  length  of  the  nave  of 
the  cathedral.  There  is  a square  of  four  such  sides  ; and 
of  places  for  meditation,  grave,  yet  not  too  sombre,  it 
seemed  to  me  one  of  the  best.  While  we  stayed  there, 
a jackdaw  was  walking  to  and  fro  across  the  grassy  en- 
closure, and  haunting  around  the  good  Bishop’s  grave. 
He  was  clad  in  black,  and  looked  like  a feathered  ec- 
clesiastic ; but  I know  not  whether  it  were  Bishop 
Dennison’s  ghost,  or  that  of  some  old  monk. 


76 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

On  one  side  of  the  cloisters,  and  contiguous  to  the 
main  body  of  the  cathedral,  stands  the  chapter-house. 
Bishop  Dennison  had  it  much  at  heart  to  repair  this 
part  of  the  holy  edifice  ; and,  if  I mistake  not,  did  begin 
the  work ; for  it  had  been  long  ruinous,  and  in  Crom- 
well’s time  his  dragoons  stationed  their  horses  there. 
Little  progress,  however,  had  been  made  in  the  repairs 
when  the  Bishop  died  ; and  it  was  decided  to  restore 
the  building  in  his  honor,  and  by  way  of  monument  to 
him.  The  repairs  are  now  nearly  completed ; and  the 
interior  of  this  chapter-house  gave  me  the  first  idea, 
anywise  adequate,  of  the  splendor  of  these  Gothic  church 
edifices.  The  roof  is  sustained  by  one  great  central  pil- 
lar of  polished  marble,  — small  pillars  clustered  about 
a great  central  column,  which  rises  to  the  ceiling,  and 
there  gushes  out  with  various  beauty,  that  overflows  all 
the  walls  ; as  if  the  fluid  idea  had  sprung  out  of  that 
fountain,  and  grown  solid  in  what  we  see.  The  pave- 
ment is  elaborately  ornamented;  the  ceiling  is  to  be 
brilliantly  gilded  and  painted,  as  it  was  of  yore,  and 
the  tracery  and  sculptures  around  the  walls  are  to  be 
faithfully  renewed  from  what  remains  of  the  original  pat- 
terns. 

After  viewing  the  chapter-house,  the  verger  — an 
elderly  man  of  grave,  benign  manner,  clad  in  black  and 
talking  of  the  cathedral  and  the  monuments  as  if  he 
loved  them  — led  us  again  into  the  nave  of  the  cathedral, 
and  thence  within  the  screen  of  the  choir.  The  screen 
is  as  poor  as  possible,  — mere  barren  wood-work,  with- 
out the  least  attempt  at  beauty.  In  the  chancel  there 
are  some  meagre  patches  of  old  glass,  and  some  of 
modern  date,  not  very  well  worth  looking  at  We  saw 


SALISBURY* 


71 


1856.] 

several  interesting  monuments  in  this  part  of  the  cathe- 
dral, — one  belonging  to  the  ducal  family  of  Somerset, 
and  erected  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  ; it  is  of  marble, 
and  extremely  splendid  and  elaborate,  with  kneeling 
figures  and  all  manner  of  magnificence,  — more  than  I 
have  seen  in  any  monument  except  that  of  Mary  of 
Scotland  in  Westminster  Abbey.  The  more  ancient 
tombs  are  also  very  numerous,  and  among  them  that 
of  the  Bishop  who  founded  the  cathedral.  Within  the 
screen,  against  the  wall,  is  erected  a monument,  by 
Chantrey,  to  the  Earl  of  Malmesbury  ; a full-length 
statue  of  the  Earl  in  a half-recumbent  position,  holding 
an  open  volume  and  looking  upward,  — a noble  work, 
— a calm,  wise,  thoughtful,  firm,  and  not  unbenignant 
face.  Beholding  its  expression,  it  really  was  impossible 
not  to  have  faith  in  the  high  character  of  the  individual 
thus  represented  ; and  I have  seldom  felt  this  effect  from 
any  monumental  bust  or  statue,  though  I presume  it  is 
always  aimed  at. 

I am  weary  of  trying  to  describe  cathedrals.  It  is 
utterly  useless  ; there  is  no  possibility^  of  giving  the 
general  effect,  or  any  shadow  of  it,  and  it  is  miserable 
to  put  down  a few  items  of  tombstones,  and  a bit  of 
glass  from  a painted  window,  as  if  the  gloom  and  glory 
of  the  edifice  were  thus  to  be  reproduced.  Cathedrals 
are  almost  the  only  things  (if  even  those)  that  have 
quite  filled  out  my  ideal  here  in  this  old  world  ; and 
cathedrals  often  make  me  miserable  from  my  inade- 
quacy to  take  them  wholly  in  ; and,  above  all,  I de- 
spise myself  when  I sit  down  to  describe  them. 

We  now  walked  around  the  Close,  which  is  sur- 
rounded by  some  of  the  quaintest  and  comfortablest 


78 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

ecclesiastical  residences  that  can  be  imagined.  These 
are  the  dwelling-houses  of  the  Dean,  and  the  canons, 
and  whatever  other  high  officers  compose  the  Bishop’s 
staff ; and  there  was  one  large  brick  mansion,  old,  but 
not  so  ancient  as  the  rest,  which  we  took  to  be  the 
Bishop’s  palace.  I never  beheld  anything  — I must 
say  again  — ^ so  cosey,  so  indicative  -of  domestic  comfort 
for  whole  centuries  together,  — houses  so  fit  to  live  in 
or  to  die  in,  and  where  it  would  be  so  pleasant  to  lead 
a young  wife  beneath  the  antique  portal,  and  dwell  with 
her  till  husband  and  wife  were  patriarchal)  — as  these 
delectable  old  houses.  They  belong  naturally  to  the 
cathedral,  and  have  a necessary  relation  to  it,  and  its 
sanctity  is  somehow  thrown  over  them  all,  so  that  they 
do  not  quite  belong  to  this  world,  though  they  look  full 
to  overflowing  of  whatever  earthly  things  are  good  for 
man.  These  are  places,  however,  in  which  mankind 
makes  no  progress;  the  rushing  tumult  of  human  life 
here  subsides  into  a deep,  quiet  pool,  with  perhaps  a 
gentle  circular  eddy,  but  no  onward  movement.  The 
same  identical  thought,  I suppose,  goes  round  in  a slow 
whirl  from  one  generation  to  another,  as  I have  seen  a 
withered  leaf  do  in  the  vortex  of  a brook.  In  the  front 
of  the  cathedral  there  is  a most  stately  and  beautiful 
tree,  which  flings  its  verdure  upward  to  a very  lofty 
height;  but  far  above  it  rises  the  tall  spire,  dwarfing 
the  great  tree  by  comparison. 

When  the  cathedral  had  sufficiently  oppressed  us 
with  its  beauty,  we  returned  to  sublunary  matters,  and 
went  wandering  about  Salisbury  in  search  of  a lun- 
cheon, which  we  finally  took  in  a confectioner’s  shop. 
Then  we  inquired  hither  and  thither,  at  various  livery- 


1856.] 


SALISBURY. 


79 


stables,  for  a conveyance  to  Stonehenge,  and  at  last 
took  a fly  from  the  Lamb  Hotel.  The  drive  was  over 
a turnpike  for  the  first  seven  miles,  over  a bare,  ridgy 
country,  showing  little  to  interest  us.  We  passed  a 
party  of  seven  or  eight  men,  in  a coarse  uniform  dress, 
resembling  that  worn  by  convicts,  and  apparently  under 
the  guardianship  of  a stout,  authoritative,  yet  rather 
kindly-looking,  man  with  a cane.  Our  driver  said  that 
they  were  lunatics  from  a neighboring  asylum,  out  for 
a walk. 

Seven  miles  from  Salisbury,  we  turned  aside  from 
the  turnpike,  and  drove  two  miles  across  Salisbury 
Plain,  which  is  an  apparently  boundless  extent  of  un- 
enclosed land,  treeless  and  houseless.  It  is  not  exactly 
a plain,  but  a green  sea  of  long  and  gentle  swells  and 
subsidences,  affording  views  of  miles  upon  miles  to  a 
very  far  horizon.  We  passed  large  flocks  of  sheep, 
with  the  shepherds  watching  them  ; but  the  dogs  seemed 
to  take  most  of  the  care  of  the  flocks  upon  their  own 
shoulders,  and  would  scamper  to  turn  the  sheep  when 
they  inclined  to  stray  whither  they  should  not ; and 
then  arose  a thousand-fold  bleating,  not  unpleasant  to 
the  ear  ; for  it  did  not  apparently  indicate  any  fear  or 
discomfort  on  the  part  of  the  flock.  The  sheep  and 
lambs  are  all  black-faced,  and  have  a very  funny  ex- 
pression. As  we  drove  over  the  plain  (my  seat  was 
beside  the  driver),  I saw  at  a distance  a cluster  of  large 
gray  stones,  mostly  standing  upright,  and  some  of  them 
slightly  inclined  towards  each  other,  — very  irregular, 
and  so  far  off  forming  no  very  picturesque  or  note- 
worthy spectacle.  Of  course  I knew  at  once  that  this 


was 


80 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS 


[1856. 


STONEHENGE, 

and  also  knew  that  the  reality  was  going  to  dwindle 
wofully  within  my  ideal,  as  almost  everything  else  does. 
When  we  reached  the  spot,  we  found  a picnic-party  just 
finishing  their  dinner,  on  one  of  the  overthrown  stones 
of  the  druidical  temple  ; and  within  the  sacred  circle 
an  artist  was  painting  a wretched  daub  of  the  scene, 
and  an  old  shepherd  — the  very  Shepherd  of  Salisbury 
Plain  — sat  erect  in  the  centre  of  the  ruin. 

There  never  was  a ruder  thing  than  Stonehenge 
made  by  mortal  hands.  It  is  so  very  rude  that  it 
seems  as  if  Nature  and  man  had  worked  upon  it  with 
one  consent,  and  so  it  is  all  the  stranger  and  more 
impressive  from  its  rudeness.  The  spectator  wonders 
to  see  art  and  contrivance,  and  a regular  and  even 
somewhat  intricate  plan,  beneath  all  the  uncouth  sim- 
plicity of  this  arrangement  of  rough  stones  ; and  cer- 
tainly, whatever  was  the  intellectual  and  scientific 
advancement  of  the  people  who  built  Stonehenge,  no 
succeeding  architects  will  ever  have  a right  to  triumph 
over  them ; for  nobody’s  work  in  after  times  is  likely 
to  endure  till  it  becomes  a mystery  as  to  who  built  it, 
and  how,  and,  for  what  purpose.  Apart  from  the  moral 
considerations  suggested  by  it,  Stonehenge  is  not  very 
well  worth  seeing.  Materially,  it  is  one  of  the  poorest 
of  spectacles,  and  when  complete,  it  must  have  been 
even  less  picturesque  than  now,  — a few  huge,  rough 
stones,  very  imperfectly  squared,  standing  on  end,  and 
each  group  of  two  supporting  a third  large  stone  on 
their  tops ; other  stones  of  the  same  pattern  over- 
thrown and  tumbled  one  upon  another  ; and  the  whole 


STONEHENGE. 


81 


1856.] 

comprised  within  a circuit  of  about  a hundred  feet 
diameter ; the  short,  sheep- cropped  grass  of  Salisbury 
Plain  growing  among  all  these  uncouth  boulders.  I 
am  not  sure  that  a misty,  lowering  day  would  not  have 
better  suited  Stonehenge,  as  the  dreary  midpoint  of  the 
great,  desolate,  trackless  plain  ; not  literally  trackless, 
however,  for  the  London  and  Exeter  Road  passes  within 
fifty  yards  of  the  ruins,  and  another  road  intersects  it. 

After  we  had  been  there  about  an  hour,  there  came 
a horseman  within  the  Druid’s  circle,  — evidently  a 
clerical  personage  by  his  white  neckcloth,  though  his 
loose  gray  riding  pantaloons  were  not  quite  in  keeping. 
He  looked  at  us  rather  earnestly,  and  at  last  ad- 
dressed Mrs. , and  announced  himself  as  Mr. 

Hinchman,  — a clergyman  whom  she  had  been  trying 
to  find  in  Salisbury,  in  order  to  avail  herself  of  him  as 
a cicerone  ; and  he  had  now  ridden  hither  to  meet  us. 
He  told  us  that  the  artist  whom  we  found  here  could 
give  us  more  information  than  anybody  about  Stone- 
henge; for  it  seems  he  has  spent  a great  many  years 
here,  painting  and  selling  his  poor  sketches  to  visitors, 
and  also  selling  a book  which  his  father  wrote  about 
the  remains.  This  man  showed,  indeed,  a pretty  ac- 
curate acquaintance  with  these  old  stones,  and  pointed 
out  what  is  thought  to  be  the  altar-stone,  and  told  us  of 
some  relation  between  this  stone  and  two  other  stones, 
and  the  rising  of  the  sun  at  midsummer,  which  might 
indicate  that  Stonehenge  was  a temple  of  solar  worship. 
He  pointed  out,  too,  to  how  little  depth  the  stones  were 
planted  in  the  earth,  insomuch  that  I have  no  doubt  the 
American  frosts  would  overthrow  Stonehenge  in  a 
single  winter  ; and  it  is  wonderful  that  it  should  have 
4*  r 


82 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


stood  so  long,  even  in  England.  I have  forgotten  what 
else  he  said  ; but^I  bought  one  of  his  books,  and  find  it 
a very  unsatisfactory  performance,  being  chiefly  taken 
up  with  an  attempt  to  prove  these  remains  to  be 
an  antediluvian  work,  constructed,  I think  the  author 
says,  under  the  superintendence  of  Father  Adam  him- 
self! Before  our  departure  we  were  requested  to 
write  our  names  in  the  album  which  the  artist  keeps 
for  the  purpose ; and  he  pointed  out  Ex-President 
Fillmore’s  autograph,  and  those  of  one  or  two  other 
Americans  who  have  been  here  within  a short  time. 
It  is  a very  curious  life  that  this  artist  leads,  in  this 
great  solitude,  and  haunting  Stonehenge  like  the  ghost 
of  a Druid;  but  he  is  a brisk  little  man,  and  very 
communicative  on  his  one' subject. 

Mr.  Hinchman  rode  with  us  over  the  plain,  and 
pointed  out  Salisbury  spire,  visible  close  to  Stonehenge. 
Under  his  guidance  we  returned  by  a different  road 
from  that  which  brought  us  thither,  — and  a much  more 
delightful  one.  I think  I never  saw  such  continued 
sylvan  beauty  as  this  road  showed  us,  passing  through 
a good  deal  of  woodland  scenery,  — fine  old  trees,  stand- 
ing each  within  its  own  space,  and  thus  having  full 
liberty  to  outspread  itself,  and  wax  strong  and  broad 
for  ages,  instead  of  being  crowded,  and  thus  stifled  and 
emaciated,  as  human  beings  are  here,  and  forest-trees 
are  in  America.  Hedges,  too,  and  the  rich,  rich,  verdure 
of  England ; and  villages  full  of  picturesque  old  houses, 
thatched,  and  ivied,  or  perhaps  overrun  with  roses,  — 
and  a stately  mansion  in  the  Elizabethan  style ; and  a 
quiet  stream,  gliding  onward  without  a ripple  from  its 
own  motion,  but  rippled  by  a large  fish  darting  across 


ON  TO  LIVERPOOL. 


83 


IS5G.] 

it;  and  over  all  this  scene  a gentle,  friendly  sunshine, 
not  ardent  enough  to  crisp  a single  leaf  or  blade  of 
grass.  Nor  must  the  village  church  be  forgotten,  with 
its  square,  battlemented  tower,  dating  back  to  the  epoch 
of  the  Normans.  We  called  at  a house  where  one 

of  Mrs. -’s  pupils  was  residing  with  her  aunt,  — a 

thatched  house  of  two  stories  high,  built  in  what  was 
originally  a sand-pit,  but  which,  in  the  course  of  a 
good  many  years,  has  been  transformed  into  the  most 
delightful  and  homelike  little  nook  almost  that  can  be 
found  in  England.  A thatched  cottage  suggests  a very 
rude  dwelling  indeed  ; but  this  had  a pleasant  parlor 
and  drawing-room,  and  chambers  with  lattice-windows, 
opening  close  beneath  the  thatched  roof ; and  the  thatch 
itself  gives  an  air  to  the  place  as  if  it  were  a bird’s- 
nest,  or  some  such  simple  and  natural  habitation.  The 
occupants  are  an  elderly  clergyman,  retired  from  pro- 
fessional duty,  and  his  sister ; and  having  nothing  else 
to  do,  and  sufficient  means,  they  employ  themselves  in 
beautifying  this  sweet  little  retreat,  — planting  new 
shrubbery,  laying  out  new  walks  around  it,  and  helping 
Nature  to  add  continually  another  charm  ; and  Nature 
is  certainly  a more  genial  playfellow  in  England  than 
in  my  own  country.  She  is  always  ready  to  lend  her 
aid  to  any  beautifying  purpose. 

Leaving  these  good  people,  who  were  very  hospita- 
ble, giving  tea  and  offering  wine,  we  reached  Salis- 
bury in  time  to  take  the  train  for  Southampton. 

June  18 th.  — Yesterday  we  left  the  Castle  Hotel, 
<ffter  paying  a bill  of  £ 20  for  a little  more  than  a 
week’s  board.  In  America  we  could  not  very  well 


8 l- 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856 

have  lived  so  simply,  but  we  might  have  lived  luxu- 
riously for  half  the  money.  This  Castle  Hotel  was 
once  an  old  Roman  castle,  the  landlord  says,  and  the 
circular  sweep  of  the  tower  is  still  seen  towards  the 
street,  although,  being  painted  white,  and  built  up  with 
modern  additions,  it  would  not  be  taken  for  an  ancient 
structure.  There  is  a dungeon  beneath  it,  in  which  the 
landlord  keeps  his  wine. 

J and  I,  quitting  the  hotel,  walked  towards 

Shirley  along  the  water-side,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
family  to  follow  in  a fly.  There  are  many  traces,  along 
the  shore,  of  the  fortifications  by  which  Southampton 
was  formerly  defended  towards  the  water,  and  very 
probably  their  foundations  may  be  as  ancient  as  Roman 
times.  Our  hotel  was  no  doubt  connected  with  this 
chain  of  defences,  which  seems  to  have  consisted  of  a 
succession  of  round  towers,  with  a wall  extending  from 
one  to  another.  We  saw  two  or  three  of  these  towers 
still  standing,  and  likely  to  stand,  though  ivy-grown 
and  ruinous  at  the  summit,  and  intermixed  and  even 
amalgamated  with  pot-houses  and  mean  dwellings  ; and 
often,  through  an  antique  arch,  there  was  a narrow 
doorway,  giving  access  to  the  house  of  some  sailor  or 
laborer  or  artisan,  and  his  wife  gossiping  at  it  with  her 
neighbor,  or  his  children  playing  about  it. 

After  getting  beyond  the  precincts  of  Southampton 

our  walk  was  not  very  interesting,  except  to  J , 

who  kept  running  down  to  the  verge  of  the  water,  look- 
ing for  shells  and  sea  insects. 

June  29 th.  — Yesterday,  28th,  I left  Liverpool  from 
the  Lime  Street  Station ; an  exceedingly  hot  day 


GLOUCESTER. 


85 


1856.1 


for  England,  insomuch  that  the  rail  carriages  were 
really  uncomfortable.  I have  now  passed  over  the 
London  and  Northwestern  Railway  so  often  that  the 
northern  part  of  it  is  very  wearisome,  especially  as  it 
has  few  features  of  interest  even  to  a new  observer. 
At  Stafford  — no,  at  Wolverhampton  — we  diverged  to 
a track  which  I have  passed  over  only  once  before.  We 
stopped  an  hour  and  a quarter  at  Wolverhampton,  and 
I walked  up  into  the  town,  which  is  large  and  old,  — 
old,  at  least,  in  its  plan,  or  lack  of  plan,  — the  streets 
being  irregular,  and  straggling  over  an  uneven  surface. 
Like  many  of  the  English  towns,  it  reminds  me  of  Bos- 
ton, though  dingier.  The  sun  was  so  hot  that  I actually 
sought  the  shady  sides  of  the  streets  ; and  this,  of  itself, 
is  one  long  step  towards  establishing  a resemblance 
between  an  English  town  and  an  American  one. 

English  railway  carriages  seem  to  me  more  tiresome 
than  any  other ; and  I suppose  it  is  owing  to  the 
greater  motion,  arising  from  their  more  elastic  springs. 
A slow  train,  too,  like  that  which  I was  now  in,  is 
more  tiresome  than  a quick  one,  at  least  to  the  spirits, 
whatever  it  may  be  to  the  body.  We  loitered  along 
through  afternoon  and  evening,  stopping  at  every  little 
station,  and  nowhere  getting  to  the  top  of  our  speed, 
till  at  last,  in  the  late  dusk,  we  reached 

GLOUCESTER, 

and  I put  up  at  the  Wellington  Hotel,  which  is  but  a 
little  way  from  the  station.  I took  tea  and  a slice  or 
two  of  ham  in  the  coffee-room,  and  had  a little  talk 
with  two  people  there ; one  of  whom,  on  learning  that 
I was  an  American,  said,  “ But  I suppose  you  have 


86 


ENGLISH  NOTE  BOONS. 


[l850* 

now  been  in  England  some  time?”  He  meant,  finding 
me  not  absolutely  a savage,  that  I must  have  been 
caught  a good  while  ago.  . . . , 

The  next  morning  I went  into  the  city,  the  hotel 
being  on  its  outskirts,  and  rambled  along  in  search  of 
the  cathedral.  Some  church-bells  were  chiming  and 
clashing  for  a wedding  or  other  festal  occasion,  and  I 
followed  the  sound,  supposing  that  it  might  proceed 
from  the  cathedral,  but  this  was  not  the  case*  It  was 
not  till  I had  got  to  a bridge  over  the  Severn,  quite 
out  of  the  town,  that  I saw  again  its  tower,  and  knew 
how  to  shape  my  course  towards  it. 

I did  not  see  much  that  was  strange  or  interesting 
in  Gloucester.  It  is  old,  with  a good  many  of  those 
antique  Elizabethan  houses  with  two’  or  three  peaked 
gables  on  a line  together;  several  old  churches,  which 
always  cluster  about  a cathedral,  like  chickens  round  a 
hen ; a hospital  for  decayed  tradesmen ; another  for 
blue-coat  boys ; a great  many  butcher’s  shops,  scattered 
in  all  parts  of  the  town,  open  in  front,  with  a counter 
or  dresser  on  which  to  display  the  meat,  just  in  the 
old  fashion  of  Shakespeare’s  house.  It  is  a large  town, 
and  has  a good  deal  of  liveliness  and  bustle,  in  a pro- 
vincial way.  In  short,  judging  by  the  sheep,  cattle,  and 
horses,  and  the  people  of  agricultural  aspect  that  I saw 
about  the  streets,  I should  think  it  must  have  been 
market-day.  I looked  here  and  there  for  the  old  Bell 
Inn,  because,  unless  I misremember,  Fielding  brings 
Tom  Jones  to  this  inn,  while  he  and  Partridge  were 
travelling  together.  It  is  still  extant ; for,  on  my 
arrival  the  night  before,  a runner  from  it  had  asked 
me  to  go  thither ; but  I forgot  its  celebrity  at  the 


1856.] 


GLOUCESTER. 


87 


moment.  1 saw  nothing  of  it  in  my  rambles  about 
Gloucester,  but  at  last  I found 

THE  CATHEDRAL, 

though  I found  no  point  from  which  a good  view  of 
the  exterior  can  be  seen. 

It  has  a very  beautiful  and  rich  outside,  however, 
and  a lofty  tower,  very  large  and  ponderous,  but  so 
finished  off,  and  adorned  with  pinnacles,  and  all  manner 
of  architectural  devices,  — wherewith  these  old  builders 
knew  how  to  alleviate  their  massive  structures,  — that 
it  seems  to  sit  lightly  in  the  air.  The  porch  was  open, 
and  some  workmen  were  trundling  barrows  into  the 
nave ; so  I followed,  and  found  two  young  women 
sitting  just  within  the  porch,  one  of  whom  offered  to 
show  me  round  the  cathedral.  There  was  a great 
dust  in  the  nave,  arising  from  the  operations  of  the 
workmen.  They  had  been  laying  a new  pavement, 
and  scraping  away  the  plaster,  which  had  heretofore 
been  laid  over  the  pillars  and  walls.  The  pillars  come 
out  from  the  process  as  good  as  new,  — great,  round, 
massive  columns,  not  clustered  like  those  of  most  cathe- 
drals ; they  are  twenty-one  feet  in  circumference,  and 
support  semicircular  arches.  I think  there  are  seven 
of  these  columns,  on  each  side  of  the  nave,  which  did 
not  impress  me  as  very  spacious ; and  the  dust  and 
racket  of  the  work-people  quite  destroyed  the  effect 
which  should  have  been  produced  by  the  aisles  and 
arches ; so  that  I hardly  stopped  to  glance  at  this  part, 
though  I saw  some  mural  monuments  and  recumbent 
statues  along  the  walls. 

The  choir  is  separated  from  the  nave  by  the  usual 


88 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

screen,  and  now  by  a sail-cloth  or  something  of  that 
kind,  drawn  across,  in  order  to  keep  out  the  dust,  while 
the  repairs  are  going  on.  When  the  young  woman 
conducted  me  hither,  I was  at  once  struck  by  the  mag- 
nificent eastern  window,  the  largest  in  England,  which 
fills,  or  looks  vast  enough  to  fill,  all  that  end  of  the 
cathedral,  — a most  splendid  window,  full  of  old  painted 
glass,  which  looked  as  bright  as  sunshine,  though  the 
sun  was  not  really  shining  through  it.  The  roof  of  the 
choir  is  of  oak  and  very  fine,  and  as  much  as  ninety 
feet  high.  There  are  chapels  opening  from  the  choir, 
and  within  them  the  monuments  of  the  eminent  people 
who  built  them,  and  of  benefactors  or  prelates,  or  of 
those  otherwise  illustrious  in  their  day.  My  recol- 
lection of  what  I saw  here  is  very  dim  and  confused ; 
more  so  than  I anticipated,  I remember  somewhere 
within  the  choir  the  tomb  of  Edward  II.  with  his  effigy 
upon  the  top  of  it,  in  a long  robe,  with  a crown  on  his 
head,  and  a ball  and  sceptre  in  his  hand  ; likewise,  a 
statue  of  Robert,  son  of  the  Conqueror,  carved  in 
Irish  oak  and  painted.  He  lolls  in  an  easy  posture  on 
his  tomb,  with  one  leg  crossed  lightly  over  the  other,  to 
denote  that  he  was  a Crusader.  There  are  several 
monuments  of  mitred  abbots,  who  formerly  presided 
over  the  cathedral.  A Cavalier  and  his  wife,  with  the 
dress  of  the  period  elaborately  represented,  lie  side  by 
side  in  excellent  preservation ; and  it  is  remarkable 
that  though  their  noses  are  very  prominent,  they  have 
come  down  from  the  past  without  any  wear  and  tear. 
The  date  of  the  Cavalier’s  death  is  1687,  and  I think 
fiis  statue  could  not  have  been  sculptured  until  after  the 
Restoration,  else  he  and  his  dame  would  hardly  have 


GLOUCESTER. 


89 


1856.] 


come  through  Cromwell’s  time  unscathed.  Here,  as  in 
all  the  other  churches  in  England,  Cromwell  is  said  to 
have  stabled  his  horses,  and  broken  the  windows,  and 
belabored  the  old  monuments. 

There  is  one  large  and  beautiful  chapel,  styled  the 
Lady’s  Chapel,  which  is,  indeed,  a church  by  itself,  be- 
ing ninety  feet  long,  and  comprising  everything  that  ap- 
pertains to  a place  of  worship.  Here,  too,  there  are 
monuments,  and  on  the  floor  are  many  old  bricks  and 
tiles,  with  inscriptions  on  them,  or  Gothic  devices,  and 
flat  tombstones,  with  coats  of  arms  sculptured  on  them  ; 
as  indeed,  there  are  everywhere  else,  except  in  the 
nave,  where  the  new  pavement  has  obliterated  them. 
After  viewing  the  choir  and  the  chapels,  the  young 
woman  led  me  down  into  the  crypts  below,  where  the 
dead  persons  who  are  commemorated  in  the  upper 
regions  were  buried.  The  low  ponderous  pillars  and 
arches  of  these  crypts  are  supposed  to  be  older  than 
the  upper  portions  of  the  building.  They  are  about  as 
perfect,  I suppose,  as  when  new,  but  very  damp,  dreary, 
and  darksome  ; and  the  arches  intersect  one  another  so 
intricately,  that,  if  the  girl  had  deserted  me,  I might 
easily  have  got  lost  there.  These  are  chapels  where 
masses  used  to  be  said  for  the  souls  of  the  deceased  ; 
and  my  guide  said  that  a great  many  skulls  and  bones 
had  been  dug  up  here.  No  doubt  a vast  population 
has  been  deposited  in  the  course  of  a thousand  years. 
I saw  two  white  skulls,  in  a niche,  grinning  as  skulls  al- 
ways do,  though  it  is  impossible  to  see  the  joke.  These 
crypts,  or  crypts  like  these,  are  doubtless  what  Con- 
greve calls  the  “ aisles  and  monumental  caves  of  Death,” 
in  that  passage  which  Dr.  Johnson  admired  so  much. 


90 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

They  are  very  singular,  — something  like  a dark 
shadow  or  dismal  repetition  of  the  upper  church  below 
ground. 

Ascending  from  the  crypts,  we  went  next  to  the 
cloisters,  which  are  in  a very  perfect  state,  and  form  an 
unbroken  square  about  the  green  grass  plot,  enclosed 
within.  Here  also  it  is  said  Cromwell  stabled  his 
horses  ; but  if  so,  they  were  remarkably  quiet  beasts, 
for  tombstones,  which  form  the  pavement,  are  not 
broken,  nor  cracked,  nor  bear  any  hoof-marks.  All 
around  the  cloisters,  too,  the  stone  tracery  that  shuts 
them  in  like  a closed  curtain,  carefully  drawn,  remains 
as  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  monks,  insomuch  that  it 
is  not  easy  to  get  a glimpse  of  the  green  enclosure. 
Probably  there  used  to  be  painted  glass  in  the  larger 
apertures  of  this  stone-work  ; otherwise  it  is  perfect. 
These  cloisters  are  very  different  from  the  free,  open, 
and  airy  ones  of  Salisbury  ; but  they  are  more  in  ac- 
cordance with  our  notions  of  monkish  habits  and  even 
at  this  day,  if  I were  a canon  of  Gloucester,  I would  put 
that  dim  ambulatory  to  a good  use.  The  library  is 
adjacent  to  the  cloisters,  and  I saw  some  rows  of  folios 
and  quartos.  I have  nothing  else  to  record  about  the 
cathedral,  though  if  I were  to  stay  there  a month, 
I suppose  it  might  then  begin  to  be  understood.  It 
is  wicked  to  look  at  these  solemn  old  churches  in  a 
hurry.  By  the  by,  it  was  not  built  in  a hurry  ; but 
in  full  three  hundred  years,  having  been  begun  in 
1188  and  only  finished  in  1498,  not  a great  many 
years  before  Papistry  began  to  go  out  of  vogue  in 
England. 

From  Gloucester  I took  the  rail  for  Basingstoke  be* 


TO  SOUTHAMPTON, 


91 


1850.] 

fore  noon.  The  first  part  of  the  journey  was  through 
an  uncommonly  beautiful  tract  of  country,  hilly,  but 
not  wild  ; a tender  and  graceful  picturesqueness,  — - fine, 
single  trees  and  clumps  of  trees,  and  sometimes  wide 
woods,  scattered  over  the  landscape,  and  filling  the 
nooks  of  the  hills  with  luxuriant  foliage.  Old  villages 
scattered  frequently  along  bur  track,  looking  very 
peaceful,  with  the  peace  of  past  ages  lingering  about 
them  ; and  a rich,  rural  verdure  of  antique  cultivation 
everywhere.  Old  country-seats — specimens  of  the  old 
English  hall  or  manor-house  — appeared  on  the  hill- 
sides, with  park-scenery  surrounding  the  mansions ; 
and  the  gray  churches  rose  in  the  midst  of  all  the  little 
towns.  The  beauty  of  English  scenery  makes  me 
desperate,  it  is  so  impossible  to  describe  it*  or  in  any 
way  to  record  its  impression,  and  such  a pity  to  leave 
it  undescribed  ; and,  moreover,  I always  feel  that  I do 
not  get  from  it  a hundredth  or  a millionth  part  of  the 
enjoyment  that  there  really  is  in  it,  hurrying  past  it 
thus.  I was  really  glad  when  we  rumbled  into  a 
tunnel,  piercing  for  a long  distance  through  a hill ; and, 
emerging  on  the  other  side,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
comparatively  level  and  uninteresting  tract  of  country, 
which  lasted  till  we  reached  Southampton.  English 
scenery,  to  be  appreciated  and  to  be  reproduced  with 
pen  and  pencil,  requires  to  be  dwelt  upon  long,  and  to 
be  wrought  out  with  the  nicest  touches.  A coarse  and 
hasty  brush  is  not  the  instrument  for  such  work. 

July  6^.  — Monday,  June  30th,  was  a warm  and 
beautiful  day,  and  my  wife  and  I took  a cab  from 
Southampton  and  drove  to 


92 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


NETLEY  ABBEY, 

about  three  or  four  miles.  The  remains  of  the  Abbey 
stand  in  a sheltered  place,  but  within  view  of  Southamp- 
ton Water  ; and  it  is  a most  picturesque  and  perfect  ruin 
all  ivy-grown,  of  course,  and  with  great  trees  where  the 
pillers  of  the  nave  used  to  stand,  and  also  m the  refec- 
tory and  the  cloister  court;  and  so  much  soil  on  the 
summit  of  the  broken  walls,  that  weeds  flourish  abun- 
dantly there,  and  grass  too  ; and  there  was  a wild  rose- 
bush, in  full  bloom,  as  much  as  thirty  or  forty  feet  from 
the  ground*  S — — • and  I ascended  a winding  stair, 

leading  up  within  a round  tower,  the  steps  much  foot- 
worn ; and,  reaching  the  top,  we  came  forth  at  the 
height  where  a gallery  had  formerly  run  round  the 
church,  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall.  The  upper  por- 
tions of  the  edifice  were  now  chiefly  thrown  down  ; but 
I followed  a foot-path,  on  the  top  of  the  remaining  wall, 
quite  to  the  western  entrance  of  the  church.  Since  the 
time  when  the  Abbey  was  taken  from  the  monks,  it  has 
been  private  property ; and  the  possessor,  in  Henry 
VIII.’s  days,  or  subsequently,  built  a residence  for  him- 
self within  its  precincts  out  of  the  old  materials.  This 
has  now  entirely  disappeared,  all  but  some  unsightly 
old  masonry,  patched  into  the  original  walls.  Large 
portions  of  the  ruin  have  been  removed,  likewise,  to  be 
used  as  building-materials  elsewhere  ; and  this  is  the 
Abbey  mentioned,  I think,  by  Dr.  Watts,  concerning 
which  a Mr.  William  Taylor  had  a dream  while  he 
was  contemplating  pulling  it  down.  He  dreamed  that 
a part  of  it  fell  upon  his  head;  and,  sure  enough,  a 
piece  of  the  wall  did  come  down  and  crush  him.  In 


TO  BLACKHEATH. 


93 


1856.] 

the  nave  I saw  a large  mass  of  conglomerated  stone 
that  had  fallen  from  the  wall  between  the  nave  and 
cloisters,  and  thought  that  perhaps  this  was  the  very 
mass  that  killed  poor  Mr.  Taylor. 

The  ruins  are  extensive  and  very  interesting ; but  I 
have  put  off  describing  them  too  long,  and  cannot  make 
a distinct  picture  of  them  now.  Moreover,  except  to  a 
spectator  skilled  in  architecture,  all  ruined  abbeys  are 
pretty  much  alike.  As  we  came  away,  we  noticed 
some  women  making  baskets  at  the  entrance,  and  one 
of  them  urged  us  to  buy  some  of  her  handiwork  ; for 
that  she  was  the  gypsy  of  Netley  Abbey,  and  had 
lived  among  the  ruins  these  thirty  years.  So  I bought 
one  for  a shilling.  She  was  a woman  with  a prominent 
nose,  and  weather-tanned,  but  not  very  picturesque  or 
striking. 

TO  BLACKHEATH. 

On  the.  6th  July,  we  left  the  Villa,  with  our  enor- 
mous luggage,  and  took  our  departure  from  Southamp- 
ton by  the  noon  train.  The  main  street  of  Southampton, 
though  it  looks  pretty  fresh  and  bright,  must  be  really 
antique,  there  being  a great  many  projecting  windows, 
in  the  old-time  style,  and  these  make  the  vista  of  the 
street  very  picturesque.  I have  no  doubt  that  I missed 
seeing  many  things  more  interesting  than  the  few  that  I 
saw.  Our  journey  to  London  was  without  any  remark- 
able incident,  and  at  the  Waterloo  station  we  found  one 
of  Mr.  Bennoch’s  clerks,  under  whose  guidance  we  took 
two  cabs  for  the  East  Kent  station  at  London  Bridge, 
and  there  railed  to  Blackheath,  where  we  arrived  in 
the  afternoon. 


04 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

On  Thursday  I went  into  London  by  one  of  the 
morning  trains,  and  wandered  about  all  day,  — visiting 
the  Exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy,  and  Westmin- 
ster Abbey  and  St.  Paul’s,  the  two  latter  of  which  I 
have  already  written  about  in  former  journals.  On 

Friday,  S — — , J , and  I walked  over  the  heath, 

and  through  the  Park  to  Greenwich,  and  spent  some 
hours  in  the  Hospital.  The  painted  hall  struck  me 
much  more  than  at  my  first  view  of  it , it  is  very  beau 
tiful  indeed,  and  the  effect  of  its  frescoed  ceiling  most 
rich  and  magnificent,  the  assemblage  cf  glowing  hues 
producing  a general  result  of  splendor.  . , 

In  the  evening  I went  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. to  a 

conversazione  at  Mrs.  Newton  Crosland’s,  who  lives  on 
Blackheath I met  with  one  person  who  inter- 

ested me,  — Mr.  Bailey,  the  author  of  Festus  ; and  I 
was  surprised  to  find  myself  already  acquainted  with 
him.  It  is  the  same  Mr.  Bailey  whom  I met  a few 

months  ago,  when  I first  dined  at  Mr.  ’s,  — a dark, 

handsome,  rather  picturesque-looking  man,  with  a gray 
beard,  and  dark  hair,  a little  dimmed  with  gray.  He  is 
of  quiet  and  very  agreeable  deportment,  and  I liked  him 

and  believed  in  him There  is  sadness  glooming 

out  of  him,  but  no  unkindness  nor  asperity.  Mrs.  Cros- 
land’s conversazione  was  enriched  with  a supper,  and 

terminated  with  a dance,  in  which  Mr.  joined  with 

heart  and  soul,  but  Mrs.  went  to  sleep  in  her 

chair,  and  I would  gladly  have  followed  her  example  if 
I could  have  found  a chair  to  sit  upon.  In  the  course 
of  the  evening  I had  some  talk  with  a pale,  nervous 
young  lady,  who  has  been  a noted  spiritual  medium. 

Yesterday  I went  into  town  by  the  steamboat  from 


LONDON  WINE-VAULTS. 


1856.] 


% 


Greenwich  to  London  Bridge,  with  a nephew  of 
Mr. ’s,  and,  calling  at  his  place  of  business,  he  pro- 

cured us  an  order  from  his  wine-merchants,  by  means  of 
which  we  were  admitted  into 


THE  WINE- VAULTS  OF  THE  LONDON  DOCKS. 

We  there  found  parties,  with  an  acquaintance,  who  was 
going,  with  two  French  gentlemen,  into  the  vaults.  It 
is  a good  deal  like  going  down  into  a mine,  each  visitor 
being  provided  with  a lamp  at  the  end  of  a stick  ; and 
following  the  guide  along  dismal  passages,  running  be- 
neath the  streets,  and  extending  away  interminably, — • 
roughly  arched  overhead  with  stone,  from  which  depend 
festoons  of  a sort  of  black  fungus,  caused  by  the  exhala- 
tions of  the  wine.  Nothing  was  ever  uglier  than  this 
fungus.  It  is  strange  that  the  most  ethereal  effervescence 
of  rich  wine  can  produce  nothing  better. 

The  first  series  of  vaults  which  we  entered  were 
filled  with  port-wine,  and  occupied  a space  variously  es- 
timated at  from  eleven  to  sixteen  acres,  — which  I sup- 
pose would  hold  more  port-wine  than  ever  was  made. 
At  any  rate,  the  pipes  and  butts  were  so  thickly  piled 
that  in  some  places  we  could  hardly  squeeze  past  them, 
We  drank  from  two  or  three  vintages  ; but  I was  not 
impressed  with  any  especial  excellence  in  the  wine. 
We  were  not  the  only  visitors,  for,  far  in  the  depths  of 
the  vault,  we  passed  a gentleman  and  two  young  ladies, 
wandering  about  like  the  ghosts  of  defunct  wine-bibbers, 
in  a Tophet  specially  prepared  for  them.  People  em- 
ployed here  sometimes  go  astray,  and,  their  lamps  being 
extinguished,  they  remain  long  in  this  everlasting  gloom. 
We  went  likewise  to  the  vaults  of  sherry- wine,  which 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


96 


[1856. 


have  the  same  characteristics  as  those  just  described, 
but  are  less  extensive. 

It  is  no  guaranty  for  the  excellence  or  even  for  the 
purity  of  the  wine,  that  it  is  kept  in  these  cellars,  under 
the  lock  and  key  of  the  government ; for  the  merchants 
are  allowed  to  mix  different  vintages,  according  to  their 
own  pleasure,  and  to  adulterate  it  as  they  like.  Very 
little  of  the  wine  probably  comes  out  as  it  goes  in, 
or  is  exactly  what  it  pretends  to  be.  I went  back  to 

Mr. ’s  office,  and  we  drove  together  to  make  some 

calls  jointly  and  separately.  I went  alone  to  Mrs.  Hey- 

wood’s ; afterwards  with  Mr.  to  the  American 

minister’s,  whom  we  found  at  home  ; and  I requested  of 
him,  on  the  part  of  the  Americans  at  Liverpool,  to  tell 
me  the  facts  about  the  American  gentleman  being  re- 
fused admittance  to  the  Levee.  The  ambassador  did 
not  seem  to  me  to  make  his  point  good  for  having  with- 
drawn with  the  rejected  guest. 


July  9 th.  (Our  wedding-day.)  — We  were  invited 
yesterday  evening  to  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall’s,  where  Jenny 
Lind  was  to  sing ; so  we  left  Blackheath  at  about  eight 
o’clock  in  a brougham,  and  reached  Ashley  Place,  as 
the  dusk  was  gathering,  after  nine.  The  Halls  reside 
in  a handsome  suite  of  apartments,  arranged  on  the  new 
system  of  flats,  each  story  constituting  a separate  tene- 
ment, and  the  various  families  having  an  entrance-hall 
in  common.  The  plan  is  borrowed  from  the  Continent, 
and  seems  rather  alien  to  the  traditionary  habits  of  the 
English  ; though,  no  doubt,  a good  degree  of  seclusion 
is  compatible  with  it  Mr.  Hall  received  us  with  the 


LONDON. 


97 


1856.] 

greatest  cordiality  before  we  entered  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs.  Hall,  too,  greeted  us  with  most  kindly  warmth. 
Jenny  Lind  had  not  yet  arrived ; but  I found  Dr. 
Mackay  there,  and  I was  introduced  to  Miss  Catherine 
Sinclair,  who  is  a literary  lady,  though  none  of  her 
works  happen  to  be  known  to  me.  Soon  the  servant 
announced  Madam  Goldschmidt,  and  this  famous  lady 
made  her  appearance,  looking  quite  different  from  what 
I expected.  Mrs.  Hall  established  her  in  the  inner 
drawing-room,  where  was  a piano  and  a harp ; and 
shortly  after,  our  hostess  came  to  me,  and  said  that 
Madam  Goldschmidt  wished  to  be  introduced  to  me. 
There  was  a gentle  peremptoriness  in  the  summons, 
that  made  it  something  like  being  commanded  into  the 
presence  of  a princess ; a great  favor,  no  doubt,  but  yet 
a little  humbling  to  the  recipient.  However,  I acqui- 
esced with  due  gratitude,  and  was  presented  accordingly. 
She  made  room  for  me  on  the  sofa,  and  I sat  down,  and 
began  to  talk. 

Jenny  Lind  is  rather  tall,  — quite  tall,  for  a woman, 
— certainly  no  beauty,  but  with  sense  and  self-reliance 
in  her  aspect  and  manners.  She  was  suffering  under  a 
severe  cold,  and  seemed  worn  down  besides,  so  probably 
I saw  her  under  disadvantages.  Her  conversation  is 
quite  simple,  and  I should  have  great  faith  in  her  sin- 
cerity ; and  there  is  about  her  the  manner  of  a person 
who  knows  the  world,  and  has  conquered  it.  She  said 
something  or  other  about  The  Scarlet  Letter  ; and,  on 
my  part,  I paid  her  such  compliments  as  a man  could 
pay  who  had  never  heard  her  sing Her  con- 

versational voice  is  an  agreeable  one,  rather  deep,  and 
not  particularly  smooth.  She  talked  about  America, 

YOL.  II.  5 


G 


98 


English  note-books. 


[1356. 

and  of  our  unwholesome  modes  of  life,  as  to  eating  and 
exercise,  and  of  the  ill  health  especially  of  our  women  ; 
but  I opposed  this  view  as  far  as  I could  with  any 
truth,  insinuating  my  opinion  that  we  are  about  as 
healthy  as  other  people,  and  affirming  for  a certainty 
that  we  live  longer.  In  good  faith,  so  far  as  I have  any 
knowledge  of  the  matter,  the  women  of  England  are  as 
generally  out  of  health  as  those  of  America;  always 
something  has  gone  wrong  with  them;  and  as  for  Jenny 
Lind,  she  looks  wan  and  worn  enough  to  be  an  Ameri- 
can herself.  This  charge  of  ill-health  is  almost  univer- 
sally brought  forward  against  us  nowadays,  — and, 
taking  the  whole  country  together,  I do  not  believe  the 
statistics  will  bear  it  out. 

The  rooms,  which  were  respectably  filled  when  we 
arrived,  were  now  getting  quite  full.  I saw  Mr. 
Stevens,  the  American  man  of  libraries,  and  had  some 
talk  with  him  ; and  Durham,  the  sculptor ; and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hall  introduced  me  to  various  people,  some  of 
whom  were  of  note,  — for  instance,  Sir  Emerson  Ten- 
nent,  a man  of  the  world,  of  some  parliamentary  dis- 
tinction, wearing  a star  ; Mr.  Samuel  Lover,  a most 
good-natured,  pleasant  Irishman,  with  a shining  and 
twinkling  visage  ; Miss  Jewsbury,  whom  I found  very 
conversable.  She  is  known  in  literature,  but  not  to  me. 
We  talked  about  Emerson,  whom  she  seems  to  have 
been  well  acquainted  with  while  he  was  in  England  ; 
and  she  mentioned  that  Miss  Martineau  had  given  him 
a lock  of  hair;  it  was  not  her  own  hair,  but  a 
mummy’s. 

After  our  return  Mrs. told  us  that  Miss  Jews- 


1856. 


LONDON. 


99 


bury  had  written-,  among  other  things,  three  histories, 

and  as  she  asked  me  to  introduce  her  to  S , and 

means  to  cultivate  our  acquaintance,  it  would  be  well 
to  know  something  of  them.  We  were  told  that  she 
is  now  employed  in  some  literary  undertaking  of  Lady 
Morgan's,  who,  at  the  age  of  ninety,  is  still  circulating 
in  society,  and  is  as  brisk  in  faculties  as  ever.  I 
should  like  to  see  her  ladyship,  that  is,  I should  not  be 
sorry  to  see  her ; for  distinguished  people  are  so  much 
on  a par  with  others,  socially,  that  it  would  be  foolish 
to  be  overjoyed  at  seeing  anybody  whomsoever. 

Leaving  out  the  illustrious  Jenny  Lind,  I suspect 
that  I was  myself  the  greatest  lion  of  the  evening  ; for 
a good  many  persons  sought  the  felicity  of  knowing  me, 
and  had  little  or  nothing  to  say  when  that  honor  and 
happiness  was  conferred  on  them.  It  is  surely  very 
wrong  and  ill-mannered  in  people  to  ask  for  an  intro- 
duction unless  they  are  prepared  to  make  talk ; it 
throws  too  great  an  expense  and  trouble  on  the 
wretched  lion,  who  is  compelled,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  to  convert  a conversable  substance  out  of  thiq 
air,  perhaps  for  the  twentieth  time  that  evening.  I arq 
sure  I did  not  say  — and  I think  I did  not  l}ear  said  — 
one  rememberable  word  in  the  course  of  this  visit; 
though,  nevertheless,  it  was  a rather  agreeable  one. 
Jn  due  season  ices  and  jellies  were  handed  about ; and 
some  ladies  and  gentlemen  — professional,  perhaps  — 
were  kind  enough  to  sing  songs,  and  play  on  the 
piano  and  harp,  while  persons  in  remote  corners  went 
on  with  whatever  conversation  they  had  in  hand.  Then 
came  supper;  but  there  were  so  many  people  to  go 
into  the  supper-room  that  we  could  not  all  crowd 


100 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

thither  together,  and,  coming  late,  I got  nothing  but 
some  sponge-cake  and  a glass  of  champagne,  neither  of 
which  I care  for.  After  supper,  Mr.  Lover  sang  some 
Irish  songs,  his  own  in  music  and  words,  with  rich, 
humorous  effect,  to  which  the  comicality  of  his  face  con- 
tributed almost  as  much  as  his  voice  and  words.  The 
Lord  Mayor  looked  in  for  a little  while,  and  though  a 
hard-featured  Jew  enough,  was  the  most  picturesque 
person  there. 

July  10 th.  — Mrs.  Heywood  had  invited  me  to  din- 
ner last  evening.  ....  Her  house  is  very  finely  situ- 
ated, overlooking  Hyde  Park,  and  not  a great  way 
from  where  Tyburn  tree  used  to  stand.  When  I ar- 
rived, there  were  no  guests  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D ; 

but  by  and  by  came  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes  and  lady, 
the  Bishop  of  Lichfield,  Mr.  Tom  Taylor,  Mr.  Ewart, 
M.  P.,  Sir  Somebody  Somerville,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mus- 
grave,  and  others.  Mr.  Milnes,  whom  I had  not  seen 
for  more  than  a year,  greeted  me  very  cordially,  and  so 
did  Mr.  Taylor.  I took  Mrs.  Musgrave  in  to  dinner. 
She  is  an  Irish  lady,  and  Mrs.  Heywood  had  recom- 
mended her  to  me  as  being  very  conversable  ; but  I had 

a good  deal  more  talk  with  Mrs.  M , with  whom  I 

was  already  acquainted,  than  with  her.  Mrs.  M 

is  of  noble  blood,  and  therefore  not  snobbish,  — quite 
unaffected,  gentle,  sweet,  and  easy  to  get  on  with,  re- 
minding me  of  the  best-mannered  American  women. 
But  how  can  anything  characteristic  be  said  or  done 
among  a dozen  people  sitting  at  table  in  full  dress  ? 
Speaking  of  full  dress,  the  Bishop  wore  small-clothes 
and  silk  stockings,  and  entered  the  drawing-room  with 


LONDON. 


101 


1856.] 

a three-cornered  hat,  which  he  kept  flattened  out  under 
his  arm.  He  asked  the  briefest  blessing  possible,  and, 
sitting  at  the  ultra  end  of  the  table,  1 heard  nothing 
further  from  him  till  he  officiated  as  briefly  before  the 
cloth  was  withdrawn.  Mrs.  M talked  about  Ten- 

nyson, with  whom  her  husband  was  at  the  University, 
and  whom  he  continues  to  know  intimately.  She  says 
that  he  considers  Maud  his  best  poem.  He  now  lives 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  spending  all  the  year  round  there, 
and  has  recently  bought  the  place  on  which  he  resides. 
She  was  of  opinion  that  he  would  have  been  gratified 
by  my  calling  on  him,  which  I had  wished  to  do,  while 
we  were  at  Southampton  ; but  this  is  a liberty  which  I 
should  hardly  venture  upon  with  a shy  man  like  Tenny- 
son, — more  especially  as  he  might  perhaps  suspect  me 
of  doing  it  on  the  score  of  my  own  literary  character. 

But  I should  like  much  to  see  him Mr.  Tom 

Taylor,  during  dinner,  made  some  fun  for  the  benefit  of 
the  ladies  on  either  side  of  him.  I liked  him  very  well 
this  evening. 

When  the  ladies  had  not  long  withdrawn,  and  after 
the  wine  had  once  gone  round,  I asked  Mr.  Heywood 
to  make  my  apologies  to  Mrs.  Heywood,  and  took 
leave ; all  London  lying  betwixt  me  and  the  London 
Bridge  station,  where  I was  to  take  the  rail  homeward. 
At  the  station  I found  Mr.  Bennoch,  who  had  been 
dining  with  the  Lord  Mayor  to  meet  Sir  William 
Williams,  and  we  railed  to  Greenwich,  and  reached 
home  by  midnight.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bennoch  have  set  out 
on  their  Continental  journey  to-day,  — leaving  us,  for 
a little  space,  in  possession  of  what  will  be  more  like  a 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


102 


[1856. 


home  than  anything  that  we  shall  hereafter  find  in 
England. 

This  afternoon  I had  taken  up  the  fourth  volume  of 
Jerdan^s  Autobiography,  — wretched  twaddle,  though  it 
records  such  constant  and  apparently  intimate  inter- 
course with  distinguished  people,  — and  was  reading  it, 
between  asleep  and  awake,  on  the  sofa,  when  Mr.  Jer- 
dan  hirnself  was  announced.  I saw  him,  in  company 
with  Mr.  Bennoch,  nearly  three  years  ago,  at  Rock 
Park,  and  wondered  then  what  there  was  in  so  uncouth 
an  individual  to  get  him  so  freely  into  polished  society. 
He  now  looks  rougher  than  ever,  — time-worn,  but  not 
reverend  ; a thatch  of  gray  hair  on  his  head ; an  imper- 
fect set  of  false  teeth ; a careless  apparel,  checked  trou- 
sers, and  a stick,  for  he  had  walked  a mile  or  two  from 
his  own  dwelling. 

I suspect  — and  long  practice  at  the  Consulate  has 
made  me  keen-sighted  — that  Mr.  Jerdan  contem- 
plated some  benefit  from  my  purse ; and,  to  the  extent 
of  a sovereign  or  so,  I would  not  mind  contributing  to 
his  comfort.  He  spoke  of  a secret  purpose  of  Mr. 

and  himself  to  obtain  me  a degree  or  diploma  in 

some  Literary  Institution,  — what  one  I know  not,  and 
did  not  ask  ; but  the  honor  cannot  be  a high  one,  if 
this  poor  old  fellow  can  do  aught  towards  it.  I am 
afraid  he  is  a very  disreputable  senior,  but  certainly 
not  the  less  to  be  pitied  on  that  account ; and  there  was 
something  very  touching  in  his  stiff  and  infirm  move- 
ment, as  he  resumed  his  stick  and  took  leave,  waving 
me  a courteous  farewell,  and  turning  upon  me  a smile, 
grim  with  age,  as  he  went  down  the  steps.  In  that 
gesture  and  smile  I fancied  some  trace  of  the  polished 


LONDON. 


1856,] 


103 


mar.  of  society,  such  as  he  may  have  once  been  ; though 
time  and  hard  weather  have  roughened  him,  as  they 
have  the  once  polished  marble  pillars  which  I saw  so 
rude  in  aspect  at  Netley  Abbey. 

Speaking  of  Dickens  last  evening,  Mr.  — — men- 
tioned his  domestic  tastes,  — how  he  preferred  home 
enjoyments  to  all  others,  and  did  not  willingly  go  much 
into  society.  Mrs.  — — , too,  the  other  day  told  us  of 
his  taking  on  himself  all  possible  trouble  as  regards  his 

domestic  affairs There  is  a great  variety  of 

testimony,  various  and  varied,  as  to  the  character  of 
Dickens.  I must  see  him  before  I finally  leave  Eng- 
land. 

July  13 th. — On  Friday  morning  (11th),  at  nine 
o’clock,  I took  the  rail  into  town  to  breakfast  with  Mr. 
Milnes.  As  he  had  named  a little  after  ten  as  the  hour, 
I could  not  immediately  proceed  to  his  house,  and  so 
walked  moderately  over  London  Bridge  and  into  the 
city,  meaning  to  take  a cab  from  Charing  Cross,  or 
thereabouts.  Passing  through  some  street  or  other,  con- 
tiguous to  Cheapside,  I saw  in  a court-yard  the  en- 
trance to  the  Guildhall,  and  stepped  in  to  look  at  it.  It  is 
a spacious  hall,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  and 
perhaps  half  as  broad,  paved  with  flagstones  which  look 
worn,  and  some  of  them  cracked  across  ; the  roof  is  very 
lofty  and  was  once  vaulted,  but  has  been  shaped  anew 
in  modern  times.  There  is  a vast  window  partly  filled 
with  painted  glass,  extending  quite  along  each  end  of 
the  hall,  and  a row  of  arched  windows  on  either  side, 
throwing  their  light  from  far  above  downward  upon  the 
pavement.  This  fashion  of  high  windows,  not  reaching 


104  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

within  twenty  or  thirty  feet  of  the  floor,  serves  to  give 
great  effect  to  the  large  enclosed  space  of  an  antique 
hall.  Against  the  walls  are  several  marble  monuments  ; 
one  to  the  Earl  of  Chatham,  a statue  of  white  marble, 
with  various  allegorical  contrivances,  fronting  an  obelisk 
or  pyramid  of  dark  marble ; and  another  to  his  son, 
William  Pitt,  of  somewhat  similar  design  and  of  equal 
size ; each  of  them  occupying  the  whole  space,  I be- 
lieve, between  pavement  and  ceiling.  There  is  like- 
wise a statue  of  Beckford,  a famous  Lord  Mayor, — 
the  most  famous  except  Whittington,  and  that  one  who 
killed  Wat  Tyler ; and  like  those  two,  his  fame  is 
perhaps  somewhat  mythological,  though  he  lived  and 
bustled  within  less  than  a century.  He  is  said  to  have 
made  a bold  speech  to  the  King  ; but  this  I will  not 
believe  of  any  Englishman  — at  least,  of  any  plebeian 
Englishman  — until  I hear  it.  But. there  stands  his 
statue  in  the  Guildhall  in  the  act  of  making  his  speech, 
as  if  the  monstrous  attempt  had  petrified  him. 

Lord  Nelson,  too,  has  a monument,  and  so,  I think, 
has  some  other  modern  worthy.  At  one  end  of  the 
hall,  under  one  of  the  great  painted  windows,  stand 
three  or  four  old  statues  of  mediaeval  kings,  whose 
identities  I forget ; and  in  the  two  corners  of  the  op- 
posite end  are  two  gigantic  absurdities  of  painted  wood, 
with  grotesque  visages,  whom  I quickly  recognized  as 
Gog  and  Magog.  They  stand  each  on  a pillar,  and 
seem  to  be  about  fifteen  feet  high,  and  look  like  enor- 
mous playthings  for  the  children  of  giants  ; and  it  is 
strange  to  see  them  in  this  solemn  old  hall,  among  the 
memorials  of  dead  heroes  and  statesmen.  There  is  an 
annual  banquet  in  the  Guildhall,  given  by  the  Lord 


LONDON. 


105 


1855.] 

Mayor  and  sheriffs,  and  I believe  it  is  the  very  acme 
of  civic  feasting. 

After  viewing  the  hall,  as  it  still  lacked  something . 
of  ten,  I continued  my  walk  through  that  entanglement 
of  city  streets,  and  quickly  found  myself  getting  beyond 
my  reckoning.  I cannot  tell  whither  I went,  but  I 
passed  through  a very  dirty  region,  and  I remember  a 
long,  narrow,  evil-odored  street,  cluttered  up  with  stalls, 
in  which  were  vegetables  and  little  bits  of  meat  for 
sale  ; and  there  was  a frowzy  multitude  of  buyers  and 
sellers.  Still  I blundered  on,  and  was  getting  out  of 
the  density  of  the  city  into  broader  streets,  but  still 
shabby  ones,  when,  looking  at  my  watch,  I found  it  to 
be  past  ten,  and  no  cab-stand  within  sight.  It  was  a 
quarter  past  when  I finally  got  into  one  ; and  the  driver 
told  me  that  it  would  take  half  an  hour  to  go  from 
thence  to  Upper  Brook  Street ; so  that  I was  likely  to 
exceed  the  license  implied  in  Mr.  Milnes’s  invitation. 
Whether  I was  quite  beyond  rule  I cannot  say  ; but  it 
did  not  lack  more  than  ten  minutes  of  eleven  when  I 
was  ushered  up  stairs,  and  I found  all  the  company 
assembled.  However,  it  is  of  little  consequence,  except 
that  if  I had  come  early,  I should  have  been  introduced 
to  many  of  the  guests,  whom  now  I could  only  know 
across  the  table.  Mrs.  Milnes  greeted  me  very  kindly, 
and  Mr.  Milnes  came  towards  me  with  an  elderly 
gentleman  in  a blue  coat  and  gray  pantaloons,  — with 
a long,  rather  thin,  homely  visage,  exceedingly  shaggy 
eyebrows,  though  no  great  weight  of  brow,  and  thin 
gray  hair,  and  introduced  me  to  the  Marquis  of  Lans- 
downe.  The  Marquis  had  his  right  hand  wrapped  up  in 
a black -silk  handkerchief ; so  he  gave  me  his  left,  and 
5* 


10G 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1 1856. 


from  some  awkwardness  in  meeting  it,  when  I expected 
the  right,  I gave  him  only  three  of  my  fingers,  — a 
thing  I never  did  before  to  any  person,  and  it  is  droll 
that  I should  have  done  it  to  a Marquis.  He  addressed 
me  with  great  simplicity  and  natural  kindness,  compli- 
menting me  on  my  works,  and  speaking  about  the 
society  of  Liverpool  in  former  days.  Lord  Lansdowne 
was  the  friend  of  Moore,  and  has  about  him  the  aroma 
communicated  by  the  memories  of  many  illustrious 
people  with  whom  he  has  associated. 

Mr.  Ticknor,  the  Historian  of  Spanish  Literature, 
now  greeted  me.  Mr.  Milnes  introduced  me  to  Mrs. 
Browning,  and  assigned  her  to  me  to  conduct  into  the 
breakfast-room.  She  is  a small,  delicate  woman,  with 
ringlets  of  dark  hair,  a pleasant,  intelligent,  and  sen- 
sitive face,  and  a low,  agreeable  voice.  She  looks 
youthful  and  comely,  and  is  very  gentle  and  ladylike. 
And  so  we  proceeded  to  the  breakfast-room,  which  is 
hung  round  with  pictures  ; and  in  the  middle  of  it  stood 
a large  round  table,  worthy  to  have  been  King  Arthur’s, 
and  here  we  seated  ourselves  without  any  question  of 
precedence  or  ceremony.  On  one  side  of  me  was  an 
elderly  lady,  with  a very  fine  countenance,  and  in  the 
course  of  breakfast  I discovered  her  to  be  the  mother 
of  Florence  Nightingale.  One  of  her  daughters  (not 
Florence)  was  likewise  present.  Mrs.  Milnes,  Mrs. 
Browning,  Mrs.  Nightingale,  and  her  daughter  were  the 
only  ladies  at  table ; and  I think  there  were  as  many 
as  eight  or  ten  gentlemen,  whose  names  — as  I came  so 
late  — I was  left  to  find  out  for  myself,  or  to  leave 
unknown. 

It  was  a pleasant  and  sociable  meal,  and,  thanks  to 


LONDON. 


107 


my  cold  beef  and  coffee  at  home,  I had  no  occasion  to 
trouble  myself  much  about  the  fare  ; so  I just  ate  some 
delicate  chicken,  and  a very  small  'cutlet,  and  a slice  of 
dry  toast,  and  thereupon  surceased  from  my  labors. 
Mrs.  Browning  and  I talked  a good  deal  during  break- 
fast, for  she  is  of  that  quickly  appreciative  and  respon- 
sive order  of  women  with  whom  I can  talk  more  freely 
than  with  any  man ; and  she  has,  besides,  her  own 
originality,  wherewith  to  help  on  conversation,  though, 

I should  say,  not  of  a loquacious  tendency.  She  intro- 
duced the  subject  of  spiritualism,  which,  she  says, 
interests  her  very  much  ; indeed,  she  seems  to  be  a 
believer.  Mr.  Browning,  she  told  me,  utterly  rejects 
the  subject,  and  will  not  believe  even  in  the  outward 
manifestations,  of  which  there  is  such  overwhelming 
evidence.  We  also  talked  of  Miss  Bacon  ; and  I de- 
veloped something  of  that  lady’s  theory  respecting 
Shakespeare,  greatly  to  the  horror  of  Mrs.  Browning, 
and  that  of  her  next  neighbor,  — a nobleman,  whose 
name  I did  not  hear.  On  the  whole,  I like  her  the  better 
for  loving  the  man  Shakespeare  with  a personal  love. 
We  talked,  too,  of  Margaret  Fuller,  who  spent  her  last 
night  in  Italy  with  the  Brownings ; and  of  William 
Story,  with  whom  they  have  been  intimate,  and  who, 
Mrs.  Browning  says,  is  much  stirred  about  spiritualism. 
Really,  I cannot  help  wondering  that  so  fine  a spirit  as 
hers  should  not  reject  the  matter,  till,  at  least,  it  is 
forced  upon  her.  I like  her  very  much. 

Mrs.  Nightingale  had  been  talking  at  first  with  Lord  * 
Lansdowne,  who  sat  next  her,  but  by  and  by  she  turned 

to  me,  and  began  to  speak  of  London  smoke 

Then,  there  being  a discussion  about  Lord  Byron  ou 


108  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

the  other  side  of  the  table,  she  spoke  to  me  about  Lady 
Byron,  whom  she  knows  intimately,  characterizing  her 
as  a most  excellent'  and  exemplary  person,  high-prin- 
cipled, unselfish,  and  now  devoting  herself  to  the  care  of 
her  two  grandchildren,  — their  mother,  Byron’s  daugh- 
ter, being  dead.  Lady  Byron,  she  says,  writes  beautiful 
verses.  Somehow  or  other,  all  this  praise,  and  more 
of  the  same  kind,  gave  me  an  idea  of  an  intolerably 
irreproachable  person  ; and  I asked  Mrs.  Nightingale 
if  Lady  Byron  were  warm-hearted.  With  some  hesi- 
tation, or  mental  reservation,  - — at  all  events^  not  quite 
outspokenly,  — she  answered  that  she  was. 

I was  too  much  engaged  with  these  personal  talks 
to  attend  much  to  what  was  going  on  elsewhere  ; but 
all  through  breakfast  I had  been  more  and  more  im- 
pressed by  the  aspect  of  one  of  the  guests,  sitting  next 
to  Milnes.  He  was  a man  of  large  presence,  — a portly 
personage,  gray-haired,  but  scarcely  as  yet  aged ; 
and  his  face  had  a remarkable  intelligence,  not  vivid 
nor  sparkling,  but  conjoined  with  great  quietude,  — and 
if  it  gleamed  or  brightened  at  one  time  more  than  an- 
other, it  was  like  the  sheen  over  a broad  surface  of  sea. 
There  was  a somewhat  careless  self-possession,  large  and 
broad  enough  to  be  called  dignity  ; and  the  more  I looked 
at  him,  the  more  I knew  that  he  was  a distinguished  per- 
son, and  wondered  who.  He  might  have  been  a minis- 
ter of  state  ; only  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  has  any 
right  to  such  a face  and  presence.  At  last,  — I do  not 
know  how  the  conviction  came,  — but  I became  aware 
that  it  was  Macaulay,  and  began  to  see  some  slight  re- 
semblance to  his  portraits.  But  I have  never  seen  any 
that  is  not  wretchedly  unworthy  of  the  original.  As 


LONDON. 


109 


1 856  ] 

soon  as  I knew  him,  I began  to  listen  to  his  conversa- 
tion, but  he  did  not  talk  a great  deal,  — contrary  to  his 
usual  custom ; for  I am  told  he  is  apt  to  engross  all  the 
talk  to  himself.  Probably  he  may  have  been  restrained 
by  the  presence  of  Ticknor,  and  Mr.  Palfrey,  who  were 
among  his  auditors  and  interlocutors ; and  as  the  con- 
versation seemed  to  turn  much  on  American  subjects, 
he  could  not  well  have  assumed  to  talk  them  down.  I 
am  glad  to  have  seen  him,  — a face  fit  for  a scholar,  a 
man  of  the  world,  a cultivated  intelligence. 

After  we  left  the  table,  and  went  into  the  library, 
Mr.  Browning  introduced  himself  to  me,  — a younger 
man  than  I expected  to  see,  handsome,  with  brown 
hair.  He  is  very  simple  and  agreeable  in  manner, 
gently  impulsive,  talking  as  if  his  heart  were  upper- 
most. He  spoke  of  his  pleasure  in  meeting  me,  and 
his  appreciation  of  my  books ; and  — which  has  not 
often  happened  to  me  — mentioned  that  The  Blithedale 
Romance  was  the  one  he  admired  most.  I wonder 
why.  I hope  I showed  as  much  pleasure  at  his  praise 
as  he  did  at  mine  ; for  I was  glad  to  see  how  pleasant- 
ly it  moved  him.  After  this,  I talked  with  Ticknor 
and  Milnes,  and  with  Mr.  Palfrey,  to  whom  I had  been 
introduced  very  long  ago  by  George  Hillard,  and  had 
never  seen  him  since.  We  looked  at  some  autographs, 
of  which  Mr.  Milnes  has  two  or  three  large  volumes. 
I recollect  a leaf  from  Swift’s  Journal  to  Stella  ; a let- 
ter from  Addison  ; one  from  Chatterton,  in  a most  neat 
and  legible  hand  ; and  a characteristic  sentence  or  two 
and  signature  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  written  in  a religious 
book.  There  were  many  curious  volumes  in  the  library, 
but  I had  not  time  to  look  at  them. 


110  ENGLISH  NOTE  BOOKS.  [1856. 

I liked  greatly  the  manners  of  almost  all,  — yes, 
as  far  as  I observed,  — all  the  people  at  this  break- 
fast, and  it  was  doubtless  owing  to  their  being  all  peo- 
ple either  of  high  rank  or  remarkable  intellect,  or  both. 
An  Englishman  can  hardly  be  a gentleman,  unless  he 
enjoy  one  or  other  of  these  advantages ; and  perhaps 
the  surest  way  to  give  him  good  manners  is  to  make  a 
lord  of  him,  or  rather  of  his  grandfather  or  great  grand- 
father. In  the  third  generation,  scarcely  sooner,  he 
will  be  polished  into  simplicity  and  elegance,  and  his 
deportment  will  be  all  the  better  for  the  homely  mate- 
rial out  of  which  it  is  wrought  and  refined.  The  Mar- 
quis of  Lansdowne,  for  instance,  would  have  been  a very 
commonplace  man  in  the  common  ranks  of  life  ; but  it 
has  done  him  good  to  be  a nobleman.  Not  that  his 
tact  is  quite  perfect.  In  going  up  to  breakfast,  he 
made  me  precede  him ; in  returning  to  the  library,  he 
did  the  same,  although  I drew  back,  till  he  impelled  me 
up  the  first  stair,  with  gentle  persistence.  By  insisting 
upon  it,  he  showed  his  sense  of  condescension  much 
more  than  if,  when  he  saw  me  unwilling  to  take  pre- 
cedence, he  had  passed  forward,  as  if  the  point  were 
not  worth  either  asserting  or  yielding.  Heaven  knows, 
it  was  in  no  humility  that  I would  have  trodden  behind 
him.  But  he  is  a kind  old  man  ; and  I am  willing  to 
believe  of  the  English  aristocracy  generally  that  they 
are  kind,  and  of  beautiful  deportment ; for  certainly 
there  never  can  have  been  mortals  in  a position  more 
advantageous  for  becoming  so.  I hope  there  will  come 
a time  when  we  shall  be  so  ; and  I already  know  a few 
Americans,  whose  noble  and  delicate  manners  may  com* 
pare  well  with  any  I have  seen. 


LONDON. 


Ill 


i856.] 

I left  the  house  with  Mr.  Palfrey.  He  has  come  to 
England  to  make  some  researches  in  the  State  Paper 
Office,  for  the  purposes  of  a work  which  he  has  in  hand. 
He  mentioned  to  me  a letter  which  he  had  seen,  written 
from  New  England  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.  and  re- 
ferring to  the  order  sent  by  the  minister  of  that  day  for 
the  appearance  of  Governor  Bellingham  and  my  ances- 
tor on  this  side  of  the  water.  The  signature  of  this 
letter  is  an  anagram  of  my  ancestor’s  name.  The  letter 
itself  is  a very  bold  and  able  one,  controverting  the 
propriety  of  the  measure  above  indicated ; and  Mr. 
Palfrey  feels  certain  that  it  was  written  by  mjr  aforesaid 
ancestor.  I mentioned  my  wish  to  ascertain  the  place 
in  England  whence  the  family  emigrated ; and  Mr. 
Palfrey  took  me  to  the  Record  Office,  and  introduced 
me  to  Mr.  Joseph  Hunter, — a venerable  and  courteous 
gentleman,  of  antiquarian  pursuits.  The  office  was 
odorous  of  musty  parchments,  hundreds  of  years  old. 
Mr.  Hunter  received  me  with  great  kindness,  and  gave 
me  various  old  records  and  rolls  of  parchment,  in  which 
to  seek  for  my  family  name  ; but  I was  perplexed  with 
the  crabbed  characters,  and  soon  grew  weary  and  gave 
up  the  quest.  He  says  that  it  is  very  seldom  that  an 
American  family,  springing  from  the  early  settlers,  can 
be  satisfactorily  traced  back  to  their  English  ancestry. 

July  1 6tL  — Monday  morning  I took  the  rail  from 
Blackheath  to  London.  It  is  a very  pleasant  place, 
Blackheath,  and  far  more  rural  than  one  would  expect, 
within  five  or  six  miles  of  London, — a great  many  trees, 
making  quite  a mass  of  foliage  in  the  distance ; green 
enclosures ; pretty  villas,  with  their  nicely  kept  lawns, 


112  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

and  gardens,  with  grass  plots  and  flower  borders  ; and 
village  streets,  set  along  the  sidewalks  with  ornamental 
trees  ; and  the  houses  standing  a little  back,  and  separated 
one  from  another,  — all  this  within  what  is  called  the 
Park,  which  has  its  gateways,  and  the  sort  of  semi-privacy 
with  which  I first  became  acquainted  at  Rock  Park. 

From  the  London  Bridge  station  I took  a cab  for  Pad- 
dington, and'  then  had  to  wait  above  two  hours  before  a 
train  started  for  Birkenhead.  Meanwhile  I walked  a 
little  about  the  neighborhood,  which  is  very  dull  and 
uninteresting ; made  up  of  crescents  and  terraces,  and 
rows  of  houses  that  have  no  individuality,  and  second- 
rate  shops,  — in  short,  the  outskirts  of  the  vast  city, 
when  it  begins  to  have  a kind  of  village  character 
but  no  rurality  or  sylvan  aspect,  as  at  Blackheath.  My 
journey,  when  at  last  we  started,  was  quite  unmarked 
by  incident,  and  extremely  tedious  ; it  being  a slow 
train,  which  plods  on  without  haste  and  without  rest. 
At  about  ten  o’clock  we  reached  Birkenhead,  and  there 
crossed  the  familiar  and  detestable  Mersey,  which,  as 
usual,  had  a cloudy  sky  brooding  over  it.  Mrs.  Blod- 
gett received  me  most  hospitably,  but  was  impelled, 
by  an  overflow  of  guests,  to  put  me  into  a little  back 
room,  looking  into  the  court,  and  formerly  occupied  by 
my  predecessor,  General  Armstrong She  ex- 

pressed a hope  that  I might  not  see  his  ghost,  — nor 
have  I,  as  yet 

Speaking  of  ghosts,  Mr.  H.  A.  B told  me  a sin- 

gular story  to-day  of  an  apparition  that  haunts  the 

Times  Office,  in  Printing-House  Square.  A Mr.  W 

is  the  engineer  of  the  establishment,  and  has  his  resh 


LIVERPOOL. 


113 


1856.] 


dence  in  the  edifice,  which  is  built,  I believe,  on  the 
site  of  Merchant  Taylor’s  school,  — an  old  house  that 
was  no  longer  occupied  for  its  original  purpose,  and, 
being  supposed  haunted,  was  left  untenanted.  The 

father-in-law  of  Mr.  W , an  old  sea-captain,  caine  on 

a visit  to  him  and  his  wife,  and  was  put  into  their  guest- 
chamber,  where  he  passed  the  night.  The  next  morn- 
ing, assigning  no  very  satisfactory  reason,  he  cut  his 
visit  short  and  went  away.  Shortly  afterwards,  a young 

lady  came  to  visit  the  W ’s  ; but  she  too  went 

away  the  next  morning,  — going  first  to  make  a call, 
as  she  said,  to  a friend,  and  sending  thence  for  her 

trunks.  Mrs.  W wrote  to  this  young  lady,  asking 

an  explanation.  The  young  lady  replied,  and  gave  a 
singular  account  of  an  apparition,  — how  she  was 
awakened  in  the  night  by  a bright  light  shining  through 
the  window,  which  was  parallel  to  the  bed  ; then,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  her  curtains  were  withdrawn,  and  a 
shape  looked  in  upon  her,  — a woman’s  shape,  she 
called  it  ; but  it  was  a skeleton,  with  lambent  flames 
playing  about  its  bones,  and  in  and  out  among  the  ribs. 
Other  persons  have  since  slept  in  this  chamber,  and 

some  have  seen  the  shape,  others  not.  Mr.  W has 

slept  there  himself  without  seeing  anything.  He  has 
had  investigations  by  scientific  people,  apparently  under 
the  idea  that  the  phenomenon  might  have  been  caused 
by  some  of  the  Times’s  work-people,  playing  tricks  on 
the  magic-lantern  principle  ; but  nothing  satisfactory 

has  thus  far  been  elucidated.  Mr.  B had  this 

story  from  Mrs.  Gaskell Supposing  it  a ghost, 

nothing  else  is  so  remarkable  as  its  choosing  to  haunt 
the  precincts  of  the  Times  newspaper. 


H 


114  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1S56- 

July  29 th. — On  Saturday,  26th,  I took  the  rail  from 
the  Lime  Street  station  for  London,  via  the  Trent 
Valley,  and  reached  Blackheath  in  the  evening 

Sunday  morning  my  wife  and  I,  with  J , railed  in- 

to London,  and  drove  to  the  Essex  Street  Chapel,  where 
Mr.  Channing  was  to  preach.  The  Chapel  is  the  same 
where  Priestley  and  Belsham  used  to  preach,  — one  of  the 
plainest  houses  of  worship  I was  ever  in,  as  simple  and 
undecorated  as  the  faith  there  inculcated.  They  retain, 
however,  all  the  form  and  ceremonial  of  the  English 
Established  Church,  though  so  modified  as  to  meet  the 
doctrinal  views  of  the  Unitarians.  There  may  be  good 
sense  in  this,  inasmuch  as  it  greatly  lessens  the  minis- 
terial labor  to  have  a stated  form  of  prayer,  instead  of  a 
necessity  for  extempore  outpourings ; but  it  must  be,  I 
should  think,  excessively  tedious  to  the  congregation,  es- 
pecially as,  having  made  alterations  in  these  prayers, 
they  cannot  attach  much  idea  of  sanctity  to  them. 

[Here  follows  a long  record  of  Mr.  Hawthorne’s  visit 
to  Miss  Bacon,  — condensed  in  Our  Old  Home,  in  the 
paper  called  “ Recollections  of  a Gifted  Woman.”] 

August  2d. — On  Wednesday  (30th  July)  we  went  to 
Marlborough  House  to  see  the  Vernon  gallery  of  pic- 
tures. They  are  the  works,  almost  entirely,  of  English 
artists  of  the  last  and  present  century,  and  comprise 
many  famous  paintings  ; and  I must  acknowledge  that 
I had  more  enjoyment  of  them  than  of  those  portions  of 
the  National  Gallery  which  I had  before  seen,  — in- 
cluding specimens  of  the  grand  old  masters.  My  com- 
prehension has  not  reached  their  height.  I think  noth- 
ing pleased  me  more  than  a picture  by  Sir  David 


LONDON. 


115 


1856  1 

Wilkie.  - Thv*  Parish  Beadle,  with  a vagrant  boy  and  a 
monkey  in  custody ; it  is  exceedingly  good  and  true 
throughout,  and  especially  the  monkey's  face  is  a won- 
derful production  of  genius,  condensing  within  itself  the 
whole  moral  and  pathos  of  the  picture. 

Marlborough  House  was  the  residence  of  the  Great 
Duke,  and  is  to  be  that  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  when 
another  place  is  found  for  the  pictures.  It  adjoins  St* 
James's  Palace.  In  its  present  state  it  is  not  a vefy 
splendid  mansion,  the  rooms  being  small,  though  hand^ 
somely  shaped,  with  vaulted  ceilings,  and  carved  whiter 

, marble  fireplaces.  1 left  S here  after  an  hour  or 

vwc.  and  walked  forth  into  the  hot  and  busy  city  with 

J I called  at  Routledge's  bookshop,  in 

hopes  to  make  an  arrangement  with  him  about  Miss 
Bacon's  business.  But  Routledge  himself  is  making  a 
journey  in  the  north,  and  neither  of  the  partners  was 
there,  so  that  I shall  have  ic  go  thither  some  other  day. 
Then  we  stepped  into  St  Paul's  Cathedral  to  cool  our- 
selves, and  it  was  delightful  so  to  escape  from  the  sun- 
ny, sultry  turmoil  of  Fleet  Street  and  Ludgate,  and  find 
ourselves  at  once  in  this  remote,  solemn,  shadowy  se- 
clusion, marble-cool.  O that  we  had  cathedrals  in 
America,  were  it  only  for  the  sensuous  luxury ! We 

strolled  round  the  cathedral,  and  I delighted  J 

much  by  pointing  out  the  monuments  of  three  British 
generals,  who  were  slain  in  America  in  the  last  war, 
— the  naughty  and  bloodthirsty  little  man!  We  then 

went  to  Guildhall,  where  I thought  J would  like 

to  see  Gog  and  Magog ; but  he  had  never  heard  of  those 

illustrious  personages,  and  took  no  interest  in  them 

But  truly  I am  grateful  to  the  piety^  of  former  times  for 


116 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

raising  this  vast,  cool  canopy  of  marble  [St.  Paul’s]  in 
the  midst  of  the  feverish  city.  I wandered  quite  round 
it,  and  saw,  in  a remote  corner,  a monument  to  the  offi- 
cers of  the  Coldstream  Guards,  slain  in  the  Crimea.  It 
was  a mural  tablet,  with  the  names  of  the  officers  on  an 
escutcheon  ; and  two  privates  of  the  Guards,  in  marble 
bas-relief,  were  mourning  over  them.  Over  the  tablet 
hung  two  silken  banners,  new  and  glossy,  with  the  bat- 
tles in  which  the  regiment  has  been  engaged  inscribed 
on  them,  — not  merely  Crimean  but  Peninsular  battles. 
These  banners  will  hang  there  till  they  drop  away  in 
tatters. 

After  thus  refreshing  myself  in  the  cathedral,  I went 
again  to  Routledge’s  in  Farrington  Street,  and  saw  one 
of  the  firm.  He  expressed  great  pleasure  at  seeing  me, 
as  indeed  he  might,  having  published  and  sold,  without 
any  profit  on  my  part,  uncounted  thousands  of  my  books. 
I introduced  the  subject  of  Miss  Bacon’s  work ; and  he 
expressed  the  utmost  willingness  to  do  everything  in 
his  power  towards  bringing  it  before  the  world,  but 
thought  that  his  firm  — it  being  their  business  to  pub- 
lish for  the  largest  circle  of  readers  — was  not  the  most 
eligible  for  the  publication  of  such  a book.  Very  likely 
this  may  be  so.  At  all  events,  however,  I am  to  send 
him  the  manuscript,  and  he  will  at  least  give  me  his  ad- 
vice and  assistance  in  finding  a publisher.  He  was  good 
enough  to  express  great  regret  that  I had  no  work  of 
my  own  to  give  him  for  publication  ; and,  truly,  I regret 
it  too,  since,  being  a resident  in  England,  I could  now 
have  all  the  publishing  privileges  of  a native  author. 
He  presented  me  with  a copy  of  an  illustrated  edition 
of  Longfellow’s  Poems,  and  I took  my  leave. 


LONDON* 


117 


1856.] 

Thence  I went  to  the  Picture  Gallery  at  the  British 
Institution,  where  there  are  three  rooms  full  of  paint- 
ings by  the  first  masters,  the  property  of  private  per- 
sons. Every  one  of  them,  no  doubt,  was  worth  studying 
for  a long,  long  time  ; and  I suppose  I may  have  given, 
on  an  average,  a minute  to  each.  What  an  absurdity 
it  would  seem,  to  pretend  to  read  two  or  three  hundred 
poems,  of  all  degrees  between  an  epic  and  a ballad,  in 
an  hour  or  two!  And  a picture  is  a poem,  only  requir- 
ing the  greater  study  to  be  felt  and  comprehended  ; be- 
cause the  spectator  must  necessarily  do  much  for  him- 
self towards  that  end.  I saw  many  beautiful  things,  — 
among  them  some  landscapes  by  Claude,  which  to  the 
eye  were  like  the  flavor  of  a rich,  ripe  melon  to  the 
palate. 


August  7th . — Yesterday  we  took  the  rail  for  London, 
it  being  a fine,  sunny  day,  though  not  so  very  warm  as 

many  of  the  preceding  days  have  been We  went 

along  Piccadilly  as  far  as  the  Egyptian  Hall.  It  is 
quite  remarkable  how  comparatively  quiet  the  town  has 
become,  now  that  the  season  is  over.  One  can  see  the 
difference  in  all  the  region  west  of  Temple  Bar ; and, 
indeed,  either  the  hot  weather  or  some  other  cause 
seems  to  have  operated  in  assuaging  the  turmoil  in  the 
city  itself.  I never  saw  London  Bridge  so  little 
thronged  as  yesterday.  At  the  Egyptian  Hall,  or  in  the 
same  edifice,  there  is  a gallery  of  pictures,  the  property 
of  Lord  Ward,  who  allows  the  public  to  see  them,  five 
days  of  the  week,  without  any  trouble  or  restriction,  — 
a great  kindness  on  his  Lordship’s  part,  it  must  be 


118 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850. 

owned.  It  is  a very  valuable  collection,  I presume, 
containing  specimens  of  many  famous  old  masters ; 
some  of  the  early  and  hard  pictures  by  Raphael  and  his 
master  and  fellow-pupils,  — very  curious,  and  nowise 
beautiful ; a perfect,  sunny  glimpse  of  Venice,  by  Cana* 
letto;  and  saints,  and  Scriptural,  allegorical,  and  myth* 
ological  people,  by  Titian,  Guido,  Correggio,  and  many 
more  names  than  lean  remember.  There  is  likewise  a 
dead  Magdalen  by  Canova,  and  a Venus  by  the  same* 
very  pretty,  and  with  a vivid  light  of  joyous  expression 
in  her  face  ; . . . . also  Powers’s  Greek  Slave,  in  which 
I see  little  beauty  or  merit;  and  two  or  three  other 
statues. 

We  then  drove  to  Ashley  Place,  to  call  on  Mrs.  S. 
C.  Hall,  whom  we  found  at  home.  In  fact,  Wednesday 
is  her  reception-day  ; although,  as  now  everybody  is  out 
of  town,  we  were  the  only  callers.  She  is  an  agree- 
able and  kindly  woman.  She  told  us  that  her  husband 
and  herself  propose  going  to  America  next  year,  and  I 
heartily  wish  they  may  meet  with  a warm  and  friendly 
reception.  I have  been  seldom  more  assured  of  the 
existence  of  a heart  than  in  her ; also  a good  deal  of 
sentiment.  She  had  been  visiting  Bessie,  the  widow 

of  Moore,  at  Sloperton,  and  gave  S a rose  from  his 

cottage.  Such  things  are  very  true  and  unaffected  in 
her.  The  only  wonder  is  that  she  has  not  lost  such 
girlish  freshness  of  feeling  as  prompts  them.  We  did 
not  see  Mr.  Hall,  he  having  gone  to  the  Crystal  Pal- 
ace. 

Taking  our  leave,  we  returned  along  Victoria  Street 
■ — a new  street,  penetrating  through  what  was  recently 


1856.] 


LIVERPOOL. 


119 


one  of  the  worst  parts  of  the  town,  and  now  bordered 
with  large  blocks  of  buildings,  in  a dreary,  half-finished 
state,  and  left  so  for  want  of  funds  — till  we  came  to 
Westminster  Abbey.  We  went  in  and  spent  an  hour 
there,  wandering  all  round  the  nave  and  aisles,  admiring 
the  grand  old  edifice  itself,  but  finding  more  to  smile  at 

than  to  admire  in  the  monuments The  interior 

view  of  the  Abbey  is  better  than  can  be  described ; the 
heart  aches,  as  one  gazes  at  it,  for  lack  of  power  and 
breadth  enough  to  take  its  beauty  and  grandeur  in. 
The  effect  was  heightened  by  the  sun  shining  through 
the  painted  window  in  the  western  end,  and  by  the 
bright  sunshine  that  came  through  the  open  portal,  and 
lay  on  the  pavement,  — that  space  so  bright,  the  rest  of 
the  vast  floor  so  solemn  and  sombre.  At  the  western 
end,  in  a corner  from  which  spectators  are  barred  out, 
there  is  a statue  of  Wordsworth,  which  I do  not  recol- 
lect seeing  at  any  former  visit.  Its  only  companion  in 
the  same  nook  is  Pope’s  friend,  Secretary  Craggs. 

Downing  Street,  that  famous  official  precinct,  took  its 
name  from  Sir  George  Downing,  who  was  proprietor  or 
lessee  of  property  there.  He  was  a native  of  my  own 
old  native  town,  and  his  descendants  still  reside  there,  - — 
collateral  descendants,  I suppose,  — and  follow  the  dry- 
goods  business  (drapers). 

August  1(M.  — I journeyed  to  Liverpool  via  Ches- 
ter  One  sees  a variety  of  climate,  temperature, 

and  season  in  a ride  of  two  hundred  miles,  north  and 
south,  through  England,  Near  London,  for  instance, 
the  grain  was  reaped,  and  stood  in  sheaves  in  the 


120  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

stubble-fields,  over  which  girls  and  children  might  be 
seen  gleaning ; farther  north,  the  golden,  or  greenish- 
golden,  crops  were  waving  in  the  wind.  In  one  part 
of  our  way  the  atmosphere  was  hot  and  dry ; at  another 
point  it  had  been  cooled  and  refreshed  by  a heavy 
thunder-shower,  the  pools  of  which  still  lay  along  our 
track.  It  seems  to  me  that  local  varieties  of  weather 
are  more  common  in  this  island,  and  within  narrower 
precincts,  than  in  America I never  saw  Eng- 

land of  such  a dusky  and  dusty  green  before,  — almost 
sunbrowned,  indeed.  Sometimes  the  green  hedges 
formed  a marked  framework  to  a broad  sheet  of 
golden  grain-field.  As  we  drew  near  Oxford,  just  be- 
fore reaching  the  station  I had  a good  view  of  its 
domes,  towers,  and  spires,  — better,  I think,  than  when 

J and  I rambled  through  the  town  a month  or 

two  ago. 

Mr.  Frank  Scott  Haydon,  of  the  Record  Office,  Lon- 
don, writes  me  that  he  has  found  a “ Henry  Atte  Haw- 
thorne ” on  a roll  which  he  is  transcribing,  of  the  first 
Edward  III.  He  belonged  to  the  Parish  of  Aldremes- 
ton,  in  the  hundred  of  Blakenhurste,  Worcester  County. 

August  21  st.  — Yesterday,  at  twelve  o’clock,  I took 
the  steamer  for  Runcorn,  from  the  pier-head.  In  the 
streets,  I had  noticed  that  it  was  a breezy  day ; but  on 
the  river  there  was  a very  stiff  breeze  from  the  north- 
east, right  ahead,  blowing  directly  in  our  face  the 
whole  way ; and  truly  this  river  Mersey  is  never  with- 
out a breeze,  and  generally  in  the  direction  of  its 
course,  — an  evil-tempered,  unkindly,  blustering  wind, 


1856.] 


RUNCORN. 


121 


that  you  cannot  meet  without  being  exasperated  by  it. 
As  it  came  straight  against  us,  it  was  impossible  to  find 
a shelter  anywhere  on  deck,  except  it  were  behind  the 
stove-pipe ; and,  besides,  the  day  was  overcast  and 
threatening  rain.  I have  undergone  very  miserable 
hours  on  the  Mersey,  where,  in  the  space  of  two  years, 
I voyaged  thousands  of  miles,  — and  this  trip  to  Run- 
corn reminded  me  of  them,  though  it  was  less  disagree- 
able after  more  than  a twelvemonth’s  respite.  We 
had  a good  many  passengers  on  board,  most  of  whom 
were  of  the  second  class,  and  congregated  on  the  for- 
ward deck  ; more  women  than  men,  I think,  and  some 
of  them  with  their  husbands  and  children.  Several 
produced  lunch  and  bottles,  and  refreshed  themselves 
very  soon  after  we  started.  By  and  by  the  wind 
became  so  disagreeable  that  I went  below,  and  sat  in 
the  cabin,  only  occasionally  looking  out,  to  get  a peep 
at  the  shores  of  the  river,  which  I had  never  before 
seen  above  Eastham.  However,  they  are  not  worth 
looking  at ; level  and  monotonous,  without  trees  or 
beauty  of  any  kind,  — here  and  there  a viHage,  and  a 
modern  church,  on  the  low  ridge  behind  ; perhaps,  a 
windmill,  which  the  gusty  day  had  set  busily  to  work. 
The  river  continues  very  wide  — no  river  indeed,  but 
an  estuary  — during  almost  the  whole  distance  to  Run- 
corn ; and  nearly  at  the  end  of  our  voyage  we  ap- 
proached some  abrupt  and  prominent  hills,  which,  many 
a time,  I have  seen  on  my  passages  to  Rock  Ferry, 
looking  blue  and  dim,  and  serving  for  prophets  of  the 
weather ; for  when  they  can  be  distinctly  seen  adown 
the  river,  it  is  a token  of  coming  rain.  We  met  many 
vessels,  and  passed  many  which  were  beating  up  against 

VOL.  ii.  6 


122  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

the  wind,  and  which  keeled  over,  so  that  their  decks 
must  have  dipped,  — schooners  and  vessels  that  come 
from  *the  Bridgewater  Canal.  We  shipped  a sea  our- 
selves, which  gave  the  fore- deck  passengers  a wetting. 

Before  reaching  Runcorn,  we  stopped  to  land  some 
passengers  at  another  little  port,  where  there  was  a pier 
and  a lighthouse,  and  a church  within  a few  yards  of 
the  river-side,  — a good  many  of  the  river-craft,  too,  in 
dock,  forming  quite  a crowd  of  masts.  About  ten  min- 
utes’ further  steaming  brought  us  to  Runcorn,  where 
were  two  or  three  tall  manufacturing  chimneys,  with 
a pennant  of  black  smoke  from  each  ; two  vessels  of 
considerable  size  on  the  stocks ; a church  or  two ; and  a 
meagre,  uninteresting,  shabby,  brick-built  town,  rising 
from  the  edge  of  the  river,  with  irregular  streets,  — 
not  village-like,  but  paved,  and  looking  like  a dwarfed, 
stunted  city.  I wandered  through  it  till  I came  to  a 
tall,  high,  pedestaled  windmill  on  the  outer  verge,  the 
vans  of  which  were  going  briskly  round.  Thence  re- 
tracing my  steps,  I stopped  at  a poor  hotel,  and  took 
lunch,  and,  ‘finding  that  I was  in  time  to  take  the 
steamer  back,  I hurried  on  board,  and  we  set  sail  (or 
steam)  before  three.  I have  heard  of  an  old  castle  at 
Runcorn,  but  could  discover  nothing  of  it.  It  was  well 
that  I returned  so  promptly,  for  we  had  hardly  left  the 
pier  before  it  began  to  rain,  and  there  was  a heavy 
downfall  throughout  the  voyage  homeward.  Runcorn 
is  fourteen  miles  from  Liverpool,  and  is  the  farthest 
point  to  which  a steamer  runs.  I had  intended  to  come 
home  by  rail,  — a circuitous  route,  — but  the  advice  of 
the  landlady  of  the  hotel,  and  the  aspect  of  the  weather, 
and  a feeling  of  general  discouragement  prevented  me. 


SOUTHPORT. 


123 


1 856.] 

An  incident  in  S.  C.  Hall’s  Ireland,  of  a stone  cross, 
buried  in  Cromwell’s  time,  to  prevent  its, destruction  by 
his  soldiers.  It  was  forgotten,  and  became  a mere 
doubtful  tradition,  but  one  old  man  had  been  told  by 
his  father,  and  he  1b y his  father,  &c.,  that  it  was  buried 
near  a certain  spot ; and  at  last,  two  hundred  years  after 
the  cross  was  buried,  the  vicar  of  the  parish  dug  in  that 
spot  and  found  it.  In  my  (English)  romance,  an  Ameri- 
can might  bring  the  tradition  from  over  the  sea,  and  so 
discover  the  cross,  which  had  been  altogether  forgotten. 

August  2A.th.  — Day  before  yesterday  I took  the  rail 
for  Southport,  — a cool,  generally  overcast  day,  with 
glimmers  of  faint  sunshine.  The  ride  is  through  a 
most  uninteresting  tract  of  country,  — at  first,  glimpses 
of  the  river,  with  the  thousands  of  masts  in  the  docks ; 
the  dismal  outskirts  of  a great  town,  still  spreading 
onward,  with  beginnings  of  streets,  and  insulated  brick 
buildings  and  blocks ; farther  on,  a wide  monotony  of 
level  plain,  and  here  and  there  a village  and  a church  *, 
almost  always  a windmill  in  sight,  there  being  plenty 
of  breeze  to  turn  its  vans  on  this  windy  coast.  The 
railway  skirts  along  the  sea  the  whole  distance,  but  is 
shut  out  from  the  sight  of  it  by  the  low  sand-hills,  which 
seem  to  have  been  heaped  up  by  the  waves.  There 
are  one  or  two  lighthouses  on  the  shore.  I have  not 
seen  a drearier  landscape,  even  in  Lancashire. 

Reaching  Southport  at  three,  I rambled  about,  with 
a view  to  discover  whether  it  be  a suitable  residence 
for  my  family  during  September.  It  is  a large  vil- 
lage, or  rather  more  than  a village,  which  seems  to 
be  almost  entirely  made  up  of  lodging-houses,  and, 


124 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


at  any  rate,  has  been  built  up  by  the  influx  of  sum- 
mer visitors* — a sandy  soil,  level,  and  laid  out  with 
well-paved  streets,  the  principal  of  which  are  enliv- 
ened with  bazaars,  markets,  shops,  hotels  of  various 
degrees,  and  a showy  vivacity  of  aspect.  There  are  a 
great  many  donkey-carriages,  — large  vehicles,  drawn 
by  a pair  of  donkeys ; bath-chairs,  with  invalid  ladies ; 
refreshment-rooms  in  great  numbers,  — a place  where 
everybody  seems  to  be  a transitory  guest,  nobody  at 
home.  The  main  street  leads  directly  down  to  the 
sea-shore,  along  which  there  is  an  elevated  embank- 
ment, with  a promenade  on  the  top,  and  seats,  and  the 
toll  of  a penny.  The  shore  itself,  the  tide  being  then 
low,  stretched  out  interminably  seaward,  a wide  waste 
of  glistering  sands  ; and  on  the  dry  border,  people  were 
riding  on  donkeys,  with  the  drivers  whipping  behind ; 
and  children  were  digging  with  their  little  wooden 
spades ; and  there  were  donkey-carriages  far  out  on 
the  sands,  — a pleasant  and  breezy  drive.  A whole  city 
of  bathing-machines  was  stationed  near  the  shore,  and  I 
saw  others  in  the  seaward  distance.  The  sea-air  was 
refreshing  and  exhilarating,  and  if  S needs  a sea- 

side residence,  I should  think  this  might  do  as  well  as 
any  other. 

I saw  a large  brick  edifice,  enclosed  within  a wall, 
and  with  somewhat  the  look  of  an  almshouse  or  hos- 
pital ; and  it  proved  to  be  an  Infirmary,  charitably  es- 
tablished for  the  reception  of  poor  invalids,  who  need 
sea-air  and  cannot  afford  to  pay  for  it.  Two  or  three 
of  such  persons  were  sitting  under  its  windows.  I do 
not  think  that  the  visitors  of  Southport  are  generally 
of  a very  opulent  class,  but  of  the  middle  rank,  from 


OXFORD. 


125 


1856.] 

Manchester  and  other  parts  of  this  northern  region. 
The  lodging-houses,  however,  are  of  sufficiently  hand- 
some style  and  arrangement. 

OXFORD. 

[Mr.  Hawthorne  extracted  from  his  recorded  Oxford 
experiences  his  excursion  to  Blenheim,  but  left  his 
observations  of  the  town  itself  untouched,  — and  these 
I now  transcribe.  — • Ed.] 

August  31st,  — . . . . Yesterday  we  took  the  rail 
for  London,  and  drove  across  the  city  to  the  Padding- 
ton station,  where  we  met  Bennoch,  and  set  out  with  him 
for  Oxford.  I do  not  quite  understand  the  matter,  but 
it  appears  that  we  were  expected  guests  of  Mr.  Spiers, 
a very  hospitable  gentleman,  and  Ex-Mayor  of  Oxford, 
and  a friend  of  Bennoch  and  of  the  Halls.  Mr.  S.  C. 
Hall  met  us  at  the  Oxford  station,  and  under  his 
guidance  we  drove  to  a quiet,  comfortable  house  in  St. 
Giles  Street,  where  rooms  had  been  taken  for  us. 
Durham,  the  sculptor,  is  likewise  of  the  party. 

After  establishing  ourselves  at  these  lodgings,  we 
walked  forth  to  take  a preliminary  glimpse  of  the  city, 
and  Mr.  Hall,  being  familiar  with  the  localities,  served 
admirably  as  a guide.  If  I remember  aright,  I spoke 
very  slightingly  of  the  exterior  aspect  of  Oxford,  as  I 

saw  it  with  J during  an  hour  or  two’s  stay  here, 

on  my  way  to  Southampton  (to  meet  S on  her 

return  from  Lisbon).  I am  bound  to  say  that  my  im- 
pressions are  now  very  different ; and  that  I find  Ox- 
ford exceedingly  picturesque  and  rich  in  beauty  and 
grandeur  and  in  antique  stateliness.  I do  not  remem' 


126  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

ber  very  particularly  what  we  saw,  — time-worn  fronts 
of  famous  Colleges  and  halls  of  learning  everywhere 
about  the  streets,  and  arched  entrances  ; passing  through 
which,  we  saw  bits  of  sculpture  from  monkish  hands,  — 
the  most  grotesque  and  ludicrous  faces,  as  if  the  slight- 
est whim  of  these  old  carvers  took  shape  in  stone,  the 
material  being  so  soft  and  manageable  by  them  ; an 
ancient  stone  pulpit  in  the  quadrangle  of  Maudlin 
College  (Magdalen),  one  of  only  three  now  extant  in 
England ; a splendid  — no,  not  splendid,  but  dimly 
magnificent  — chapel,  belonging  to  the  same  College, 
with  painted  windows  of  rare  beauty,  not  brilliant  with 
diversified  hues,  but  of  a sombre  tint.  In  this  chapel 
there  is  an  alabaster  monument,  — a recumbent  figure 
of  the  founder’s  father,  as  large  as  life,  — which,  though 
several  centuries  old,  is  as  well  preserved  as  if  fresh 
from  the  chisel. 

In  the  High  Street,  which,  I suppose,  is  the  noblest 
old  street  in  England,  Mr.  Hall  pointed  out  the  Crown 
Inn,  where  Shakespeare  used  to  spend  the  night,  and 
was  most  hospitably  welcomed  by  the  pretty  hostess 
(the  mother  of  Sir  William  Davenant)  on  his  passage 
between  Stratford  and  London.  It  is  a three-story 
house,  with  other  houses  contiguous,  — an  old  timber 
mansion,  though  now  plastered  and  painted  of  a yellow- 
ish hue.  The  ground-floor  is  occupied  as  a shoe-shop; 
but  the  rest  of  the  house  is  still  kept  as  a tavern 

It  is  not  now  term  time,  and  Oxford  loses  one  of  its 
most  characteristic  features  by  the  absence  of  the 
gownsmen  ; but  still  there  is  a good  deal  of  liveliness  in 
the  streets.  We  walked  as  far  as  a bridge  beyond 
Maudlin  College,  and  then  drove  homeward. 


1856.] 


OXFORD. 


127 


At  six  we  went  to  dine  with  the  hospitable  Ex- 
Major,  across  the  wide,  tree-bordered  street ; for  his 
house  is  nearly  opposite  our  lodgings.  He  is  an  intel- 
ligent and  gentlemanly  person,  and  was  Mayor  two 
years  ago,  and  has  done  a great  deal  to  make  peace 
between  the  University  and  the  town,  heretofore  bitter- 
ly inimical.  His  house  is  adorned  with  pictures  and 

drawings,  and  he  has  an  especial  taste  for  art The 

dinner-table  was  decorated  with  pieces  of  plate,  vases, 
and  other  things,  which  were  presented  to  him  as 
tokens  of  public  or  friendly  regard,  and  approbation  of 
his  action  in  the  Mayoralty.  After  dinner,  too,  he 
produced  a large  silver  snuff-box,  which  had  been  given 
him  on  the  same  account ; in  fact,  the  inscription  af- 
firmed that  it  was  one  of'  five  pieces  of  plate  so  pre- 
sented. The  vases  are  really  splendid,  — one  of  them 
two  feet  high,  and  richly  ornamented.  It  will  hold  five 
or  six  bottles  of  wine,  and  he  said  that  it  had  been 
filled,  and,  I believe,  sent  round  as  a loving  cup  at 
some  of  his  entertainments.  He  cordially  enjoys  these 
things,  and  his  genuine  benevolence  produces  all  this 

excellent  hospitality But  Bennoch  proposed  a 

walk,  and  we  set  forth.  We  rambled  pretty  extensive- 
ly about  the  streets,  sometimes  seeing  the  shapes  of  old 
edifices  dimly  and  doubtfully,  it  being  an  overcast  night ; 
or  catching  a partial  view  of  a gray  wall,  or  a pillar, 

or  a Gothic  archway,  by  lamplight The  clock  had 

some  time  ago  struck  eleven,  when  we  were  passing 
under  a long  extent  of  antique  wall  and  towers,  which 

were  those  of  Baliol  College.  Mr.  D led  us  into 

the  middle  of  the  street,  and  showed  us  a cross,  which 
was  paved  into  it,  on  a level  with  the  rest  of  the  road 


128 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1850. 

This  was  the  spot  where  Latimer  and  Ridley  and 
another  Bishop  were  martyred  in  Bloody  Mary’s  time. 
There  is  a memorial  to  them  in  another  street ; but 
this,  where  I set  my  foot  at  nearly  midnight,  was  the  very 
spot  where  their  flesh  burned  to  ashes,  and  their  bones 
whitened.  It  has  been  a most  beautiful  morning,  and 
I have  seen  few  pleasanter  scenes  than  this  street  in 
which  we  lodge,  with  its  spacious  breadth,  its  two  rows 
of  fine  old  trees,  with  sidewalks  as  wide  as  the  whole 
width  of  some  streets ; and,  on  the  opposite  side,  the 
row  of  houses,  some  of  them  ancient  with  picturesque 
gables,  partially  disclosed  through  the  intervening  foliage. 
. . . . From  our  window  we  have  a slantwise  glimpse, 
to  the  right,  of  the  walls  of  St.  John’s  College,  and  the 
general  aspect  of  St.  Giles.  It  is  of  an  antiquity  not  to 
shame  those  mediseval  halls.  Our  own  lodgings  are  in 
a house  that  seems  to  be  very  old,  with  panelled  walls, 
and  beams  across  the  ceilings,  lattice-windows  in  the 
chambers,  and  a musty  odor  such  as  old  houses  inevi- 
tably have.  Nevertheless,  everything  is  extremely  neat, 
clean,  and  comfortable  ; and  in  term  time  our  apart- 
ments are  occupied  by  a Mr.  Stebbing,  whose  father  is 
known  in  literature  by  some  critical  writings,  and  who 
is  a graduate  and  an  admirable  scholar.  There  is  a 
bookcase  of  five  shelves,  containing  his  books,  mostly 
standard  works,  and  indicating  a safe  and  solid  taste. 

After  lunch  to-day  we  (that  is,  Mrs.  Hall,  her  adopt- 
ed daughter,  S , and  I,  with  the  Ex-Mayor)  set 

forth,  in  an  open  barouche,  to  see  the  remarkables  of 
Oxford,  while  the  rest  of  the  guests  went  on  foot.  We 
first  drew  up  at  New  College  (a  strange  name  for  such 
an  old  place,  but  it  was  new  some  time  since  the  Coi> 


OXFORD. 


129 


1856.] 

quest),  and  went  through  its  quiet  and  sunny  quad- 
rangles, and  into  its  sunny  and  shadowy  gardens.  I 
am  in  despair  about  the  architecture  and  old  edifices  of 
these  Oxford  colleges,  it  is  so  impossible  to  express 
them  in  words.  They  are  themselves  — as  the  archi- 
tect left  them,  and  as  Time  has  modified  and  improved 
them  — the  expression  of  an  idea  which  does  not 
admit  of  being  otherwise  expressed,  or  translated  into 
anything  else.  Those  old  battlemented  walls  around 
the  quadrangles ; many  gables ; the  windows  with 
stone  pavilions,  so  very  antique,  yet  some  of  them 
adorned  with  fresh  flowers  in  pots,  — a very  sweet  con- 
trast ; the  ivy  mantling  the  gray  stone ; and  the  infi- 
nite repose,  both  in  sunshine  and  shadow, — it  is  as  if 
half  a dozen  bygone  centuries  had  set  up  their  rest 
here,  and  as  if  nothing  of  the  present  time  ever  passed 
through  the  deeply  recessed  archway  that  shuts  in  the 
College  from  the  street.  Not  but  what  people  have 
very  free  admittance  ; and  many  parties  of  young  men 
and  girls  and  children  came  into  the  gardens  while  we 
were  there. 

These  gardens  of  New  College  are  indescribably 
beautiful,  — not  gardens  in  an  American  sense,  but 
lawns  of  the  richest  green  and  softest  velvet  grass,  shad- 
owed over  by  ancient  trees,  that  have  lived  a quiet  life 
here  for  centuries,  and  have  been  nursed  and  tended 
with  such  care,  and  so  sheltered  from  rude  winds,  that 
certainly  they  must  have  been  the  happiest  of  all  trees. 
Such  a sweet,  quiet,  sacred,  stately  seclusion  — so  age* 
long  as  this  has  been,  and,  I hope,  will  continue  to  be 
— cannot  exist  anywhere  else.  One  side  of  the  gar- 
den wall  is  formed  by  the  ancient  wall  of  the  city, 

6*  I 


130 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


which  Cromwell's  artillery  battered,  and  which  still 
retains  its  pristine  height  and  strength.  At  intervals, 
there  are  round  towers  that  formed  the  bastions  ; that 
is  to  say,  on  the  exterior  they  are  round  towers,  but 
within,  in  the  garden  of  the  College,  they  are  semi- 
circular recesses,  with  iron  garden-seats  arranged  round 
them.  The  loop-holes  through  which  the  archers  and 
musketeers  used  to  shoot  still  pierce  through  deep 
recesses  in  the  wall,  which  is  here  about  six  feet  thick. 
I wish  T could  put  into  one  sentence  the  whole  impres- 
sion of  this  garden,  but  it  could  not  be  done  in  many 
pages. 

We  looked  also  at  the  outside  of  the  wall,  and  Mr. 
Parker,  deeply  skilled  in  the  antiquities  of  the  spot, 
showed  us  a weed  growing,  — here  in  little  sprigs,  there 
in  large  and  heavy  festoons,  — hanging  plentifully  down- 
ward from  a shallow  root.  It  is  called  the  Oxford 
plant,  being  found  only  here,  and  not  easily,  if  at  all, 
introduced  anywhere  else.  It  bears  a small  and  pretty 
blue  flower,  not  altogether  unlike  the  forget-me-not,  and 
we  took  some  of  it  away  with  us  for  a memorial.  We 
went  into  the  chapel  of  New  College,  which  is  in  such 
fresh  condition  that  I think  it  must  be  modern ; and 
yet  this  cannot  be,  since  there  are  old  brasses  inlaid 
into  tombstones  in  the  pavement,  representing  mediaeval 
ecclesiastics  and  college  dignitaries  ; and  busts  against 
the  walls,  in  antique  garb ; and  old  painted  windows, 
unmistakable  in  their  antiquity.  But  there  is  likewise 
a window,  lamentable  to  look  at,  which  was  painted  by 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  exhibits  strikingly  the  differ- 
ence between  the  work  of  a man  who  performed  it 
merely  as  a matter  of  taste  and  business,  and  »’bat  was 


1856.] 


OXFORD. 


131 


done  religiously  and  with  the  whole  heart ; at  least,  it 
shows  that  the  artists  and  public  of  the  last  age  had  no 
sympathy  with  Gothic  art.  In  the  chancel  of  this 
church  there  are  more  painted  windows,  which  I take 
to  be  modern,  too,  though  they  are  in  much  better  taste, 
and  have  an  infinitely  better  effect,  than  Sir  Joshua’s, 
At  any  rate,  with  the  sunshine  through  them,  they 
looked  very  beautiful,  and  tinted  the  high  altar  and  the 
pavement  with  brilliant  hues. 

The  sacristan  opened  a tali  and  narrow  little  recess 
in  the  wall  of  the  chancel,  and  showed  it  entirely  filled 
with  the  crosier  of  William  of  Wickham.  It  appears 
to  be  made  of  silver  gilt,  and  is  a most  rich  and  elaborate 
relic,  at  least  six  feet  high.  Modern  art  cannot,  or 
does  not,  equal  the  chasing  and  carving  of  this  splendid 
crosier,  which  is  enriched  with  figures  of  saints  and 
apostles,  and  various  Gothic  devices,  — very  minute,  but 
all  executed  as  faithfully  as  if  the  artist’s  salvation  had 
depended  upon  every  notch  he  made  in  the  silver.  . . . , 

Leaving  New  College,  Bennoch  and  I,  under  Mr, 
Parker’s  guidance,  walked  round  Christ  Church  mead- 
ows, part  of  our  way  lying  along  the  banks  of  the  Cher- 
well,  which  unites  with  the  Isis  to  form  the  Thames,  I 
believe.  The  Cherwell  is  a narrow  and  remarkably 
sluggish  stream  ; but  is  deep  in  spots,  and  capriciously 
so,  — so  that  a person  may  easily  step  from  knee  deep 
to  fifteen  feet  in  depth.  A gentleman  present  used  a 
queer  expression  in  reference  to  the  drowning  of  two 
college  men ; he  caid  “ it  was  an  awkward  affair.”  1 
think  this  is  equal  to  Longfellow’s  story  of  the  French- 
man who  avowed  himself  very  much  “ displeased  ” at 
the  news  of  his  father’s  death.  At  the  confluence  of  the 


132  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

Cherwell  and  Isis  we  saw  a good  many  boats,  belong- 
ing to  the  students  of  the  various  colleges  ; some  of 
them  being  very  large  and  handsome  barges,  capable 
of  accommodating  a numerous  party,  with  room  on 
board  for  dancing  and  merry-making.  Some  of  them 
are  calculated  to  be  drawn  by  horses,  in  the  manner  of 
canal-boats ; others  are  propellable  by  oars.  It  is 
practicable  to  perform  the  voyage  between  Oxford 
and  London  — a distance  of  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty  miles  — in  three  days.  The  students  of  Oxford 
are  famous  boatmen  ; there  is  a constant  rivalship,  on 
this  score,  among  the  different  colleges;  and  annually, 
I believe,  there  is  a match  between  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge. The  Cambridge  men  beat  the  Oxonians  in  this 
year’s  trial. 

On  our  return  into  the  city,  we  passed  through  Christ 
Church,  which,  as  regards  the  number  of  students,  is 
the  most  considerable  college  of  the  University.  It  has 
a stately  dome  ; but  my  memory  is  confused  with  battle- 
ments, towers,  and  gables,  and  Gothic  staircases  and 
cloisters.  If  there  had  been  nothing  else  in  Oxford  but 
this  one  establishment,  my  anticipations  would  not  have 
been  disappointed.  The  bell  was  tolling  for  worship  in 
the  chapel ; and  Mr.  Parker  told  us  that  Dr.  Pusey  is 
a canon,  or  in  some  sort  of  dignity,  in  Christ  Church, 
and  would  soon  probably  make  his  appearance  in  the 
quadrangle,  on  his  way  to  chapel ; so  we  walked  to 
and  fro,  waiting  an  opportunity  to  see  him.  A gouty 
old  dignitary,  in  a white  surplice,  came  hobbling  along 
from  one  extremity  of  the  court ; and  by  and  by,  from 
the  opposite  corner,  appeared  Dr.  Pusey,  also  in  a white 
surplice,  and  with  a lady  by  his  side.  We  met  him,  and 


OXFORD. 


133 


J 856.] 

I stared  pretty  fixedly  at  him,  as  I well  might ; for  he 
looked  on  the  ground,  as  if  conscious  that  he  would  be 
stared  at.  He  is  a man  past  middle  life,  of  sufficient 
breadth  and  massiveness,  with  a pale,  intellectual,  manly 
face.  He  was  talking  with  the  lady,  and  smiled,  but 
not  jollily.  Mr.  Parker,  who  knows  him,  says*  that  he 
is  a man  of  kind  and  gentle  affections.  The  lady  was 
his  niece. 

Thence  we  went  through  High  Street  and  Broad 
Street,  and  passing  by  Baliol  College,  — a most  satisfac- 
tory pile  and  range  of  old  towered  and  gabled  edifices, 
— we  came  to  the  cross  on  the  pavement,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  mark  the  spot  where  the  bishops  were  mar- 
tyred. But  Mr.  Parker  told  us  the  mortifying  fact,  that 
he  had  ascertained  that  this  could  not  possibly  have 
been  the  genuine  spot  of  martyrdom,  which  must  have 
taken  place  at  a point  within  view,  but  considerably  too 
far  off  to  be  moistened  by  any  tears  that  may  be  shed 
here.  It  is  too  bad.  We  concluded  the  rambles  of  the 
day  by  visiting  the  gardens  of  St.  John’s  College ; and 
I desire,  if  possible,  to  say  even  more  in  admiration  of 
them  than  of  those  of  New  College,  — such  beautiful 
lawns,  with  tall,  ancient  trees,  and  heavy  clouds  of 
foliage,  and  sunny  glimpses  through  archways  of  leafy 
branches,  where,  to-day,  we  could  see  parties  of  girls, 
making  cheerful  contrast  with  the  sombre  walls  and 
solemn  shade.  The  world,  surely,  has  not  another 
place  like  Oxford  ; it  is  a despair  to  see  such  a place 
and  ever  to  leave  it,  for  it  would  take  a lifetime  and 
more  than  one,  to  comprehend  and  enjoy  it  satisfac- 
torily. 

At  dinner,  to-day,  the  golden  vases  were  all  ranged 


134 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


on  the  table,  the  largest  and  central  one  containing  a 
most  magnificent  bouquet  of  dahlias  and  other  bright- 
hued  flowers. 

CHRIST  CHURCH. 

On  Tuesday,  our  first  visit  was  to  Christ  Church, 
where  we  saw  the  large  and  stately  hall,  above  a hun- 
dred feet  long  by  forty  wide,  and  fifty  to  the  top  of  its 
carved  oaken  roof,  which  is  ornamented  with  festoons, 
as  it  were,  and  pendants  of  solid  timber.  The  walls  are 
panelled  with  oak,  perhaps  half-way  upward,  and  above 
are  the  rows  of  arched  windows  on  each  side ; but,  near 
the  upper  end,  two  great  windows  come  nearly  to  the 
floor.  There  is  a dais,  where  the  great  men  of  the  Col- 
lege and  the  distinguished  guests  sit  at  table,  and  the 
tables  of  the  students  are  arranged  along  the  length  of 
the  hall.  All  around,  looking  down  upon  those  who  sit 
at  meat,  are  the  portraits  of  a multitude  of  illustrious 
personages  who  were  members  of  the  learned  fraternity 
in  times  past;  not  a portrait  being  admitted  there  (un- 
less it  be  a king,  and  I remember  only  Henry  VIII.) 
save  those  who  were  actually  students  on  the  founda- 
tion, receiving  the  eleemosynary  aid  of  the  College, 
Most  of  them  were  divines ; but  there  are  likewise 
many  statesmen,  eminent  during  the  last  three  hundred 
years,  and,  among  many  earlier  ones,  the  Marquis  of 
Wellesley  and  Canning.  It  is  an  excellent  idea,  for 
their  own  glory,  and  as  examples  to  the  rising  genera- 
tions, to  have  this  multitude  of  men,  who  have  done 
good  and  great  things,  before  the  eyes  of  those  who 
ought  to  do  as  well  as  they,  in  their  own  time.  Arch- 
bishops, Prime  Ministers,  poets,  deep  scholars,  — but, 


OXFORD. 


135 


1856.] 


doubtless,  an  outward  success  has  generally  been  their 
claim  to  this  position,  and  Christ  Church  may  have  for- 
gotten a better  man  than  the  best  of  them.  It  is  not.  I 
think,  the  tendency  of  English  life,  nor  of  the  education 
of  their  colleges,  to  lead  young  men  to  high  moral  excel- 
lence, but  to  aim  at  illustrating  themselves  in  the  sight 
of  mankind. 

Thence  we  went  into  the  kitchen,  which  is  arranged 
very  much  as  it  was  three  centuries  ago,  with  two  im- 
mense fireplaces.  There  was  likewise  a gridiron,  which, 
without  any  exaggeration,  was  large  enough  to  have 
served  for  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Lawrence.  The  col- 
lege dinners  are  good,  but  plain,  and  cost  the  students 
one  shilling  and  eleven  pence  each,  being  rather  cheaper 
than  a similar  one  could  be  had  at  an  inn.  There  is  no 
provision  for  breakfast  or  supper  in  commons ; but  they 
can  have  these  meals  sent  to  their  rooms  from  the  but- 
tery, at  a charge  proportioned  to  the  dishes  they  order. 
There  seems  to  be  no  necessity  for  a great  expenditure 
on  the  part  of  Oxford  students. 

From  the  kitchen  we  went  to  the  chapel,  which  is 
the  cathedral  of  Oxford,  and  well  worth  seeing,  if  there 
had  not  been  so  many  other  things  to  see.  It  is  now 
under  repair,  and  there  was  a great  heap  of  old  wood- 
work and  panelling  lying  in  one  of  the  aisles,  which  had 
been  stripped  away  from  some  of  the  ancient  pillars* 
leaving  them  as  good  as  new.  There  is  a shrine  of  a 
saint,  with  a wooden  canopy  over  it ; and  some  painted 
glass,  old  and  new ; and  a statue  of  Cyril  Jackson,  with 
a face  of  shrewdness  and  insight;  and  busts,  &&  AjuraJ 
monuments. 


136 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


Our  next  visit  was  to 

MERTON  COLLEGE, 

which,  though  not  one  of  the  great  colleges,  is  as  old  as 
any  of  them,  and  looks  exceedingly  venerable.  We 
were  here  received  by  a friend  of  Mr.  Spiers,  in  his 
academic  cap,  but  without  his  gown,  which  is  not  worn, 
except  in  term  time.  He  is  a very  civil  gentleman, 
and  showed  us  some  antique  points  of  architecture, — 
such  as  a Norman  archway,  with  a passage  over  it, 
through  which  the  Queen  of  Charles  I.  used  to  go  to 
chapel ; and  an  edifice  of  the  thirteenth  century,  with  a 
stone  roof,  which  is  considered  to  be  very  curious. 

How  ancient  is  the  aspect  of  these  college  quad- 
rangles ! so  gnawed  by  time  as  they  are,  so  crumbly,  so 
blackened,  and  so  gray  where  they  are  not  black,  — so 
quaintly  shaped,  too,  with  here  a line  of  battlement  and 
there  a row  of  gables ; and  here  a turret,  with  probably 
a winding  stair  inside  ; and  lattice  windows,  with  stone 
mullions,  and  little  panes  of  glass  set  in  lead  ; and  the 
cloisters,  with  a long  arcade,  looking  upon  the  green  or 
pebbled  enclosure.  The  quality  of  the  stone  has  a great 
deal  to  do  with  the  apparent  antiquity.  It  is  a stone 
found  in  the  neighborhood  of  Oxford,  and  very  soon  be- 
gins to  crumble  and  decay  superficially,  when  exposed 
to  the  weather ; so  that  twenty  years  do  the  work  of  a 
hundred,  so  far  as  appearances  go.  If  you  strike  one 
of  the  old  walls  with  a stick,  a portion  of  it  comes  pow- 
dering down.  The  effect  of  this  decay  is  very  pictur- 
esque, and  is  especially  striking,  I think,  on  edifices  of 
classic  architecture,  such  as  some  of  the  Oxford  colleges 
are,  greatly  enriching  the  Grecian  columns,  which  look 


13? 


1856.]  OXFORD. 

so  cold  when  the  outlines  are  hard  and  distinct.  The 
Oxford  people,  however,  are  tired  of  this  crumbly  stone, 
and  when  repairs  are  necessary,  they  use  a more  durable 
material,  which  does  not  well  assort  with  the  antiquity 
into  which  it  is  intruded. 

Mr.  E showed  us  the  library  of  Merton  College. 

[t  occupies  two  sides  of  an  old  building,  and  has  a very 
delightful  fragrance  of  ancient  books.  The  halls  con- 
taining it  are  vaulted,  and  roofed  with  oak,  not  carved 
and  ornamented,  but  laid  flat,  so  that  they  look  very 
like  a grand  and  spacious  old  garret.  All  along,  there 
is  a row  of  alcoves  on  each  side,  with  rude  benches  and 
reading-desks,  in  the  simplest  style,  and  nobody  knows 
how  old.  The  books  look  as  old  as  the  building.  The 
more  valuable  were  formerly  chained  to  the  bookcases  ; 
and  a few  of  them  have  not  yet  broken  their  chains.  It 
was  a good  emblem  of  the  dark  and  monkish  ages,  when 
learning  was  imprisoned  in  their  cloisters,  and  chained 
in  their  libraries,  in  the  days  when  the  schoolmaster 

had  not  yet  gone  abroad.  Mr.  E showed  us  a very 

old  copy  of  the  Bible ; and  a vellum  manuscript,  most 
beautifully  written  in  black  letter  and  illuminated,  of  the 
works  of  Duns  Scotus,  who  was  a scholar  of  Merton 
College. 

He  then  showed  us  the  chapel,  a large  part  of  which 
has  been  renewed  and  ornamented  with  pictured  win- 
dows and  other  ecclesiastical  splendor,  and  paved  with 
encaustic  tiles,  according  to  the  Puseyite  taste  of  the 
day ; for  Merton  has  adopted  the  Puseyite  doctrines, 
and  is  one  of  their  chief  strongholds  in  Oxford.  If  they 
do  no  other  good,  they  at  least  do  much  for  preserva- 
tion and  characteristic  restoration  of  the  old  English 


• 138 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1656. 


churches ; but  perhaps,  even  here,  there  is  as  much 
antiquity  spoiled  as  retained.  In  the  portion  of  the: 
chapel  not  yet  restored,  we  saw  the  rude  old  pavement, 
inlaid  with  gravestones,  in  some  of  which  were  brasses, 
with  the  figures  of  the  college  dignitaries,  whose  dust 
slumbered  beneath  ; and  I think  it  was  here  that  I saw 
the  tombstone  of  Anthony-a-Wood,  the  gossiping  bi- 
ographer of  the  learned  men  of  Oxford. 

From  the  chapel  we  went  into  the  college  gardens, 
which  are  very  pleasant,  and  possess  the  advantage  of 
looking  out  on  the  broad  verdure  of  Christ  Church 
meadows  and  the  river  beyond.  We  loitered  here 

awhile,  and  then  went  to  Mr.  E ’s  rooms,  to  which 

the  entrance  is  by  a fine  old  staircase.  They  had  a 
very  comfortable  aspect,  — a wainscoted  parlor  and  bed- 
room, as  nice  and  cosey  as  a bachelor  could  desire,  with 
a good  collection  of  theological  books  ; and  on  a peg 
hung  his  gown,  with  a red  border  about  it,  denoting 
him  to  be  a proproctor.  He  was  kind  enough  to  order 
a lunch,  consisting  of  bread  and  cheese,  college  ale,  and 
a certain  liquor  called  “ Archdeacon.”  ....  We  ate 
and  drank,  ....  and,  bidding  farewell  to  good  Mr. 
E we  pursued  our  way  to  the 

RATCLIFFE  LIBRARY. 

This  is  a very  handsome  edifice,  of  a circular  shape ; 
the  lower  story  consisting  altogether  of  arches,  open  on 
all  sides,  as  if  to  admit  anybody  to  the  learning  here 
stored  up.  I always  see  great  beauty  and  lightsome- 
ness in  these  classic  and  Grecian  edifices,  though  they 
seem  cold  and  intellectual,  and  not  to  have  had  their 
mortar  moistened  with  human  life-blood,  nor  to  have 


1856.  J 


OXFORD. 


139 


the  mystery  of  human  life  in  them,  as  Gothic  structures 
do.  The  library  is  in  a large  and  beautiful  room,  in 
the  story  above  the  basement,  and,  as  far  as  I saw,  con- 
sisted chiefly  or  altogether  of  scientific  works.  I saw 
Silliman’s  Journal  on  one  of  the  desks,  being  the  only 
trace  of  American  science,  or  American  learning  or 
ability  in  any  department,  which  I discovered  in  the 
University  of  Oxford.  After  seeing  the  library,  we 
went  to  the  top  of  the  building,  where  we  had  an  ex- 
cellent view  of  Oxford  and  the  surrounding  country. 
Then  we  went  to  the  Convocation  Hall,  and  afterwards 
to  the  theatre,  where  S sat  down  in  the  Chancel- 

lor’s chair,  which  is  very  broad,  and  ponderously 
wrought  of  oak.  I remember  little  here,  except  the 
amphitheatre  of  benches,  and  the  roof,  which  seems  to 
be  supported  by  golden  ropes,  and  on  the  wall,  opposite 
the  door,  some  full-length  portraits,  among  which  one 
of  that  ridiculous  coxcomb,  George  IV.,  was  the  most 
prominent.  These  kings  thrust  themselves  imperti- 
nently forward  by  bust,  statue,  and  picture,  on  all  occa- 
sions, and  it  is  not  wise  in  them  to  show  their  shallow 
foreheads  among  men  of  mind. 

THE  BODLEIAN  LIBRARY. 

Mr.  Spiers  tried  to  get  us  admittance  to  the  Bodleian 
Library ; but  this  is  just  the  moment  when  it  is  closed 
for  the  purpose  of  being  cleaned ; so  we  missed  seeing 
the  principal  halls  of  this  library,  and  were  only  ad- 
mitted into  what  was  called  the  Picture  Gallery.  This, 
however,  satisfied  all  my  desires,  so  far  as  the  backs  of 
books  are  concerned,  for  they  extend  through  a gallery, 
running  round  three  sides  of  a quadrangle,  making  an 


140  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

aggregate  length  of  more  than  four  hundred  feet,  — a 
solid  array  of  bookcases,  full  of  books,  within  a protec- 
tion of  open  iron-work.  Up  and  down  the  gallery 
there  are  models  of  classic  temples  ; and  about  midway 
in  its  extent  stands  a brass  statue  of  Earl  Pembroke, 
who  was  Chancellor  of  the  University  in  James  I.’s 
time  ; not  in  scholarly  garb,  however,  but  in  plate  and 
mail,  looking  indeed  like  a thunderbolt  of  war.  I rapped 
him  with  my  knuckles,  and  he  seemed  to  be  solid  metal, 
though,  I should  imagine,  hollow  at  heart.  A thing 
which  interested  me  very  much  was  the  lantern  of 
Guy  Fawkes.  It  was  once  tinned,  no  doubt,  but  is  now 
nothing  but  rusty  iron,  partly  broken.  As  this  is  called 
the  Picture  Gallery,  I must  not  forget  the  pictures, 
which  are  ranged  in  long  succession  over  the  bookcases, 
and  include  almost  all  Englishmen  whom  the  world  has 
ever  heard  of,  whether  in  statesmanship  or  literature. 
I saw  a canvas  on  which  had  once  been  a lovely  and 
unique  portrait  of  Mary  of  Scotland  ; but  it  was  con- 
signed to  a picture-cleaner  to  be  cleansed,  and,  discover- 
ing that  it  was  painted  over  another  picture,  he  had  the 
curiosity  to  clean  poor  Mary  quite  away,  thus  revealing 
a wishy-washy  woman’s  face,  which  now  hangs  in  the 
gallery.  I am  so  tired  of  seeing  notable  things  that  I 
almost  wish  that  whatever  else  is  remarkable  in  Oxford 
could  be  obliterated  in  some  similar  manner. 

From  the  Bodleian  we  went  to 

THE  TAYLOR  INSTITUTE, 

which  was  likewise  closed  ; but  the  woman  who  had  it 
in  charge  had  formerly  been  a servant  of  Mr.  Spiers, 
and  he  so  overpersuaded  her  that  she  finally  smiled  and 


1856.] 


OXFORD. 


HI 


admitted  us.  It  would  truly  have  been  a pity  to  miss 
it ; for  here,  on  the  basement  floor,  are  the  original 
models  of  Chantrey’s  busts  and  statues,  great  and  small  ; 
and  in  the  rooms  above  are  a far  richer  treasure,  — a 
large  collection  of  original  drawings  by  Raphael  and 
Michael  Angelo.  These  are  far  better  for  my  purpose 
than  their  finished  pictures,  — that  is  to  say,  they  bring 
me  much  closer  to  the  hands  that  drew  them  and  the 
minds  that  imagined  them.  It  is  like  looking  into 
their  brains,  and  seeing  the  first  conception  before  it 
took  shape  outwardly  (I  have  somewhere  else  said  about 
the  same  thing  of  such  sketches).  I noticed  one  of 
Raphael’s  drawings,  representing  the  effect  of  eloquence  ; 
it  was  a man  speaking  in  the  centre  of  a group,  between 
whose  ears  and  the  orator’s  mouth  connecting  lines  were 
drawn.  Raphael’s  idea  must  have  been  to  compose  his 
picture  in  such  a way  that  their  auricular  organs 
should  not  fail  to  be  in  a proper  relation  with  the  elo- 
quent voice  ; and  though  this  relation  would  not  have 
been  individually  traceable  in  the  finished  picture,  yet 
the  general  effect  — that  of  deep  and  entranced  atten- 
tion — would  have  been  produced. 

In  another  room  there  are  some  copies  of  Raphael’s 
cartoons,  and  some  queer  mediaeval  pictures,  as  stiff  and 
ugly  as  can  well  be  conceived,  yet  successful  in  telling 
their  own  story.  We  looked  a little  while  at  these,  and 
then,  thank  Heaven  ! went  home  and  dressed  for  din- 
ner. I can  write  no  more  to-day.  Indeed,  what  a 
mockery  it  is  to  write  at  all  ! 

[Here  follows  the  drive  to  Cumnor  Place,  Stanton 
Harcourt,  Nuneham  Courtney,  Godstowe,  &c., — -already 
published  in  Our  Old  Home.  — Ed.] 


142 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856 

September  9 th.  — The  morning  after  our  excursion 
on  the  Thames  was  as  bright  and  beautiful  as  many 

preceding  ones  had  been.  After  breakfast  S and 

I walked  a little  about  the  town,  and  bought  Thomas  h 

Kempis,  in  both  French  and  English,  for  U 

Mr.  De  la  Motte,  the  photographer,  had  breakfasted 
with  us,  and  Mr.  Spiers  wished  him  to  take  a photograph 
of  our  whole  party.  So,  in  the  first  place,  before  the 
rest  were  assembled,  he  made  an  experimental  group 
of  such  as  were  there  ; and  I did  not  like  my  own 
aspect  very  much.  Afterwards,  when  we  were  all 
come,  he  arranged  us  under  a tree  in  the  garden,  — Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Spiers,  with  their  eldest  son,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hall  and  Fanny,  Mr.  Addison,  my  wife  and  me, — 
and  stained  the  glass  with  our  figures  and  faces  in 

the  twinkling  of  an  eye  ; not  S ’s  face,  however,  for 

she  turned  it  away,  and  left  only  a portion  of  her  bon- 
net and  dress,  — and  Mrs.  Hall,  too,  refused  to  counte- 
nance the  proceeding.  But  all  the  rest  of  us  were 
caught  to  the  life,  and  I was  really  a little  startled  at 
recognizing  myself  so  apart  from  myself,  and  done  so 
quickly  too. 

This  was  the  last  important  incident  of  our  visit  to 
Oxford,  except  that  Mr.  Spiers  was  again  most  hospita- 
ble at  lunch.  Never  did  anybody  attend  more  faith- 
fully to  the  comfort  of  his  friends  than  does  this  good 
gentleman.  But  he  has  shown  himself  most  kind  in 
every  possible  way,  and  I shall  always  feel  truly  grate- 
ful. No  better  way  of  showing  our  sense  of  his  hospi- 
tality, and  all  the  trouble  he  has  taken  for  us  (and 
our  memory  of  him),  has  occurred  to  us,  than  to  present 
him  with  a set  of  my  Tales  and  Romances ; so,  by  the 


1856.] 


HAMPTON  COURT. 


143 


next  steamer,  I shall  write  to  Ticknor  and  Fields  to 

send  them,  elegantly  bound,  and  S will  emblazon 

his  coat  of  arms  in  each  volume.  He  accompanied  us 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall  to  the  railway  station,  and  we 
left  Oxford  at  two  o’clock. 

It  had  been  a very  pleasant  visit,  and  all  the  persons 
whom  we  met  were  kind  and  agreeable,  and  disposed 
to  look  at  one  another  in  a sunny  aspect.  I saw  a 
good  deal  of  Mr.  Hall.  He  is  a thoroughly  genuine 
man,  of  kind  heart  and  true  affections,  a gentleman  of 
taste  and  refinement,  and  full  of  honor. 

On  the  Saturday  after  our  return  to  Blaekheath,  we 
went  to 

HAMPTON  COURT, 

about  which,  as  I have  already  recorded  a visit  to  it, 
I need  say  little  here.  But  I was  again  impressed  with 
the  stately  grandeur  of  Wolsey’s  great  Hall,  with  its 
great  window  at  each  end,  and  one  side  window,  de- 
scending almost  to  the  floor,  and  a row  of  windows  on 
each  side,  high  towards  the  roof,  and  throwing  down 
their  many-colored  light  on  the  stone  pavement,  and 
on  the  Gobelin  tapestry,  which  must  have  been  gor- 
geously rich  when  the  walls  were  first  clothed  with  it. 
I fancied,  then,  that  no  modern  architect  could  produce 
so  fine  a room  ; but  oddly  enough,  in  the  great  entrance- 
hall  of  the  Euston  Station,  yesterday,  I could  not  see 
how  this  last  fell  very  much  short  of  Wolsey’s  Hall  in 
grandeur.  We  were  quite  wearied  in  passing  through 
the  endless  suites  of  rooms  in  Hampton  Court,  and 
gazing  at  the  thousands  of  pictures ; it  is  too  much  for 
one  day,  — almost  enough  for  one  life,  in  such  measure 
as  life  can  be  bestowed  on  pictures.  It  would  have  re- 


144  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

freshed  us  had  we  spent  half  the  time  in  wandering 
about  the  grounds,  which,  as  we  glimpsed  at  them  from 
the  windows  of  the  Palace,  seemed  very  beautiful, 
though  Jaid  out  with  an  antique  formality  of  straight 
lines  and  broad  gravelled  paths.  Before  the  central 
window  there  is  a beautiful  sheet  of  water,  and  a foun- 
tain upshooting  itself  and  plashing  into  it,  with  a con- 
tinuous and  pleasant  sound.  How  beautifully  the 
royal  robe  of  a monarchy  is  embroidered  ! Palaces, 
pictures,  parks ! They  do  enrich  life  ; and  kings  and 
aristocracies  cannot  keep  these  things  to  themselves, 
they  merely  take  care  of  them  for  others.  Even  a king, 
with  all  the  glory  that  can  be  shed  around  him,  is  but 
the  liveried  and  bedizened  footman  of  his  people,  and 
the  toy  of  their  delight.  I am  very  glad  that  I came  to 
this  country  while  the  English  are  still  playing  with 
such  a toy. 

Yesterday  J and  I left  Blackheath,  and  reached 

Liverpool  last  night.  The  rest  of  my  family  will 
follow  in  a few  days ; and  so  finishes  our  residence  in ' 
Bennoch’s  house,  where  I,  for  my  part,  have  spent  some 
of  the  happiest  hours  that  I have  known  since  we  left 
our  American  home.  It  is  a strange,  vagabond, 
gypsy  sort  of  life, — this  that  we  are  leading;  and  I 
know  not  whether  we  shall  finally  be  spoiled  for  any 
other,  or  shall  enjoy  our  quiet  Wayside,  as  we  never 
did  before,  when  once  we  reach  it  again. 

The  evening  set  in  misty  and  obscure ; and  it  was 
dark  almost  when  J — — and  I arrived  at  the  land- 
ing stage  on  our  return.  I was  struck  with  the  pic- 
turesque effect  of  the  high  tower  and  tall  spire  of  St, 


SOUTHPORT. 


145 


J 856.] 

Nicholas,  rising  upward,  with  dim  outline,  into  the 
duskiness  ; while  midway  of  its  height  the  dial-plates 
of  an  illuminated  clock  blazed  out,  like  two  great  eyes 
of  a giant. 

September  13 th. — On  Saturday  my  wife,  with  all  her 
train,  arrived  at  Mrs.  B ’s  ; and  on  Tuesday  — vaga- 

bonds as  we  are  — we  again  struck  our  tent,  and  set 
out  for 

SOUTHPORT. 

I do  not  know  what  sort  of  character  it  will  form  in 
the  children,  — this  unsettled,  shifting,  vagrant  life,  with 
no  central  home  to  turn  to,  except  what  we  carry  in 
ourselves.  It  was  a windy  day,  and,  judging  by  the  look 
of  the  trees,  on  the  way  to  Southport,  it  must  be  almost 
always  windy,  and  with  the  blast  in  one  prevailing 
direction ; for  invariably  their  branches,  and  the  whole 
contour  and  attitude  of  the  tree,  turn  from  seaward, 
with  a strangely  forlorn  aspect.  Reaching  Southport, 
we  took  an  omnibus,  and  under  the  driver’s  guidance 
came  to  our  tall  stone  house,  fronting  on  the  sands,  and 
styled  “ Brunswick  Terrace.”  .... 

The  English  system  of  lodging-houses  has  its  good 
points ; but  it  is,  nevertheless,  a contrivance  for  bearing 
the  domestic  cares  of  home  about  with  you  whitherso- 
ever you  go  ; and  immediately  you  have  to  set  about 
producing  your  own  bread  and  cheese.  However, 
Fanny  took  most  of  this  trouble  off  our  hands,  though 
there  was  inevitably  the  stiffness  and  discomfort  of  a 
new  housekeeping  on  the  first  day  of  our  arrival ; 
besides  that,  it  was  cool,  and  the  wind  whistled  and 
grumbled  and  eddied  into  the  chinks  of  the  house, 

VOL  II.  7 j 


146 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856, 


Meanwhile,  in  all  my  experience  of  Southport,  I have 
never  yet  seen  the  sea,  but  onty  an  interminable  breadth 
of  sands,  looking  pooly  or  plashy  in  some  places,  and 
barred  across  with  drier  reaches  of  sand,  but  no  ex- 
panse of  water.  It  must  be  miles  and  miles,  at  low 
water,  to  the  veritable  seashore.  We  are  about  twenty 
miles  north  of  Liverpool,  on  the  border  of  the  Irish 
Sea ; and  Ireland  and,  I suppose,  the  Isle  of  Man  in- 
tervene betwixt  us  and  the  ocean,  not  much  to  our 
benefit ; for  the  air  of  the  English  coast,  under  ocean 
influences,  is  said  to  be  milder  than  when  it  comes 
across  the  land,  — milder,  therefore,  above  or  below  Ire- 
land, because  then  the  Gulf  Stream  ameliorates  it. 

Betimes,  the  forenoon  after  our  arrival,  I had  to 
take  the  rail  to  Liverpool,  but  returned,  a little  after 
five,  in  the  midst  of  a rain,  — still  low  water  and  inter- 
minable sands  ; still  a dreary,  howling  blast.  We  had 
a cheerful  fireside,  however,  and  should  have  had  a 
pleasant  evening,  only  that  the  wind  on  the  sea  made 
us  excessively  drowsy.  This  morning  we  awoke  to 
hear  the  wind  still  blustering,  and  blowing  up  clouds, 
with  fitful  little  showers,  and  soon  blowing  them  away 
again,  and  letting  the  brightest  of  sunshine  fall  over  the 
plashy  waste  of  sand.  We  have  already  walked  forth 

on  the  shore  with  J and  R , who  pick  up  shells, 

and  dig  wells  in  the  sand  with  their  little  wooden  spades  ; 
but  soon  we  saw  a rainbow  on  the  western  sky,  and 
then  a shower  came  spattering  down  upon  us  in  good 
earnest.  We  first  took  refuge  under  the  bridge  that 
stretches  between  the  two  portions  of  the  promenade  ; 
but  as  there  was  a chill  draught  there,  we  made  the  best 
of  our  way  home.  The  sun  has  now  again  come  out 


SOUTHPORT. 


147 


1866.] 

brightly,  thougli  the  wind  is  still  tumbling  a great  many 
clouds  about  the  sky. 

Evening . — Later,  I walked  out  with  U , and, 

looking  seaward,  .we  saw  the  foam  and  spray  of  the 
advancing  tide,  tossed  about  on  the  verge  of  the  hori- 
zon,— a long  line,  like  the  crests  and  gleaming  helmets 
of  an  army.  In  about  half  an  hour  we  found  almost 
the  whole  waste  of  sand  covered  with  water,  and  white 
waves  breaking  out  all  over  it ; but,  the  bottom  being 
so  nearly  level,  and  the  water  so  shallow',  there  was 
little  of  the  spirit  and  exultation  of  the  sea  in  a strong 
breeze.  Of  the  long  line  of  bathing-machines,  one 
after  another  was  hitched  to  a horse,  and  trundled  forth 
into  the  water,  where,  at  a long  distance  from  shore, 
the  bathers  found  themselves  hardly  middle  deep. 

September  19 th.  — The  wind  grumbled  and  made  it- 
self miserable  all  last  night,  and  this  morning' it  is  still 
howling  as  ill-naturedly  as  ever,  and  roaring  and  rum- 
bling in  the  chimneys.  The  tide  is  far  out,  but,  from 
an  upper  window,  I fancied,  at  intervals,  that  I could 
see  the  plash  of  the  surf-wave  on  the  distant  limit  of  the 
sand  ; perhaps,  however,  it  was  only  a gleam  on  the 
sky.  Constantly  there  have  been  sharp  spatters  of 
rain,  hissing  and  rattling  against  the  windows,  w7hile  a 
little  before  or  after,  or  perhaps  simultaneously,  a rain- 
bow, somewhat  watery  of  texture,  paints  itself  on  the 
western  clouds.  Gray,  sullen  clouds  hang  about  the 
sky,  or  sometimes  cover  it  with  a uniform  dulness  ; at 
other  times,  the  portions  towards  the  sun  gleam  almost 
lightsomely  ; now,  there  may  be  an  airy  glimpse  of  clear 


148 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


blue  sky  in  a fissure  of  the  clouds ; now,  the  very 
brightest  of  sunshine  comes  out  all  of  a sudden,  and 
gladdens  everything.  The  breadth  of  sands  has  a va- 
rious aspect,  according  as  there  are  pools,  or  moisture 
enough  to  glisten,  or  a drier  tract ; and  where  the  light 
gleams  along  a yellow  ridge  or  bar,  it  is  like  sunshine 
itself.  Certainly  the  temper  of  the  day  shifts  ; but  the 
smiles  come  far  the  seldomest,  and  its  frowns  and  angry 
tears  are  most  reliable.  By  seven  o’clock  pedestrians 
began  to  walk  along  the  promenade,  close  buttoned 
against  the  blast ; later,  a single  bathing-machine  got 
under  way,  by  means  of  a horse,  and  travelled  forth 
seaward ; but  within  what  distance  it  finds  the  invisible 
margin  I cannot  say,  — at  all  events,  it  looks  like  a 
dreary  journey.  Just  now  I saw  a sea-gull,  wheeling 
on  the  blast,  close  in  towards  the  promenade. 

September  21  st.  — Yesterday  morning  was  bright, 
sunny  and  windy,  and  cool  and  exhilarating.  I went  to 
Liverpool  at  eleven,  and,  returning  at  five,  found  the 
weather  still  bright  and  cool.  The  temperature,  me- 
thinks,  must  soon  diminish  the  population  of  Southport, 
which,  judging  from  appearances,  must  be  mainly  made 
up  of  temporary  visitors.  There  is  a newspaper,  The 
Southport  Visitor,  published  weekly,  and  containing 
a register  of  all  the  visitants  in  the  various  hotels  and 
lodging-houses.  It  covers  more  than  two  sides  of  the 
paper,  to  the  amount  of  some  hundreds.  The  guests 
come  chiefly  from  Liverpool,  Manchester,  and  the 
neighboring  country-towns,  and  belong  to  the  middle 
classes.  It  is  not  a fashionable  watering-place.  Only 
one  nobleman’s  name,  and  those  of  two  or  three  bar* 


SOUTHPORT. 


149 


*856.] 


onets,  now  adorn  the  list.  The  people  whom  we  see 
loitering  along  the  beach  and  the  promenade  have,  at 
best,  a well-to-do,  tradesmanlike  air.  I do  not  find  that 
there  are  any  public  amusements  ; nothing  but  strolling 
on  the  sands,  donkey-riding,  or  drives  in  donkey-carts ; 
and  solitary  visitors  must  find  it  a dreary  place.  Yet 
one  or  two  of  the  streets  are  brisk  and  lively,  and,  being 
well  thronged,  have  a holiday  aspect.  There  are  no 
carriages  in  town  save  donkey-carts;  some  of  which  are 
drawn  by  three  donkeys  abreast,  and  are  large  enough 
to  hold  a wdiole  family.  These  conveyances  will  take 
you  far  out  on  the  sands  through  wet  and  dry.  The 
beach  is  haunted  by  The  Flying  Dutchman,  — a sort 
of  boat  on  wheels,  schooner-rigged  with  sails,  and 
which  sometimes  makes  pretty  good  speed,  with  a fair 
wind. 

This  morning  we  have  been  walking  with  J and 

R out  over  the  “ ribbed  sea  sands,”  a good  distance 

from  shore.  Throughout  the  week,  the  tides  will  be  so 
low  as  not  to  cover  the  shallow  basin  of  this  bay,  if  a 
bay  it  be.  The  weather  was  sullen,  with  now  and  then 
a faint  gleam  of  sunshine,  lazily  tracing  our  shadows  on 
the  sand  ; the  wind  rather  quieter  than  on  preceding 
days In  the  sunshine  the  sands  seem  to  be  fre- 

quented by  great  numbers  of  gulls,  who  begin  to  find 
the  northern  climate  too  wintry.  You  see  their  white 
wings  in  the  sunlight,  but  they  become  almost  or  quite 
invisible  in  the  shade.  We  shall  soon  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  how  a watering-place  looks  when  the 
season  is  quite  over  ; for  we  have  concluded  to  remain 
here  till  December,  and  everybody  else  will  take  flight 
in  a week  or  two. 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


150 


[1856, 


A short  time  ago,  in  the  evening,  in  a street  of  Liver- 
pool, I saw  a decent  man,  of  the  lower  orders,  taken 
much  aback  by  being  roughly  brushed  against  by  a 
rowdy  fellow.  He  looked  after  him,  and  exclaimed  in- 
dignantly, “ Is  that  a Yankee  ? ” It  shows  the  kind 
of  character  we  have  here. 


October  7th. — On  Saturday  evening  I gave  a dinner 
to  Bennoch,  at  the  Adelphi  Hotel.  The  chief  point  or 
characteristic  of  English  Customs  was,  that  Mr.  Radley, 
our  landlord,  himself  attended  at  table,  and  officiated  as 
chief  waiter.  He  has  a fortune  of  £100,000,  — half  a 
million  of  dollars,  — and  is  an  elderly  man  of  good  ad- 
dress and  appearance.  In  America,  such  a man  would 
very  probably  be  in  Congress  ; at  any  rate,  he  would 
never  conceive  the  possibility  of  changing  plates,  or 
passing  round  the  table  with  hock  and  champagne.  Some 
of  his  hock  was  a most  rich  and  imperial  wine,  such 
as  can  hardly  be  had  on  the  Rhine  itself.  There  were 
eight  gentlemen  besides  Bennoch. 

A donkey,  the  other  day,  stubbornly  refusing  to  come 
out  of  a boat  which  had  brought  him  across  the  Mersey  ; 
at  last,  after  many  kicks  had  been  applied,  and  other 
persecutions  of  that  kind,  a man  stepped  forward,  ad- 
dressing him  affectionately,  “ Come  along,  brother,”  — 
and  the  donkey  obeyed  at  once. 


October  2§th. — On  Thursday,  instead  of  taking  the 
rail  for  Liverpool,  I set  out,  about  eleven,  for  a long 
walk.  It  was  an  overcast  morning,  such  as  in  New 
England  would  have  boded  rain ; but  English  clouds 


1856.J 


SOUTHPORT. 


151 


are  not  nearly  so  portentous  as  Amerto&rt  In  that  re- 
spect. Accordingly,  the  sun  soon  began  to  peep  through 
crevices,  and  I had  not  gone  more  than  a mile  or  two 
when  it  shone  a little  too  warmly  for  comfort,  yet  not 
more  than  I liked.  It  was  very  much  like  our  pleas- 
ant October  days  at  home ; indeed,  the  climates  of  the 
two  countries  more  nearly  coincide  during  the  present 
month  than  at  any  other  season  of  the  year.  The  air 
was  almost  perfectly  still ; but  once  in  a while  it 
stirred,  and  breathed  coolly  in  my  face  ; it  is  very  de- 
lightful, this  latent  freshness,  in  a warm  atmosphere. 

The  country  about  Southport  has  as  few  charms  as  it 
is  possible  for  any  region  to  have.  In  the  close  neigh- 
borhood of  the  shore,  it  is  nothing  but  sand-hillocks, 
covered  with  coarse  grass  ; and  this  is  the  original  na- 
ture of  the  whole  site  on  which  the  town  stands,  although 
it  is  now  paved,  and  has  been  covered  with  soil  enough 
to  make  gardens,  and  to  nourish  here  and  there  a few 
trees.  A little  farther  inland  the  surface  seems  to  have 
been  marshy,  but  has  been  drained  by  ditches  across 
the  fields  and  along  the  roadside ; and  the  fields  are 
embanked  on  all  sides  with  parapets  of  earth  which  ap- 
* pear  as  if  intended  to  keep  out  inundations.  In  fact, 
Holland  itself  cannot  be  more  completely  on  a level 
with  the  sea.  The  only  dwellings  are  the  old,  white- 
washed stone  cottages,  with  thatched  roofs,  on  the  brown 
straw  of  which  grow  various  weeds  and  mosses,  brighten- 
ing it  with  green  patches,  and  sprouting  along  the  ridge- 
pole, — the  homeliest  hovels  that  ever  mortals  lived  in, 
and  which  they  share  with  pigs  and  cows  at  6ne  end. 
Hens,  too,  run  in  and  out  of  the  door.  One  or  two  of  these 
hovels  bore  signs,  “ Licensed  to  sell  beer,  ale,  and  to- 


152 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856, 

bacco,”  and  generally  there  were  an  old  woman  and  some 
children  visible.  In  all  cases  there  was  a ditch,  full  of 
water,  close  at  hand,  stagnant,  and  often  quite  covered 
with  a growth  of  water-weeds,  — very  unwholesome,  one 
would  think,  in  the  neighborhood  of  a dwelling ; and,  in 
truth,  the  children  and  grown  people  did  look  pale. 

In  the  fields,  along  the  roadside,  men  and  women 
were  harvesting  their  carrots  and  other  root-crops,  es- 
pecially digging  potatoes,  — the  pleasantest  of  all  farm 
labor,  in  my  opinion,  there  being  such  a continual  inter- 
est in  opening  the  treasures  of  each  hill.  As  I went  on, 
the  country  began  to  get  almost  imperceptibly  less  flat, 
and  there  was  some  little  appearance  of  trees.  I had 
determined  to  go  to  Omskirk,  but  soon  got  out  of  the  way, 
and  came  to  a little  hamlet  that  looked  antique  and  pic- 
turesque, with  its  small  houses  of  stone  and  brick,  built 
with  the  one  material  and  repaired  with  the  other  per- 
haps ages  afterward.  Here  I inquired  my  way  of  a 
woman,  who  told  me,  in  broad  Lancashire  dialect,  “ that 
I maun  go  back,  and  turn  to  my  left,  till  I came  to  a 
finger-post  ” ; and  so  I did,  and  found  another  little  ham- 
let, the  principal  object  in  which  was  a public  house, 
with  a large  sign,  representing  a dance  round  a May- 
pole.  It  was  now  about  one  o’clock  ; so  I entered,  and, 
being  ushered  into  what,  I suppose,  they  called  the  cof- 
fee-room, I asked  for  some  cold  meat  and  ale.  There 
was  a jolly,  round,  rather  comely  woman  for  a hostess, 
with  a free,  hospitable,  yet  rather  careless  manner. 

The  coffee-room  smelt  rather  disagreeably  of  bad  to- 
bacco-smoke, and  was  shabbily  furnished  with  an  old 
sofa  and  flag-bottomed  chairs,  and  adorned  with  a print 
of  Old  Billy,”  a horse  famous  for  a longevity  of*  about 


1856.] 


FROM  SOUTHPORT  TO  OMSKIRK. 


153 


sixty  years ; and  also  with  colored  engravings  of  old- 
fashioned  hunting-scenes,  conspicuous  with  scarlet  coats. 
There  was  a very  small  bust  of  Milton  on  the  mantel- 
piece. By  and  by  the  remains  of  an  immense  round  of 
beef,  three  quarters  cut  away,  were  put  on  the  table; 
then  some  smoking-hot  potatoes  ; and  finally  the  hostess 
told  me  that  their  own  dinner  was  just  ready,  and  so 
she  had  brought  me  in  some  hot  chops,  thinking  I might 
prefer  them  to  the  cold  meat.  I did  prefer  them  ; and 
they  were  stewed  or  fried  chops,  instead  of  broiled,  and 
were  very  savory.  There  was  household  bread  too,  and 
rich  cheese,  and  a pint  of  ale,  home  brewed,  not  very 
mighty,  but  good  to  quench  thirst,  and,  by  way  of  con- 
diment, some  pickled  cabbage ; so,  instead  of  a lunch,  I 
made  quite  a comfortable  dinner.  Moreover,  there  was 
a cold  pudding  on  the  table,  and  I called  for  a clean 
plate,  and  helped  myself  to  some  of  it.  It  was  of  rice, 
and  was  strewn  over,  rather  than  intermixed,  with  some 
kinds  of  berries,  the  nature  of  which  I could  not  exactly 
make  out. 

I then  set  forth  again.  It  was  still  sunny  and  warm, 
and  I walked  more  slowly  than  before  dinner;  in  fact, 
I did  little  more  than  lounge  along,  sitting  down,  at  last, 
on  the  stone  parapet  of  a bridge. 

The  country  grew  more  pleasant,  more  sylvan,  and, 
though  still  of  a level  character,  not  so  drearily  flat. 
Soon  appeared  the  first  symptom  that  I had  seen  of  a 
gentleman’s  residence,  — a lodge  at  a park  gate,  then  a 
long  stretch  of  wall,  with  a green  lawn,  and  afterwards 
an  extent  of  wooded  land  ; then  another  gateway,  with 
a neat  lodge  on  each  side  of  it,  and,  lastly,  another  ex- 
tent of  wood.  The  Hall  or  Mansion-house,  however, 
7* 


154 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


was  nowhere  apparent,  being,  doubtless,  secluded  deep 
and  far  within  its  grounds.  I inquired  of  a boy  who 
was  the  owner  of  the  estate,  and  he  answered,  “ Mr. 
Scarybrick  ” ; and  no  doubt  it  is  a family  of  local  emi- 
nence. 

Along  the  road,  — an  old  inn ; some  aged  stone 
houses,  built  for  merely  respectable  occupants  ; a canal, 
with  two  canal-boats,  heaped  up  with  a cargo  of  pota- 
toes ; two  little  girls,  who  were  watching  lest  some  cows 
should  go  astray,  and  had  their  two  little  chairs  by  the 
roadside,  and  their  dolls  and  other  playthings,  and  so 
followed  the  footsteps  of  the  cows  all  day  long.  I met 
two  boys,  coming  from  Omskirk,  mounted  on  donkeys, 
with  empty  panniers,  on  which  they  had  carried  vege- 
tables to  market.  Finally,  between  two  and  three 
o’clock,  I saw  the  great  tower  of  Omskirk  Church,  with 
its  spire,  not  rising  out  of  the  tower,  but  sprouting  up 
close  beside  it ; and,  entering  the  town,  I directed  my 
steps  first  to  this  old  church. 

OMSKIRK  CHURCH. 

It  stands  on  a gentle  eminence,  sufficient  to  give  it  a 
good  site,  and  has  a pavement. of  flat  gravestones  in 
front.  It  is  doubtless,  as  regards  its  foundation,  a very 
ancient  church,  but  has  not  exactly  a venerable  aspect, 
being  in  too  good  repair,  and  much  restored  in  various 
parts ; not  ivy-grown,  either,  though  green  with  moss 
here  and  there.  The  tower  is  square  and  immensely 
massive,  and  might  have  supported  a very  lofty  spire ; 
so  that  it  is  the  more  strange  that  what  spire  it*  has 
should  be  so  oddly  stuck  beside  it,  springing  out  of  the 
church  wall.  I should  have  liked  well  enough  to  enter 


omsKikiC 


i 55 


I860.] 

tlie  church,  as  it  is  the  burial-place  of  the  Earls  of 
Derby,  and  perhaps  may  contain  some  interesting  monu- 
ments ; but  as  it  was  all  shut  up,  and  even  the  iron 
gates  of  the  churchyard  closed  and  locked,  I merely 
looked  at  the  outside. 

From  the  church,  a street  leads  to  the  market-place, 
in  which  I found  a throng  of  men  and  women,  it  being 
market-day  ; wares  of  various  kinds,  tin,  earthen,  and 
cloth,  set  out  on  the  pavements ; droves  of  pigs ; ducks 
and  fowls  ; baskets  of  eggs ; and  a man  selling  quack 
medicines,  recommending  his  nostrums  as  well  as  he 
could.  The  aspect -of  the  crowd  was  very  English, — 
portly  and  ruddy  women  ; yeomen  with  small-clothes  and 
broad-brimmed  hats,  all  very  quiet  and  heavy  and  good- 
humored.  Their  dialect  was  so  provincial  that  I could 
not  readily  understand  more  than  here  and  there  a word. 

But,  after  all,  there  were  few  traits  that  could  be 
made  a note  of.  I soon  grew  weary  of  the  scene,  and 
so  I went  to  the  railway  station,  and  waited  there  nearly 
an  hour  for  the  train  to  take  me  to  Southport.  Oms- 
kirk  is  famous  for  its  gingerbread,  which  women  sell  to 
the  railway  passengers  at  a sixpence  for  a rouleau  of  a 
dozen  little  cakes. 

November  30 th.  — A week  ago  last  Monday,  Her- 
man Melville  came  to  see  me  at  the  Consulate,  looking 
much  as  he  used  to  do,  and  with  his  characteristic  gravity 
and  reserve  of  manner.  ....  We  soon  found  ourselves 
on  pretty  much  our  former  terms  of  sociability  and  con- 
fidence. ....  He  is  thus  far  on  his  way  to  Constanti- 
nople. I do  not  wonder  that  he  found  it  necessary  to 
take  an  airing  through  the  world,  after  so  many  years 


15G 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


1856 


of  toilsome  pen-labor,  following  upon  so  wild  and  ad- 
venturous a youth  as  his  was.  I invited  him  to  come 
and  stay  with  us  at  Southport,  as  long  as  he  might  re- 
main in  this  vicinity,  and  accordingly  he  did  come  the 

next  day On  Wednesday  we  took  a pretty  long 

walk  together,  and  sat  down  in  a hollow  among  the 
sand-hills,  sheltering  ourselves  from  the  high  cool  wind. 
Melville,  as  he  always  does,  began  to  reason  of  Provi- 
dence and  futurity,  and  of  everything  else  that  lies  be- 
yond human  ken He  has  a very  high  and  noble 

nature,  and  is  better  worth  immortality  than  the  most 

of  us On  Saturday  we  went*to  Chester  together. 

I love  to  take  every  opportunity  of  going  to  Chester ; it 
being  the  one  only  place,  within  easy  reach  of  Liver- 
pool, which  possesses  any  old  English  interest. 

We  went  to 

THE  CATHEDKALc 

Its  gray  nave  impressed  me  more  than  at  any  former 
visit.  Passing  into  the  cloisters,  an  attendant  took  pos- 
session of  us,  and  showed  us  about. 

Within  the  choir  there  is  a profusion  of  very  rich 
oaken  carving,  both  on  the  screen  that  separates  it  from 
the  nave,  and  on  the  seats  and  walls  ; very  curious  and 
most  elaborate,  and  lavished  (one  would  say)  most 
wastefully,  where  nobody  would  think  of  looking  for  it, 
— where,  indeed,  amid  the  dimness  of  the  cathedral, 
the  exquisite  detail  of  the  elaboration  could  not  possibly 
be  seen.  Our  guide  lighted  some  of  the  gas-burners,  of 
which  there  are  many  hundreds,  to  help  us  see  them  ; 
but  it  required  close  scrutiny,  even  then.  It  must  have 
been  out  of  the  question,  when  the  whole  means  of 


CHESTER. 


157 


1856.] 

illumination  were  only  a few  smoky  torches  or  candles. 
There  was  a row  of  niches,  where  the  monks  used  to 
stand,  for  four  hours  together,  in  the  performance  of 
some  of  their  services  ; and  to  relieve  them  a little, 
they  were  allowed  partially  to  sit  on  a projection  of  the 
seats,  which  were  turned  up  in  the  niche  for  that  pur- 
pose ; but  if  they  grew  drowsy,  so  as  to  fail  to  balance 
themselves,  the  seat  was  so  contrived  as  to  slip  down, 
thus  bringing  the  monk  to  the  floor.  These  projections 
on  the  seats  are  each  and  all  of  them  carved  with  cu- 
rious devices,  no  two  alike.  The  guide  showed  us  one, 
representing,  apparently,  the  first  quarrel  of  a new- 
married  couple,  wrought  with  wonderful  expression. 
Indeed,  the  artist  never  failed  to  bring  out  his  idea  in 
the  most  striking  manner,  — as,  for  instance,  Satan,  un- 
der the  guise  of  a lion,  devouring  a sinner  bodily ; and 
again  in  the  figure  of  a dragon,  with  a man  half-way 
down  his  gullet,  the  legs  hanging  out.  The  carver  may 
not  have  seen  anything  grotesque  in  this,  nor  intended 
it  at  all  by  way  of  joke ; but  certainly  there  would 
appear  to  be  a grim  mirthfulness  in  some  of  the  designs. 
One  does  not  see  why  such  fantasies  should  be  strewn 
about  the  holy  interior  of  a cathedral,  unless  it  were 
intended  to  contain  everything  that  belongs  to  the  heart 
of  man,  both  upward  and  downward. 

In  a side  aisle  of  the  choir,  we  saw  a tomb,  said  to 
be  that  of  the  Emperor  Henry  IV.  of  Germany,  though 
on  very  indistinct  authority.  This  is  an  oblong  tomb, 
carved,  and,  on  one  side,  painted  with  bright  colors  and 
gilded.  During  a very  long  period  it  was  built  and 
plastered  into  the  wall,  and  the  exterior  side  was  white- 
washed ; but,  on  being  removed,  the  inner  side  was 


158 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


found  to  have  been  ornamented  with  gold  and  color, 
in  the  manner  in  which  we  now  see  it.  If  this  were 
customary  with  tombs,  it  must  have  added  vastly  to  the 
gorgeous  magnificence,  to  which  the  painted  windows 
and  polished  pillars  and  ornamented  ceilings  contributed 
so  much.  In  fact,  a cathedral  in  its  fresh  estate  seems 
to  have  been  like  a pavilion  of  the  sunset,  all  purple 
and  gold ; whereas  now  it  more  resembles  deepest  and 
grayest  twilight. 

Afterwards,  we  were  shown  into  the  ancient  refec- 
tory, now  used  as  the  city  grammar  school,  and  fur- 
nished with  the  usual  desks  and  seats  for  the  boys.  In 
one  corner  of  this  large  room  was  the  sort  of  pulpit  or 
elevated  seat,  with  a broken  staircase  of  stone  ascend- 
ing to  it,  where  one  of  the  monks  used  to  read  to  his 
brethren,  while  sitting  at  their  meals.  The  desks  were 
cut  and  carved  with  the  scholars’  knives,  just  as  they 
used  to  be  in  the  school-rooms  where  I was  a scholar. 
Thence  we  passed  into  the  chapter-house,  but,  before 
that,  we  went  through  a small  room,  in  which  Melville 
opened  a cupboard,  and  discovered  a dozen  or  two  of 
wine-bottles  ; but  our  guide  told  us  that  they  were  now 
empty,  and  never  were  meant  for  jollity,  having  held 
only  sacramental  wine.  In  the  chapter-house,  we  saw 
the  library,  some  of  the  volumes  of  which  were  antique 
folios.  There  were  two  dusty  and  tattered  banners 
hanging  on  the  wall,  and  the  attendant  promised  to 
make  us  laugh  by  something  that  he  would  tell  us 
about  them.  The  joke  was  that  these  two  banners  had 
been  in  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  ; and  our  country- 
men, he  said,  always  smiled  on  hearing  this.  He  had 
discovered  us  to  be  Americans  by  the  notice  we  took  of 


CHESTER. 


159 


1856.] 

a mural  tablet  in  the  choir,  to  the  memory  of  a Lieuten- 
ant-Governor Clarke,  of  New  York,  who  died  in  Ches- 
ter before  the  Revolution.  From  the  chapter-house 
he  ushered  us  back  into  the  nave,  ever  and  anon  point- 
ing out  some  portion  of  the  edifice  more  ancient  than 
the  rest,  and  when  I asked  him  how  he  knew  this,  he 
said  that  he  had  learnt  it  from  the  archaeologists,  who 
could  read  off  such  things  like  a book.  This  guide  was 
a lively,  quick-witted  man,  who  did  his  business  less  by 
rote,  and  more  with  a vivacious  interest,  than  any  guide 
I ever  met. 

After  leaving  the  cathedral  we  sought  out  the  Yacht 
Inn,  near  the  water-gate.  This  was,  for  a long  period 
of  time,  the  principal  inn  of  Chester,  and  was  the  house 
at  which  Swift  once  put  up,  on  his  way  to  Holyhead, 
and  where  he  invited  the  clergy  to  come  and  sup  with 
him.  We  sat  down  in  a small  snuggery,  conversing 
with  the  landlord.  The  Chester  people,  according  to 
my  experience,  are  very  affable,  and  fond  of  talking 
with  strangers  about  the  antiquities  and  picturesque 
characteristics  of  their  town.  It  partly  lives,  the  land- 
lord told  us,  by  its  visitors,  and  many  people  spend  the 
summer  here  on  account  of  the  antiquities  and  the  good 
air.  He  showed  us  a broad,  balustraded  staircase,  lead- 
ing into  a large,  comfortable,  old-fashioned  parlor,  with 
windows  looking  on  the  street  and  on  the  Custom- 
House  that  stood  opposite.  This  was  the  room  where 
Swift  expected  to  receive  the  clergy  of  Chester ; and 
on  one  of  the  window-panes  were  two  acrid  lines,  writ- 
ten with  the  diamond  of  his  ring,  satirizing  those  vener- 
able gentlemen,  in  revenge  for  their  refusing  his  invita- 
tion. The  first  line  begins  rather  indistinctly;  but  the 
writing  grows  fully  legible,  as  it  proceeds. 


160  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  .['1&50 

The  Yacht  Tavern  is  a very  old  house,  in  the  gabled 
style.  The  timbers  and  framework  are  still  perfectly 
sound.  In  the  same  street  is  the  Bishop’s  house  (so 
called  as  having  been  the  residence  of  a prelate  long 
ago),  which  is  covered  with  curious  sculpture,  repre- 
senting Scriptural  scenes.  And  in  the  same  neighbor- 
hood is  the  county  court,  accessible  by  an  archway, 
through  which  we  penetrated,  and  found  ourselves  in  a 
passage,  very  ancient  and  dusky,  overlooked  from  the 
upper  story  by  a gallery,  to  which  an  antique  staircase 
ascended,  with  balustrades  and  square  landing-places. 
A printer  saw  us  here,  and  asked  us  into  his  printing- 
office,  and  talked  very  affably  ; indeed,  he  could  have 
hardly  been  more  civil,  if  he  had  known  that  both  Mel- 
ville and  I have  given  a good  deal  of  employment  to  the 
brethren  of  his  craft. 

December  15th.  — An  old  gentleman  has  recently  paid 
me  a good  many  visits,  — a Kentucky  man,  who  has  been 
a good  deal  in  England  and  Europe  generally  without 
losing  the  freshness  and  unconventionality  of  his  earlier 
life.  He  was  a boatman,  and  afterwards  captain  of  a 
steamer  on  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi ; but  has  gained 
property,  and  is  now  the  owner  of  mines  of  coal  and 
iron,  which  he  is  endeavoring  to  dispose  of  here  in  Eng- 
land. A plain,  respectable,  well-to-do-looking  person- 
age, of  more  than  seventy  years ; very  free  of  con- 
versation, and  beginning  to  talk  with  everybody  as  a 
matter  of  course  ; tall,  stalwart,  a dark  face,  with  white 
curly  hair  and  keen  eyes  ; and  an  expression  shrewd., 
yet  kindly  and  benign.  He  fought  through  the  whole 
war  of  1812,  beginning  with  General  Harrison  at  the 


LIVERPOOL. 


161 


1856.] 

battle  of  Tippecanoe,  which  he  described  to  me.  He 
says  that  at  the  beginning  of  the  battle,  and  for  a con- 
siderable time,  he  heard  Tecumseh’s  voice,  loudly  giv- 
ing orders.  There  was  a man  named  Wheatley  in  the 
American  camp,  a strange,  incommunicative  person,  — 
a volunteer,  making  war  entirely  on  his  own  hook,  and 
seeking  revenge  for  some  relatives  of  his,  who  had  been 
killed  by  the  Indians.  In  the  midst  of  the  battle  this 

Wheatley  ran  at  a slow  trot  past  R (my  informant), 

trailing  his  rifle,  and  making  towards  the  point  where 
Tecumseh’s  voice  was  heard.  The  fight  drifted  around, 

and  R along  with  it ; and  by  and  by  he  reached  a 

spot  where  Wheatley  lay  dead,  with  his  head  on  Te- 
cumseh’s breast.  Tecumseh  had  been  shot  with  a rifle, 
but,  before  expiring,  appeared  to  have  shot  Wheatley 

with  a pistol,  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand.  R 

affirms  that  Tecumseh  was  flayed  by  the  Kentucky 
men  on  the  spot,  and  his  skin  converted  into  razor- 
strops.  I have  left  out  the  most  striking  point  of  the 

narrative,  after  all,  as  R told  it,  viz.  that  soon 

after  Wheatley  passed  him,  he  suddenly  ceased  to  hear 
Tecumseh’s  voice  ringing  through  the  forest,  as  he  gave 
his  orders.  He  was  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  and 
gave  me  the  story  of  it  from  beginning  to  end  ; but  I 
remember  only  a few  particulars  in  which  he  was  per- 
sonally concerned.  He  confesses  that  his  hair  bristled 
upright  — every  hair  in  his  head  — when  he  heard  the 
shouts  of  the  British  soldiers  before  advancing  to  the 
attack.  His  uncomfortable  sensations  lasted  till  he  be- 
gan to  fire,  after  which  he  felt  no  more  of  them.  It 
was  in  the  dusk  of  the  morning,  or  a little  before  sun- 
rise5  when  the  assault  was  made ; and  the  fight  lasted 


K 


162 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[j8o6. 


about  two  hours  and  a half,  during  which  R fired 

twenty-four  times  ; and  said  he,  “ I saw  my  object 
distinctly  each  time,  and  I was  a good  rifle-shot.”  He 
was  raising  his  rifle  to  fire  the  twenty-fifth  time,  when 
an  American  officer,  General  Carroll,  pressed  it  down, 
and  bade  him  fire  no  more.  “ Enough  is  enough,” 
quoth  the  General.  For  there  needed  no  more  slaugh- 
ter, the  British  being  in  utter  rout  and  confusion.  In 
this  retreat  many  of  the  enemy  would  drop  down  among 
the  dead,  then  rise,  run  a considerable  distance,  and 
drop  again,  thus  confusing  the  riflemen’s  aim.  One  fel- 
low had  thus  got  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
from  the  American  line,  and,  thinking  himself  secure, 
he  made  a derisive  gesture.  “ I ’ll  have  a shot  at  him 
anyhow,”  cried  a rifleman  ; so  he  fired,  and  the  poor 
devil  dropped. 

R himself,  with  one  of  his  twenty-four  shots,  hit 

a British  officer,  who  fell  forward  on  his  face,  about 
thirty  paces  from  our  line,  and  as  the  enemy  were  then 
retreating  (they  advanced  and  were  repelled  two  or 

three  times)  R ran  out,  and  turned  him  over  on  his 

back.  The  officer  was  a man  about  thirty-eight,  tall 
and  fine-looking  ; his  eyes  were  wide  open,  clear  and 

bright,  and  were  fixed  full  on  R with  a somewhat 

stern  glance,  but  there  was  the  sweetest  and  happiest 
smile  over  his  face  that  could  be  conceived.  He  seemed 

to  be  dead  ; — at  least,  R thinks  that  he  did  not 

really  see  him,  fixedly  as  he  appeared  to  gaze.  The 

officer  held  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  R tried  in 

vain  to  wrest  it  from  him,  until  suddenly  the  clutch  re- 
laxed. R still  keeps  the  sword  hung  up  over  his 

mantel  piece.  I asked  him  how  the  dead  man’s  aspect 


LIVERPOOL. 


163 


1856.] 

affected  him.  He  replied  that  he  felt  nothing  at  the 
time  ; but  that  ever  since,  in  all  trouble,  in  uneasy 
sleep,  and  whenever  he  is  out  of  tune,  or  waking  early, 
or  lying  awake  at  night,  he  sees  this  officer’s  face,  with 
the  clear  bright  eyes  and  the  pleasant  smile,  just  as 
distinctly  as  if  he  were  bending  over  him.  His  wound 

was  in  the  breast,  exactly  on  the  spot  that  R had 

aimed  at,  and  bled  profusely.  The  enemy  advanced  in 
such  masses,  he  says,  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  hit 
them  unless  by  purposely  firing  over  their  heads. 

After  the  battle,  R leaped  over  the  rampart,  and 

took  a prisoner  who  was  standing  unarmed  in  the  midst 
of  the  slain,  having  probably  dropped  down  during  the 
heat  of  the  action,  to  avoid  the  hail-storm  of  rifle-shots. 
As  he  led  him  in,  the  prisoner  paused,  and  pointed  to 
an  officer  who  was  lying  dead  beside  his  dead  horse, 
with  his  foot  still  in  the  stirrup.  “ There  lies  our 
General,”  said  die.  The  horse  had  been  killed  by  a 
grape-shot,  and  Pakenham  himself,  apparently,  by  a six- 
pounder  ball,  which  had  first  struck  the  earth,  covering 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  mud  and  clay,  and  had 
then  entered  his  side,  and  gone  upward  through  his 
breast.  His  face  was  all  besmirched  with  the  moist 

earth.  R took  the  slain  General’s  foot  out  of  the 

stirrup,  and  then  went  to  report  his  death. 

Much  more  he  told  me,  being  an  exceedingly  talka- 
tive old  man,  and  seldom,  I suppose,  finding  so  good  a 
listener  as  myself.  I like  the  man,  — a good-tempered, 
upright,  bold  and  free  old  fellow  ; of  a rough  breeding, 
but  sufficiently  smoothed  by  society  to  be  of  pleasant 
intercourse.  He  is  as  dogmatic  as  possible,  having 
formed  his  own  opinions,  often  on  very  disputable 


1M 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 

grounds,  and  hardened  in  them  ; taking  queer  views 
of  matters  and  things,  and  giving  shrewd  and  not  ridic- 
ulous reasons  for  them;  but  with  a keen,  strong  sense 
at  the  bottom  of  his  character. 

A little  while  ago  I met  an  Englishman  in  a rail- 
way carriage,  who  suggests  himself  as  a kind  of  contrast 
to  this  warlike  and  vicissitudinous  backwoodsman.  He 

was  about  the  same  age  as  R , but  had  spent, 

apparently,  his  whole  life  in  Liverpool,  and  has  long 
occupied  the  post  of  Inspector  of  Nuisances,  — a rather 
puffy  and  consequential  man  ; gracious,  however,  and 
affable,  even  to  casual  strangers  like  myself.  The  great 
contrast  betwixt  him  and  the  American  lies  in  the 
narrower  circuit  of  his  ideas  ; the  latter  talking  about 
matters  of  history  of  his  own  country  and  the  world,  — * 
glancing  over  the  whole  field  of  politics,  propounding 
opinions  and  theories  of  his  own,  and  showing  evidence 
that  his  mind  had  operated  for  better  or  worse  on 
almost  all  conceivable  matters  ; while  the  Englishman 
was  odorous  of  his  office,  strongly  flavored  with  that, 
and  otherwise  most  insipid.  He  began  his  talk  by  tell- 
ing me  of  a dead  body  which  he  had  lately  discovered 
in  a house  in  Liverpool,  where  it  had  been  kept  about 
a fortnight  by  the  relatives,  partly  from  want  of  funds 
for  the  burial,  and  partly  in  expectation  of  the  arrival 
of  some  friends  from  Glasgow.  There  was  a plate  of 
glass  in  the  coffin  lid,  through  which  the  Inspector  of 
Nuisances,  as  he  told  me,  had  looked  and  seen  the  dead 
man’s  face  in  an  ugly  state  of  decay,  which  he  minutely 
described.  However,  his  conversation  was  not  alto- 
gether of  this  quality ; for  he  spoke  about  larks,  and 


LIVERPOOL. 


165 


1856.] 

how  abundant  they  are  just  now,  and  what  a good  pie 
they  make,  only  they,  must  be  skinned,  else  they  will 
have  a bitter  taste.  We  have  since  had  a lark-pie  our- 
selves, and  I believe  it  was  very  good  in  itself ; only 
the  recollection  of  the  Nuisance-man’s  talk  was  not  a 
very  agreeable  flavor.  A very  racy  and  peculiarly 
English  character  might  be  made  out  of  a man  like  this, 
having  his  life-concern  wholly  with  the  disagreeables  of 
a great  city.  He  seemed  to  be  a good  and  kindly  per- 
son, too,  but  earthy,  — even  as  if  his  frame  had  been 
moulded  of  clay  impregnated  with  the  draining  of 
slaughter-houses. 


December  21  st.  — On  Thursday  evening  I dined  for 
the  first  time  with  the  new  Mayor  at  the  Town  Hall. 
I wish  to  preserve  all  the  characteristic  traits  of  such 
banquets,  because,  being  peculiar  to  England,  these 
municipal  feasts  may  do  well  to  picture  in  a novel. 
There  was  a big  old  silver  tobacco-box,  nearly  or  quite 
as  large  round  as  an  ordinary  plate,  out  of  which  the 
dignitaries  of  Liverpool  used  to  fill  their  pipes,  while 
sitting  in  council  or  after  their  dinners.  The  date 
“ 1690  ” was  on  the  lid.  It  is  now  used  as  a snuff-box, 
and  wends  its  way,  from  guest  to  guest,  round  the 
table.  We  had  turtle,  and,  among  other  good  things, 

American  canvas-back  ducks These  dinners 

are  certainly  a good  institution,  and  likely  to  be  pro- 
motive of  good  feeling  ; the  Mayor  giving  them  often, 
and  inviting,  in  their  turn,  all  the  respectable  and 
eminent  citizens  of  whatever  political  bias.  About 
fifty  gentlemen  were  present  that  evening.  I had  the 


166 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1856. 


post  of  honor  at  the  Mayor’s  right  hand  ; and  France, 
Turkey,  and  Austria  were  toasted  before  the  Republic, 
for,  as  the  Mayor  whispered  me,  he  must  first  get  his 
allies  out  of  the  way.  The  Turkish  Consul  and  the 
Austrian  both  made  better  English  speeches  than  any 
Englishman,  during  the  evening  ; for  it  is  inconceivable 
what  shapeless  and  ragged  utterances  Englishmen  are 
content  to  put  forth,  without  attempting  anything  like  a 
wholeness ; but  inserting  a patch  here  and  a patch 
there,  and  finally  getting  out  what  they  wish  to  say, 
indeed,  but  in  most  disorganized  guise,  ....  I can 
conceive  of  very  high  enjoyment  in  making  a speech ; 
one  is  in  such  a curious  sympathy  with  his  audience, 
feeling  instantly  how  every  sentence  affects  them,  and 
wonderfully  excited  and  encouraged  by  the  sense  that 
it  has  gone  to  the  right  spot.  Then,  too,  the  imminent 
emergency,  when  a man  is  overboard,  and  must  sink  or 
swim,  sharpens,  concentrates,  and  invigorates  the  mind, 
and  causes  matters  of  thought  and  sentiment  to  assume 
shape  and  expression,  though,  perhaps,  it  seemed  hope- 
less to  express  them,  just  before  you  rose  to  speak. 
Yet  I question  much  whether  public  speaking  tends  to 
elevate  the  orator,  intellectually  or  morally  ; the  effort, 
of  course,  being  to  say  what  is  immediately  received  by 
the  audience,  and  to  produce  an  effect  on  the  instant. 
I don’t  quite  see  how  an  honest  man  can  be  a good 
and  successful  orator  ; but  I shall  hardly  undertake  to 
decide  the  question  on  my  merely  post-prandial  ex- 
perience. 

The  Mayor  toasted  his  guests  by  their  professions,  — 
the  merchants,  for  instance,  the  bankers,  the  solicitors, 
— and  while  one  of  the  number  responded,  bis  brethren 


LIVERPOOL. 


167 


/850.] 

also  stood  up,  each  in  his  place,  thus  giving  their  assent 
to  what  lie  said.  I think  the  very  worst  orator  was  a 
major  of  Artillery,  who  spoke  in  a meek,  little,  nervous 
voice,  and  seemed  a good  deal  more  discomposed  than 
probably  he  would  have  been  in  the  face  of  the  enemy. 
The  first  toast  was  “ The  Ladies,”  to  which  an  old 
bachelor  responded. 

December  31  st.  — Thus  far  we  have  come  through 
the  winter,  on  this  bleak  and  blasty  shore  of  the  Irish 
Sea,  where,  perhaps,  the  drowned  body  of  Milton’s 
friend  Lycidas  might  have  been  washed  ashore  more 
than  two  centuries  ago.  This  would  not  be  very  likely, 
however ; so  wide  a tract  of  sands,  never  deeply  covered 
by  the  tide,  intervening  betwixt  us  and  the  sea.  But  it 
is  an  excessively  windy  place,  especially  here  on  the 
Promenade  ; always  a whistle  and  a howl,  — always  an 
eddying  gust  through  the  corridors  and  chambers,  — 
often  a patter  of  hail  or  rain  or  snow  against  the  win- 
dows ; and  in  the  long  evenings  the  sounds  outside  are 
very  much  as  if  we  were  on  shipboard  in  mid-ocean, 
with  the  waves  dashing  against  the  vessel’s  sides.  I go 
to  town  almost  daily,  starting  at  about  eleven,  and  reach- 
ing Southport  again  at  a little  past  five  ; by  which  time 
it  is  quite  dark,  and  continues  so  till  nearly  eight  in  the 
morning. 

Christmas  time  has  been  marked  by  few  character- 
istics. For  a week  or  two  previous  to  Christmas  day, 
the  newspapers  contained  rich  details  respecting  mar- 
ket-stalls and  butchers’  shops,  — what  magnificent  car- 
casses of  prize  oxen  and  sheep  they  displayed 

The  Christmas  Waits  came  to  us  on  Christmas  eve, 


168  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1856. 

and  on  the  day  itself,  in  the  shape  of  little  parties  of 
boys  or  girls,  singing  wretched  doggerel  rhymes,  and 
going  away  well  pleased  with  the  guerdon  of  a penny 
or  two.  Last  evening  came  two  or  three  older  choris* 
ters  at  pretty  near  bedtime,  and  sang  some  carols  at 
our  door.  They  were  psalm  tunes,  however.  Every- 
body with  whom  we  have  had  to  do,  in  any  manner  of 
service,  expects  a Christmas-box  ; but,  in  most  cases,  a 
shilling  is  quite  a satisfactory  amount.  We  have  had 
holly  and  mistletoe  stuck  up  on  the  gas-fixtures  and 
elsewhere  about  the  house. 

On  the  mantel-piece  in  the  coroner’s  court  the  other 
day,  I saw  corked  and  labelled  phials,  which  it  may  be 
presumed  contained  samples  of  poisons  that  have  brought 
some  poor  wretches  to  their  deaths,  either  by  murder  or 
suicide.  This  court  might  be  wrought  into  a very  good 
and  pregnant  description,  with  its  grimy  gloom  illumi- 
nated by  a conical  skylight,  constructed  to  throw  daylight 
down  on  corpses  ; its  greasy  Testament  covered  over 
with  millions  of  perjured  kisses  ; the  coroner  himself, 
whose  life  is  fed  on  all  kinds  of  unnatural  death  ; its 
subordinate  officials,  who  go  about  scenting  murder, 
and  might  be  supposed  to  have  caught  the  scent  in 
their  own  garments  ; its  stupid,  brutish  juries,  settling 
round  corpses  like  flies  ; its  criminals,  whose  guilt  is 
brought  face  to  face  with  them  here,  in  closer  contact 
than  at  the  subsequent  trial. 

O P , the  famous  Mormonite,  called  on  me 

a little  while  ago,  — a short,  black -haired,  dark-com- 
plexioned man ; a shrewd,  intelligent,  but  unrefined 
countenance,  excessively  unprepossessing  ; an  uncouth 


1857.]  SOUTHPORT,  169 

gait  and  deportment ; the  aspect  of  a person  in  com 
fortable  circumstances,  and  decently  behaved,  but  of  a 
vulgar  nature  and  destitute  of  early  culture.  I think 
I should  have  taken  him  for  a shoemaker,  accustomed 
to  reflect  in  a rude,  strong,  evil-disposed  way  on  matters 
of  this  world  and  the  next,  as  he  sat  on  his  bench. 
He  said  he  had  been  residing  in  Liverpool  about  six 
months ; and  his  business  with  me  was  to  ask  for  a 
letter  of  introduction  that  should  gain  him  admittance 
to  the  British  Museum,  he  intending  a visit  to  London. 
He  offered  to  refer  me  to  respectable  people  for  his 
character  ; but  I advised  him  to  apply  to  Mr.  Dallas, 
as  the  proper  person  for  his  purpose. 

March  ls£,  1857.  — On  the  night  of  last  Wednesday 
week,  our  house  was  broken  into  by  robbers.  They 
entered  by  the  back  window  of  the  breakfast-room, 
which  is  the  children’s  school-room,  breaking  or  cutting 
a pane  of  glass,  so  as  to  undo  the  fastening.  I have  a 
dim  idea  of  having  heard  a noise  through  my  sleep ; 
but  if  so,  it  did  not  more  than  slightly  disturb  me. 

U heard  it,  she  being  at  watch  with  R ; and 

J , having  a cold,  was  also  wakeful,  and  thought  the 

noise  was  of  servants  moving  about  below.  Neither 

did  the  idea  of  robbers  occur  to  U . J , how 

ever,  hearing  U at  her  mother’s  door,  asking  for 

medicine  for  R , called  out  for  medicine  for  his 

cold,  and  the  thieves  probably  thought  we  were  be- 
stirring ourselves,  and  so  took  flight.  In  the  morning 
the  servants  found  the  hall  door  and  the  breakfast- 
room  window  open  ; some  silver  cups  and  some  other 
trifles  of  plate  were  gone  from  the  sideboard,  and  there 
8 


VOL.  II. 


170 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


were  tokens  that  the  whole  lower  part  of  the  house  had 
been  ransacked  ; but  the  thieves  had  evidently  gone  off 
in  a hurry,  leaving  some  articles  which  they  would  have 
taken,  had  they  been  more  at  leisure. 

We  gave  information  to  the  police,  and  an  inspector 
and  constable  soon  came  to  make  investigations,  taking 
a list  of  the  missing  articles,  and  informing  themselves 
as  to  all  particulars  that  could  be  known.  I did  not 
much  expect  ever  to  hear  any  more  of  the  stolen 
property;  but  on  Sunday  a constable  came  to  request 
my  presence  at  the  police-office  to  identify  the  lost 
things.  The  thieves  had  been  caught  in  Liverpool, 
and  some  of  the  property  found  upon  them,  and  some 
of  it  at  a pawnbroker’s,  where  they  had  pledged  it. 
The  police-office  is  a small  dark  room,  in  the  base> 
ment  story  of  the  Town  Hall  of  Southport ; and  over 
the  mantel-piece,  hanging  one  upon  another,  there  are 
innumerable  advertisements  of  robberies  in  houses,  and 
on  the  highway,  — murders,  too,  and  garrotings  ; and 
offences  of  all  sorts,  not  only  in  this  district,  but  wide 
away,  and  forwarded  from  other  police-stations.  Being 
thus  aggregated  together,  one  realizes  that  there  are 
a great  many  more  offences  than  the  public  generally 
takes  note  of.  Most  of  these  advertisements  were  in 
pen  and  ink,  with  minute  lists  of  the  articles  stolen  ; but 
the  more  important  were  in  print ; and  there,  too,  I 
saw  the  printed  advertisement  of  our  own  robbery,  not 
for  public  circulation,  but  to  be  handed  about  privately, 
among  police-officers  and  pawnbrokers.  A rogue  lias 
a very  poor  chance  in  England,  the  police  being  so 
numerous,  and  their  system  so  well  organized. 

In  a corner  of  the  police-office  stood  a contrivance 


SOUTHPORT. 


171 


1857.] 

for  precisely  measuring  the  heights  of  prisoners  ; and 

I took  occasion  to  measure  J , and  found  him  four 

feet  seven  inches  and  a half  high.  A set  of  rules  for 
the  self-government  of  police-officers  was  nailed  on  the 
door,  between  twenty  and  thirty  in  number,  and  com- 
posing a system  of  constabulary  ethics.  The  rules 
would  be  good  for  men  in  almost  any  walk  of  life ; and 
I rather  think  the  police-officers  conform  to  them  with 
tolerable  strictness.  They  appear  to  be  subordinated 
to  one  another  on  the  military  plan.  The  ordinary 
constable  does  not  sit  down  in  the  presence  of  his 
inspector,  and  this  latter  seems  to  be  half  a gentleman  ; 
at  least,  such  is  the  bearing  of  our  Southport  inspector, 
who  wears  a handsome  uniform  of  green  and  silver, 
and  salutes  the  principal  inhabitants,  when  meeting 
them  in  the  street,  with  an  air  of  something  like 
equality.  Then  again  there  is  a superintendent  who 
certainly  claims  the  rank  of  a gentleman,  and  has 
perhaps  been  an  officer  in  the  army.  The  superin- 
tendent of  this  district  was  present  on  this  occasion. 

The  thieves  were  brought  down  from  Liverpool  on 
Tuesday,  and  examined  in  the  Town  Hall.  I had 
been  notified  to  be  present,  but,  as  a matter  of  courtesy, 
the  police-officers  refrained  from  calling  me  as  a wit- 
ness, the  evidence  of  the  servants  being  sufficient  to 
identify  the  property.  The  thieves  were  two  young 
men,  not  much  over  twenty,  — James  and  John  Mac- 
donald, terribly  shabby,  dirty,  jail-bird  like,  yet  intelli- 
gent of  aspect,  and  one  of  them  handsome.  The  police 
knew  them  already,  and  they  seemed  not  much  abashed 
by  their  position.  There  were  half  a dozen  magistrates 
on  the  bench,  — idle  old  gentlemen  of  Southport  and  the 


172 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857, 

vicinity,  who  lounged  into  the  court,  more  as  a matter 
of  amusement  than  anything  else,  and  lounged  out 
again  at  their  own  pleasure ; for  these  magisterial 
duties  are  a part  of  the  pastime  of  the  country  gentle- 
men of  England.  They  wore  their  hats  on  the  bench. 
There  were  one  or  two  of  them  more  active  than  their 
fellows ; but  the  real  duty  was  done  by  the  Clerk  of 
the  Court.  The  seats  within  the  bar  were  occupied  by 
the  witnesses,  and  around  the  great  table  sat  some 
of  the  more  respectable  people  of  Southport ; and  with- 
out the  bar  were  the  commonalty  in  great  numbers  ; 
for  this  is  said  to  be  the  first  burglary  that  has  occurred 
here  within  the  memory  of  man,  and  so  it  has  caused  a 
great  stir. 

There  seems  to  be  a strong  case  against  the  pris* 
oners.  A boy  attached  to  the  railway  testified  to 
having  seen  them  at  Birchdale  on  Wednesday  after- 
noon, and  directed  them  on  their  way  to  Southport; 
Peter  Pickup  recognized  them  as  having  applied  to  him 
for  lodgings  in  the  course  of  that  evening;  a pawn- 
broker swore  to  one  of  them  as  having  offered  my  top- 
coat for  sale  or  pledge  in  Liverpool  ; and  my  boots 
were  found  on  the  feet  of  one  of  them,  — all  this  in 
addition  to  other  circumstances  of  pregnant  suspicion. 
So  they  were  committed  for  trial  at  the  Liverpool 
assizes,  to  be  holden  some  time  in  the  present  month. 
I rather  wished  them  to  escape. 

February  27th.  — Coming  along  the  promenade,  a 
little  before  sunset,  I saw  the  mountains  of  the  Welsh 
coast  shadowed  very  distinctly  against  the  horizon. 
Mr.  Channing  told  me  that  he  had  seen  these  mourn 


SKIPTON. 


173 


1857.] 

tains  once  or  twice  during  his  stay  at  Southport ; but, 
though  constantly  looking  for  them  they  have  never 
before  greeted  my  eyes  in  all  the  months  that  we  have 
spent  here.  It  is  said  that  the  Isle  of  Man  is  likewise 
discernible  occasionally  ; but  as  the  distance  must  be 
between  sixty  and  seventy  miles,  I should  doubt  it. 
How  misty  is  England ! I have  spent  four  years  in  a 
gray  gloom.  And  yet  it  suits  me  pretty  well. 

TO  YORK. 

April  10 th.  — At  Skipton.  My  wife,  J , and  I 

left  Southport  to-day  for  a short  tour  to  York  and  its 
neighborhood.  The  weather  has  been  exceedingly 
disagreeable  for  weeks  past,  but  yesterday  and  to-day 
have  been  pleasant,  and  we  take  advantage  of  the  first 
glimpses  of  spring-like  weather.  We  came  by  Preston, 
along  a road  that  grew  rather  more  interesting  as  we 
proceeded  to  this  place,  which  is  about  sixty  miles 
from  Southport,  and  where  we  arrived  between  five 
and  six  o’clock.  First  of  all,  we  got  some  tea ; and 
then,  as  it  was  a pleasant  sunset,  we  set  forth  from  our 
old-fashioned  inn  to  take  a walk. 

Skipton  is  an  ancient  town,  and  has  an  ancient 
though  well-repaired  aspect,  the  houses  being  built  of 
gray  stone,  but  in  no  picturesque  shapes ; the  streets 
well  paved ; the  site  irregular  and  rising  gradually 
towards  Skipton  Castle,  which  overlooks  the  town,  as 
an  old  lordly  castle  ought  to  overlook  the  feudal  village 
which  it  protects.  The  castle  was  built  shortly  after 
the  Conquest  by  Robert  de  Romeli,  and  was  afterwards 
the  property  and  residence  of  the  famous  Cliffords 
We  met  an  honest  man,  as  we  approached  the  gate- 


174 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


way,  who  kindly  encouraged  us  to  apply  for  admittance, 
notwithstanding  it  was  Good  Friday;  telling  us  how  to 
find  the  housekeeper,  who  would  probably  show  us  over 
the  castle.  So  we  passed  through  the  gate,  between 
two  embattled  towers ; and  in  the  castle  court  we  met 
a flock  of  young  damsels,  who  had  been  rambling 
about  the  precincts.  They  likewise  directed  us  in  our 
search  for  the  housekeeper,  and  S — * — , being  bolder 
than  I in  such  assaults  on  feudal  castles,  led  the  way 
down  a dark  archway,  and  up  an  exterior  stairway, 
and,  knocking  at  a door,  immediately  brought  the  house- 
keeper to  a parley. 

She  proved  to  be  a nowise  awful  personage,  but  a 
homely,  neat,  kindly,  intelligent,  and  middle-aged  body. 
She  seemed  to  be  all  alone  in  this  great  old  castle,  and 
at  once  consented  to  show  us  about,  — being,  no  doubt, 
glad  to  see  any  Christian  visitors.  The  castle  is  now 
the  property  of  Sir  R.  Tufton ; but  the  present  family 
do  not  make  it  their  permanent  residence,  and  have 
only  occasionally  visited  it.  Indeed,  it  could  not  well 
be  made  an  eligible  or  comfortable  residence,  according 
to  modern  ideas ; the  rooms  occupying  the  several 
stories  of  large  round  towers,  and  looking  gloomy  and 
sombre,  if  not  dreary,  — not  the  less  so  for  what  has 
been  done  to  modernize  them ; for  instance,  modern 
paper-hangings,  and,  in  some  of  the  rooms,  marble  fire- 
places. They  need  a great  deal  more  light  and  higher 
ceilings ; and  I rather  imagine  that  the  warm,  rich 
effect  of  glowing  tapestry  is  essential  to  keep  one’s 
spirit  cheerful  in  these  ancient  rooms.  Modern  paper- 
hangings  are  too  superficial  and  wishy-washy  for  the 
purpose.  Tapestry,  it  is  true,  there  is  now,  completely 


SKIPTON. 


175 


*857.] 

covering  the  walls  of  several  of  the  rooms,  but  all  faded 
into  ghastliness  ; nor  could  some  of  it  have  been  other- 
wise than  ghastly,  even  in  its  newness,  for  it  repre- 
sented persons  suffering  various  kinds  of  torture,  with 
crowds  of  monks  and  nuns  looking  on.  In  another 
room  there  was  the  story  of  Solomon  and  the  Queen  of 
Sheba,  and  other  subjects  not  to  be  readily  distin- 
guished in  the  twilight  that  was  gathering  in  these 
antique  chambers.  We  saw,  too,  some  very  old  por- 
traits of  the  Cliffords  and  the  Thanets,  in  black  frames, 
and  the  pictures  themselves  sadly  faded  and  neglected. 
The  famous  Countess  Anne  of  Pembroke,  Dorset,  and 
Montgomery  was  represented  on  one  of  the  leaves  of 
a pair  of  folding  doors,  and  one  of  her  husbands,  I 
believe,  on  the  other  leaf.  There  was  the  picture  of  a 
little  idiot  lordling,  who  had  choked  himself  to  death ; 
and  a portrait  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  who  battered  this 
old  castle,  together  with  almost  every  other  English  or 
Welsh  castle  that  I ever  saw  or  heard  of.  The  house- 
keeper pointed  out  the  grove  of  trees  where  his  cannon 
were  planted  during  the  siege.  There  was  but  little 
furniture  in  the  rooms ; amongst  other  articles,  an 
antique  chair,  in  which  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  is  said 
to  have  rested. 

The  housekeeper  next  took  us  into  the  part  of  the 
castle  which  has  never  been  modernized  since  it  was 
repaired,  after  the  siege  of  Cromwell.  This  is  a dismal 
series  of  cellars  above  ground,  with  immensely  thick 
walls,  letting  in  but  scanty  light,  and  dim  staircases  of 
stone ; and  a large  hall,  with  a vast  fireplace,  where 
every  particle  of  heat  must  needs  have  gone  up  chim- 
ney,— a chill  and  heart-breaking  place  enough.  Quite 


176 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1857. 


in  the  midst  of  this  part  of  the  castle  is  the  court- 
yard, — a space  of  some  thirty  or  forty  feet  in  length 
and  breadth,  open  to  the  sky,  but  shut  completely  in 
on  every  side  by  the  buildings  of  the  castle,  and  paved 
over  with  flat  stones.  Out  of  this  pavement,  however, 
grows  a yew-tree,  ascending  to  the  tops  of  the  towers, 
and  completely  filling,  with  its  branches  and  foliage, 
the  whole  open  space  between  them.  Some  small  birds 
— quite  a flock  of  them  — were  twittering  and  fluttering 
among  the  upper  branches.  We  went  upward,  through 
two  or  three  stories  of  dismal  rooms,  — among  others, 
through  the  ancient  guard-room,  — till  we  came  out  on 
the  roof  of  one  of  the  towers,  and  had  a very  fine  view 
of  an  amphitheatre  of  ridgy  hills  which  shut  in  and 
seclude  the  castle  and  the  town.  The  upper  foliage 
was  within  our  reach,  close  to  the  parapet  of  the  tower ; 
so  we  gathered  a few  twigs  as  memorials.  The  house- 
keeper  told  us  that  the  yew-tree  is  supposed  to  be 
eight  hundred  years  old,  and,  comparing  it  with  other 
yews  that  I have  seen,  I should  judge  that  it  must 
measure  its  antiquity  by  centuries,  at  all  events.  It 
still  seems  to  be  in  its  prime. 

Along  the  base  of  the  castle,  on  the  opposite  side  to 
the  entrance,  flows  a stream,  sending  up  a pleasant 
murmur  from  among  the  trees.  The  housekeeper  said 
it  was  not  a stream,  but  only  a “ wash,”  whatever  that 
may  be ; and  I conjecture  that  it  creates  the  motive 
power  of  some  factory-looking  edifices,  which  we  saw 
on  our  first  arrival  at  Skipton. 

We  now  took  our  leave  of  the  housekeeper,  and 
came  homeward  to  our  inn,  where  I have  written  the 
foregoing  pages  by  a bright  fire ; but  I think  I write 


BOLTON  PRIORY. 


177 


1857.] 

better  descriptions  after  letting  the  subject  lie  in  my 
mind  a day  or  two.  It  is  too  new  to  be  properly  dealt 
with  immediately  after  coming  from  the  scene. 

The  castle  is  not  at  all  crumbly,  but  in  excellent  re- 
pair, though  so  venerable.  There  are  rooks  cawing 
about  the  shapeless  patches  of  their  nests,  in  the  tops 
of  the  trees.  In  the  castle  wall,  as  well  as  in  the  round 
towers  of  the  gateway,  there  seem  to  be  little  tenements, 
perhaps  inhabited  by  the  servants  and  dependants  of 
the  family.  They  looked  in  very  good  order,  with  tokens 
of  present  domesticity  about  them.  The  whole  of  this 
old  castle,  indeed,  was  as  neat  as  a new,  small  dwelling, 
in  spite  of  an  inevitable  musty  odor  of  antiquity. 

April  1 1th,  — This  morning  we  took  a carriage  and 
two  horses,  and  set  out  for 

BOLTON  PRIORY, 

a distance  of  about  six  miles.  The  morning  was  cool, 
with  breezy  clouds,  intermingled  with  sunshine,  and,  on 
the  whole,  as  good  as  are  nine  tenths  of  English  morn- 
ings. J sat  beside  the  driver,  and  S and  I in 

the  carriage,  all  closed  but  one  window.  As  we  drove 
through  Skipton,  the  little  town  had  a livelier  aspect 
than  yesterday  when  it  wore  its  Good  Friday’s  solem- 
nity ; but  now  its  market-place  was  thronged,  principally 
with  butchers,  displaying  their  meat  under  little  mova- 
ble pent-houses,  and  their  customers.  The  English 
people  really  like  to  think  and  talk  of  butcher’s  meat, 
and  gaze  at  it  with  delight ; and  they  crowd  through  the 
avenues  of  the  market-houses  and  stand  enraptured 
round  a dead  ox. 

8* 


L 


178 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

We  passed  along  by  the  castle  wall,  and  noticed  the 
escutcheon  of  the  Cliffords  or  the  Thanets  carved  in 
stone  over  the  portal,  with  the  motto  Desormais , the 
application  of  which  I do  not  well  see ; these  ancestral 
devices  usually  referring  more  to  the  past  than  to  the 
future.  There  is  a large  old  church,  just  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  village,  and  just  below  the  castle,  on  the 
slope  of  the  hill.  The  gray  wall  of  the  castle  extends 
along  the  road  a considerable  distance,  in  good  repair, 
with  here  and  there  a buttress,  and  the  semicircular 
bulge  of  a tower. 

The  scenery  along  the  road  was  not  particularly 
striking,  — long  slopes,  descending  from  ridges  ; a gene- 
rally hard  outline  of  country,  with  not  many  trees,  and 
those,  as  yet,  destitute  of  foliage.  It  needs  to  be  softened 
with  a good  deal  of  wood.  There  were  stone  farm- 
houses, looking  ancient,  and  able  to  last  till  twice  as  old. 
Instead  of  the  hedges,  so  universal  in  other  parts  of 
England,  there  were  stone  fences  of  good  height  and 
painful  construction,  made  of  small  stones,  which  I sup- 
pose have  been  picked  up  out  of  the  fields  through  hun- 
dreds of  years.  They  reminded  me  of  old  Massachusetts, 
though  very  unlike  our  rude  stone  walls,  which,  never- 
theless, last  longer  than  anything  else  we  build.  Another 
New  England  feature  was  the  little  brooks,  which  here 
and  there  flowed  across  our  road,  rippling  over  the 
pebbles,  clear  and  bright.  I fancied,  too,  an  intelligence 
and  keenness  in  some  of  the  Yorkshire  physiognomies, 
akin  to  those  characteristics  in  my  countrymen’s  faces. 

We  passed  an  ancient,  many-gabled  inn,  large,  low, 
and  comfortable,  bearing  the  name  of  the  Devonshire 
House,  as  does  our  own  hotel,  for  the  Duke  of  Devon- 


BOLTON  PRIORY. 


179 


1857.] 

shire  is  a great  proprietor  in  these  parts.  A mile  or  so 
beyond,  we  came  to  a gateway,  broken  through  what,  I 
believe,  was  an  old  wall  of  the  Priory  grounds ; and 
here  we  alighted,  leaving  our  driver  to  take  the  carriage 
to  the  inn.  Passing  through  this  hole  in  the  wall,  we 
saw  the  ruins  of  the  Priory  at  the  bottom  of  the  beau- 
tiful valley  about  a quarter  of  a mile  off ; and,  well  as 
the  monks  knew  how  to  choose  the  sites  of  their  estab- 
lishments, I think  they  never  chose  a better  site  than 
this,  — in  the  green  lap  of  protecting  hills,  beside  a stream, 
and  with  peace  and  fertility  looking  down  upon  it  on 
every  side.  The  view  down  the  valley  is  very  fine, 
and,  for  my  part,  I am  glad  that  some  peaceable  and 
comfort-loving  people  possessed  these  precincts  for  many 
hundred  years,  when  nobody  else  knew  how  to  appre- 
ciate peace  and  comfort. 

The  old  gateway  tower,  beneath  which  was  formerly 
the  arched  entrance  into  the  domain  of  the  Priory,  is 
now  the  central  part  of  a hunting-seat  of  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire,  and  the  edifice  is  completed  by  a wing  of 
recent  date  on  each  side.  A few  hundred  yards  from 
this  hunting-box  are  the  remains  of  the  Priory,  consist- 
ing of  the  nave  of  the  old  church,  which  is  still  in  good 
repair,  and  used  as  the  worshipping-place  of  the  neigh- 
borhood (being  a perpetual  curacy  of  the  parish  of 
Skipton),  and  the  old  ruined  choir,  roofless,  with  broken 
arches,  ivy-grown,  but  not  so  rich  and  rare  a ruin  as 
either  Melrose,  Netley,  or  Furness.  Its  situation  makes 
its  charm.  It  stands  near  the  river  Wharfe,  — a broad 
and  rapid  stream,  which  hurries  along  between  high 
banks,  with  a sound  which  the  monks  must  have  found 
congenial  to  their  slumberous  moods.  It  is  a good  river 


180 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


for  trout,  too  ; and  I saw  two  or  three  anglers,  with  their 
rods  and  baskets,  passing  through  the  ruins  towards  its 
shore.  It  was  in  this  river  Wharfe  that  the  boy  of 
Egremont  was  drowned,  at  the  Strid,  a mile  or  two 
higher  up  the  stream. 

In  the  first  place,  we  rambled  round  the  exterior  of 
the  ruins  ; but,  as  I have  said,  they  are  rather  bare  and 
meagre  in  comparison  with  other  abbeys,  and  I am  not 
sure  that  the  especial  care  and  neatness  with  which  they 
are  preserved  does  not  lessen  their  effect  on  the  be- 
holder. Neglect,  wildness,  crumbling  walls,  the  climb- 
ing and  conquering  ivy ; masses  of  stone  lying  where 
they  fell ; trees  of  old  date,  growing  where  the  pillars 
of  the  aisles  used  to  stand,  — these  are  the  best  points 
of  ruined  abbeys.  But  everything  here  is  kept  with 
such  trimness  that  it  gives  you  the  idea  of  a petrifac- 
tion. Decay  is  no  longer  triumphant ; the  Duke  of 
Devonshire  has  got  the  better  of  it.  The  grounds 
around  the  church  and  the  ruins  are  still  used  for  burial, 
and  there  are  several  flat  tombstones  and  altar  tombs, 
with  crosiers  engraved  or  carved  upon  them,  which  at 
first  I took  to  be  the  memorials  of  bishops  or  abbots, 
and  wondered  that  the  sculpture  should  still  be  so  dis- 
tinct. On  one,  however,  I read  the  date  1850  and  the 
name  of  a layman  ; for  the  tombstones  were  all  modern, 
the  humid  English  atmosphere  giving  them  their  mossy 
look  of  antiquity,  and  the  crosier  had  been  assumed 
3n\y  as  a pretty  device. 

Close  beside  the  ruins  there  is  a large,  old  stone 
farm-house,  which  must  have  been  built  on  the  site  of  a 
part  of  the  Priory,  — the  cells,  dormitories,  refectory 
and  other  portions  pertaining  to  the  monks’  daily  life,  I 


1657.] 


BOLTON  PRIORY. 


181 


suppose,  and  built,  no  doubt,  with  the  sacred  stones.  I 
should  imagine  it  would  be  a haunted  house,  swarming 
with  cowled  spectres.  We  wished  to  see  the  interior 
of  the  church,  and  procured  a guide  from  this  farm-house, 
— the  sexton,  probably,  — a gray-haired,  ruddy,  cheery, 
and  intelligent  man,  of  familiar  though  respectful  ad- 
dress. The  entrance  of  the  church  was  undergoing  im- 
provement, under  the  last  of  the  abbots,  when  the  Refor- 
mation occurred ; and  it  has  ever  remained  in  an 
unfinished  state,  till  now  it  is  mossy  with  age,  and  has  a 
beautiful  tuft  of  wall-flowers  growing  on  a ledge  over 
the  Gothic  arch  of  the  doorway.  The  body  of  the 
church  is  of  much  anterior  date,  though  the  oaken  roof 
is  supposed  to  have  been  renewed  in  Henry  VIII.’s  time. 
This,  as  I said  before,  was  the  nave  of  the  old  Abbey 
church,  and  has  a one-sided  and  unbalanced  aspect, 
there  being  only  a single  aisle,  with  its  row  of  sturdy 
pillars.  The  pavement  is  covered  with  pews  of  old  oak, 
very  homely  and  unornamental ; on  the  side  opposite 
the  aisle  there  are  two  or  three  windows  of  modern 
stained  glass,  somewhat  gaudy  and  impertinent;  there 
are  likewise  some  hatchments  and  escutcheons  over  the 
altar  and  elsewhere.  On  the  whole,  it  is  not  an  im- 
pressive interior  ; but,  at  any  rate,  it  had  the  true  musty 
odor  which  I never  conceived  of  till  I came  to  England,  — 
the  odor  of  dead  men’s  decay,  garnered  up  and  shut  in, 
and  kept  from  generation  to  generation ; not  disgust- 
ing nor  sickening,  because  it  is  so  old,  and  of  the 
past. 

On  one  side  of  the  altar  there  was  a small  square 
chapel,  — or  what  had  once  been  a chapel,  — separated 
from  the  chancel  by  a partition  about  a man’s  height 


iS2  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

if  I remember  aright.  Our  guide  led  us  into  it,  and 
observed  that  some  years  ago  the  pavement  had  been 
taken  up  in  this  spot,  for  burial  purposes ; but  it  was 
found  that  it  had  already  been  used  in  that  way,  and 
that  the  corpses  had  been  buried  upright.  Inquiring 
further,  I found  that  it  was  the  Clapham  family,  and 
another  that  was  called  Morley,  that  were  so  buried  ; 
and  then  it  occurred  to' me  that  this  was  the  vault 
Wordsworth  refers  to  in  one  of  his  poems,  — the 
burial-place  of  the  Claphams  and  Mauleverers,  whose 
skeletons,  for  aught  I know,  were  even  then  standing 
upright  under  our  feet.  It  is  but  a narrow  place,  per- 
haps a square  of  ten  feet.  We  saw  little  or  nothing 
else  that  was  memorable,  unless  it  were  the  signature 
of  Queen  Adelaide  in  a visitors’  book. 

On  our  way  back  to  Skipton  it  rained  and  hailed, 
but  the  sun  again  shone  out  before  we  arrived.  We 
took  the  train  for  Leeds  at  half  past  ten,  and  arrived 
there  in  the  afternoon,  passing  the  ruined  Abbey  of  Kirk- 
stall  on  our  way.  The  ruins  looked  more  interesting 
than  those  of  Bolton,  though  not  so  delightfully  situated, 
and  now  in  the  close  vicinity  of  manufactories,  and  only 
two  or  three  miles  from  Leeds.  We  took  a dish  of 
soup,  and  spent  a miserable  hour  in  and  about  the  rail- 
way station  of  Leeds  ; whence  we  departed  at  four,  and 
reached 

YORK 

in  an  hour  or  two.  We  put  up  at  the  Black  Swan,  and 
before  tea  went  out,  on  the  cool  bright  edge  of  evening, 
to  get  a glimpse  of  the  Cathedral,  which  impressed  me 
more  grandly  than  when  I first  saw  it,  nearly  a year 
ago.  Indeed,  almost  any  object  gains  upon  me  at  the 


1857.] 


YORK. 


183 


second  signt.  I have  spent  the  evening  in  writing  up 
my  journal,  — an  act  of  real  virtue. 

After  walking  round  the  cathedral,  we  went  up  a 
narrow  and  crooked  street,  very  old  and  shabby,  but 
with  an  antique  house  projecting  as  much  as  a yard  over 
the  pavement  on  one  side,  — a timber  house  it  seemed 
to  be,  plastered  over  and  stained  yellow  or  buff.  There 
was  no  external  door,  affording  entrance  into  this  edifice  ; 
but  about  midway  of  its  front  we  came  to  a low, 
Gothic,  stone  archway,  passing  right  through  the  house  ; 
and  as  it  looked  much  time-worn,  and  was  sculptured 
with  untraceable  devices,  we  went  through.  There  was 
an  exceedingly  antique,  battered,  and  shattered  pair  of 
oaken  leaves,  which  used  doubtless  to  shut  up  the  pas- 
sage in  former  times,  and  keep  it  secure ; but  for  the 
last  centuries,  probably,  there  has  been  free  ingress  and 
egress.  Indeed,  the  portal  arch  may  never  have  been 
closed  since  the  Reformation.  Within,  we  found  a 
quadrangle,  of  which  the  house  upon  the  street  formed 
one  side,  the  others  being  composed  of  ancient  houses, 
with  gables  in  a row,  all  looking  upon  the  paved  quad- 
rangle, through  quaint  windows  of  various  fashion.  An 
elderly,  neat,  pleasant-looking  woman  now  came  in  be- 
neath the  arch,  and  as  she  had  a look  of  being  acquainted 
here,  we  asked  her  what  the  place  was  ; and  she  told  us, 
that  in  the  old  Popish  times  the  prebends  of  the  cathe- 
dral used  to  live  here,  to  keep  them  from  doing  mis- 
chief in  the  town.  The  establishment,  she  said,  was 
now  called  “ The  College,’’  and  was  let  in  rooms  and 
small  tenements  to  poor  people.  On  consulting  the 
York  Guide,  I find  that  her  account  was  pretty  correct ; 
the  house  having  been  founded  in  Henry  YI.’s  time. 


„ 184 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS, 


[1857. 


and  called  St.  William’s  College,  the  statue  of  the 
patron  saint  being  sculptured  over  the  arch.  It  was  in- 
tended for  the  residence  of  the  parsons  and  priests  of 
the  cathedral,  who  had  formerly  caused  troubles  and 
scandals  by  living  in  the  town. 

We  returned  to  the  front  of  the  cathedral  on  our 
way  homeward,  and  an  old  man  stopped  us,  to  inquire 
if  we  had  ever  seen  the  Fiddler  of  York.  We  answered 
in  the  negative,  and  said  that  we  had  not  time  to  see 
him  now  ; but  the  old  gentleman  pointed  up  to  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  the  southern  front,  where  stood  the 
Fiddler  of  York,  one  of  those  Gothic  quaintnesses 
which  blotch  the  grandeur  and  solemnity  of  this  and 
other  cathedrals. 

April  12 th.  — This  morning  was  bleak  and  most 
ungenial ; a chilly  sunshine,  a piercing  wind,  a preva- 
lence of  watery  cloud,  — April  weather,  without  the 
tenderness  that  ought  to  be  half  revealed  in  it.  This  is 

EASTER  SUNDAY, 

and  service  at  the  cathedral  commenced  at  half  past 
ten  ; so  we  set  out  betimes,  and  found  admittance  into 
the  vast  nave,  and  thence  into  the  choir*  An  attendant 

ushered  S and  J to  a seat  at  a distance  from 

me,  and  then  gave  me  a place  in  one  of  the  stalls  where 
the  monks  used  to  sit  or  kneel  while  chanting  the  ser- 
vices. I think  these  stalls  are  now  appropriated  to  the 
prebends.  They  are  of  carved  oaken  wood,  much  less 
elaborate  and  wonderfully  wrought  than  those  of  Ches- 
ter Cathedral,  where  all  was  done  with  head  and  heart, 
each  a separate  device,  instead  of  cut  by  machinery  like 


YORK. 


185 


3 £57.] 

this.  The  whole  effect  of  this  carved  work,  however, 
lining  the  choir  with  its  light  tracery  and  pinnacles,  is 
very  fine.  The  whole  choir,  from  the  roof  downward, 
except  the  old  stones  of  the  outer  walls,  is  of  modern 
renovation,  it  being  but  a few  years  since  this  part  of 
the  cathedral  was  destroyed  by  fire.  The  arches  and 
pillars  and  lofty  roof,  however,  have  been  well  restored  ; 
and  there  was  a vast  east  window,  full  of  painted  glass, 
which,  if  it  be  modern,  is  wonderfully  chaste  and 
Gothic-like.  All  the  other  windows  have  painted  glass, 
which  does  not  flare  and  glare  as  if  newly  painted.  But 
the  light,  whitewashed  aspect  of  the  general  interior  of 
the  choir  has  a cold  and  dreary  effect.  There  is  an 
enormous  organ,  all  clad  in  rich  oaken  carving,  of  simi- 
lar pattern  to  that  of  the  stalls.  It  was  communion 
day,  and  near  the  high  altar,  within  a screen,  I saw  the 
glistening  of  the  gold  vessels  wherewith  the  services 
were  to  be  performed. 

The  choir  was  respectably  filled  with  a pretty  nu- 
merous congregation,  among  whom  I saw  some  officers 
in  full  dress,  with  their  swords  by  their  sides,  and  one 
old  white-bearded  warrior,  who  sat  near  me,  seemed 
very  devout  at  his  religious  exercises.  In  front  of  me  and 
on  the  corresponding  benches,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
choir,  sat  two  rows  of  white-robed  choristers,  twenty  in 
all,  and  these,  with  some  women,  performed  'the  vocal 
part  of  the  music.  It  is  not  good  to  see  musicians,  for 
they  are  sometimes  coarse  and  vulgar  people,  and  so  the 
auditor  loses  faith  in  any  fine  and  spiritual  tones  that 
they  may  breathe  forth. 

The  services  of  Easter  Sunday  comprehend  more 
than  the  ordinary  quantity  of  singing  and  chanting ; at 


186 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


all  events,  nearly  an  hour  and  a half  were  thus  em- 
ployed, with  some  intermixture  of  prayers  and  reading  of 
Scriptures ; and,  being  almost  congealed  with  cold,  I 
thought  it  would  never  come  to  an  end.  The  spirit  of 
my  Puritan  ancestors  was  mighty  within  me,  and  I did 
not  wonder  at  their  being  out  of  patience  with  all  this 
mummery,  which  seemed  to  me  worse  than  papistry 
because  it  was  a corruption  of  it.  At  last  a canon  gave 
out  the  text,  and  preached  a sermon  of  about  twenty 
minutes  long,  — the  coldest,  driest,  most  superficial  rub- 
bish ; for  this  gorgeous  setting  of  the  magnificent  cathe- 
dral, the  elaborate  music,  and  the  rich  ceremonies,  seem 
inevitably  to  take  the  life  out  of  the  sermon,  which, 
to  be  anything,  must  be  all.  The  Puritans  showed 
their  strength  of  mind  and  heart  by  preferring  a ser- 
mon an  hour  and  a half  long,  into  which  the  preacher 
put  his  whole  soul,  and  lopping  away  all  these  exter- 
nals, into  which  religious  life  had  first  leafed  and 
flowered,  and  then  petrified. 

After  the  service,  while  waiting  for  my  wife  in  the 
nave,  I was  accosted  by  a young  gentleman  who  seemed 
to  be  an  American,  and  whom  I have  certainly  seen  be- 
fore, but  whose  name  I could  not  recollect.  This,  he 
said,  was  his  first  visit  to  York,  and  he  was  evidently 
inclined  to  join  me  in  viewing  the  curiosities  of  the 
place,  but,*  not  knowing  his  name,  I could  not  introduce 
him  to  my  wife,  and  so  made  a parting  salute. 

After  dinner,  we  set  forth  and  took  a promenade 
along  the  wall,  and  a ramble  through  some  of  the  crooked 
streets,  noting  the  old,  jutting  storied  houses,  story  above 
story,  and  the  old  churches,  gnawed  like  a bone  by 
the  teeth  of  Time,  till  we  came  suddenly  to  the  Black 


1867.] 


YORK* 


187 


Swan  before  we  expected  it I rather  fancy  that 

I must  have  observed  most  of  the  external  peculiarities 
at  my  former  visit,  and  therefore  need  not  make  another 
record  of  them  in  this  journal. 

In  the  course  of  our  walk  we  saw  a procession  of 
about  fifty  charity-school-boys,  in  flat  caps,  each  with 
bands  under  his  chin,  and  a green  collar  to  his  coat ; 
all  looking  unjoyous,  and  as  if  they  had  no  home  nor 
parents’  love.  They  turned  into  a gateway,  which  closed 
behind  them  ; and  as  the  adjoining  edifice  seemed  to  be 
a public  institution,  — at  least,  not  private,  — we  asked 
what  it  was,  and  found  it  to  be  a hospital  or  residence 
for  Old  Maiden  ladies,  founded  by  a gentlewoman  of 
York  ; I know  not  whether  she  herself  is  of  the  sister- 
hood. It  must  be  a very  singular  institution,  and  worthy 
of  intimate  study,  if  it  were  possible  to  make  one’s  way 
within  the  portal. 

After  writing  the  above,  J and  I went  out  for 

another  ramble  before  tea  ; and,  taking  a new  course, 
we  came  to  a grated  iron  fence  and  gateway,  through 
which  we  could  see  the  ruins  of  St.  Mary’s  Abbey. 
They  are  very  extensive,  and  situated  quite  in  the 
midst  of  the  city,  and  the  wall  and  then  a tower  of  the 
Abbey  seem  to  border  more  than  one  of  the  streets. 
Our  walk  was  interesting,  as  it  brought  us  unexpect- 
edly upon  several  relics  of  antiquity,  — a loop-holed  and 
battlemented  gateway  ; and  at  various  points  fragments 
of  the  old  Gothic  stone-work,  built  in  among  more 
recent  edifices,  which  themselves  were  old  ; grimness 
intermixed  with  quaintness  and  grotesqueness ; old 
fragments  of  religious  or  warlike  architecture  mingled 
with  queer  domestic  structures,  — the  general  effect 


188 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185? 

sombre,  sordid,  and  grimy ; but  yet  with  '»  fascination 
that  makes  us  fain  to  linger  about  such  scenes,  and 
come  10  them  again. 

We  passed  round  the  cathedral,  and  saw  jackdaws 
buttering  round  the  pinnacles,  while  the  bells  chimed 
the  quarters,  and  little  children  played  on  the  steps 
under  the  grand  arch  of  the  entrance.  It  is  very  stately. 
Very  beautiful,  this  minster  ; and  doubtless  would  be 
very  satisfactory,  could  I onty  know  it  long  and  well 
enough,  — so  rich  as  its  front  is,  even  with  almost  all  the 
niches  empty  of  their  statues ; not  stern  in  its  effect, 
which  I suppose  must  be  owing  to  the  elaborate  detail 
with  which  its  great  surface  is  wrought  all  over,  like  the 
chasing  of  a lady’s  jewel-box,  and  yet  so  grand  ! There 
is  a dwelling-house  on  one  side,  gray  with  antiquity, 
which  has  apparently  grown  out  of  it  like  an  excres- 
cence ; and  though  a good-sized  edifice,  yet  the  cathe- 
dral is  so  large  that  its  vastness  is  not  in  the  least  de- 
formed by  it.  If  it  be  a dwelling-house,  I suppose  it  is 
inhabited  by  the  person  who  takes  care  of  the  cathedral. 
This  morning,  while  listening  to  the  tedious  chanting 
and  lukewarm  sermon,  I depreciated  the  whole  affair, 
cathedral  and  all ; but  now  I do  more  justice,  at  least 
to  the  latter,  and  am  only  sorry  that  its  noble  echoes 
must  follow  at  every  syllable,  and  re-reverberate  at 
the  commas  and  semicolons,  such  poor  discourses  as 
the  canon’s.  But,  after  all,  it  was  the  Puritans  who 
made  the  sermon  of  such  importance  in  religious  wor- 
ship as  we  New-Englanders  now  consider  it ; and  we 
are  absurd  in  considering  this  magnificent  church  and 
all  those  embroidered  ceremonies  only  in  reference  to  it. 

Before  going  back  to  the  hotel,  I went  again  up  the 


YORK. 


189 


1857.] 

narrow  and  twisted  passage  of  ^College  Street,  to  take 
another  glance  at  St.  William’s  College.  I underesti- 
mated  the  projection  of  the  front  over  the  street ; it  is 
considerably  more  than  three  feet,  and  is  about  eight  or 
nine  feet  above  the  pavement.  The  little  statue  of  St. 
William  is  an  alto-relievo  over  the  arched  entrance,  and 
has  an  escutcheon  of  arms  on  each  side,  all  much  de- 
faced. In  the  interior  of  the  quadrangle,  the  houses 
have  not  gables  nor  peaked  fronts,  but  have  peaked 
windows  on  the  red-tiled  roofs.  The  doorway,  oppo- 
site the  entrance-arch,  is  rather  stately  ; and  on  one 
side  is  a large,  projecting  window,  which  is  said  to  be- 
long to  the  room  where  the  printing-press  of  Charles  I. 
was  established  in  the  days  of  the  Parliament. 

THE  MINSTER. 

Monday , April  13 th.  — This  morning  was  chill,  and, 
worse,  it  was  showery,  so  that  our  purposes  to  see  York 
were  much  thwarted.  At  about  ten  o’clock,  however, 
we  took  a cab,  and  drove  to  the  cathedral,  where  we  ar- 
rived while  service  was  going  on  in  the  choir,  and  ropes 
were  put  up  as  barriers  between  us  and  the  nave ; so 
that  we  were  limited  to  the  south  transept,  and  a part 
of  one  of  the  aisles  of  the  choir.  It  was  dismally  cold. 
We  crept  cheerlessly  about  within  our  narrow  precincts 
(narrow,  that  is  to  say,  in  proportion  to  the  vast 
length  tmd  breadth  of  the  cathedral),  gazing  up  into 
the  hollow  height  of  the  central  tower,  and  looking  at  a 
monumental  brass,  fastened  against  one  of  the  pillars, 
representing  a beruffled  lady  of  the  Tudor  times,  and  at 
the  canopied  tomb  of  Archbishop  de  Grey,  who  ruled 
oyer  the  diocese  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Then  we 


190 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857, 

went  into  the  side  ai^e  of  the  choir,  where  there  were 
one  or  two  modern  monuments ; and  I was  appalled  to 
find  that  a sermon  was  being  preached  by  the  ecclesias- 
tic of  the  day,  nor  were  there  any  signs  of  an  imminent 
termination.  I am  not  aware  that  there  was  much  pith 
in  the  discourse,  but  there  was  certainly*  a good  deal 
of  labor  and  earnestness  in  the  preacher’s  mode  of  de- 
livery ; although,  when  he  came  to  a close,  it  appeared 
that  the  audience  was  not  more  than  half  a dozen 
people. 

The  barriers  being  now  withdrawn,  we  walked  adown 
the  length  of  the  nave,  which  did  not  seem  to  me  so  dim 
and  vast  as  the  recollection  which  I have  had  of  it  since 
my  visit  of  a year  ago.  But  my  pre-imaginations  and 
my  memories  are  both  apt  to  play  me  false  with  all  ad- 
mirable things,  and  so  create  disappointments  for  me, 
while  perhaps  the  thing  itself  is  really  far  better  than  I 
imagine  or  remember  it.  We  engaged  an  old  man,  one 
of  the  attendants  pertaining  to  the  cathedral,  to  be  our 
guide,  and  he  showed  us  first  the  stone  screen  in  front 
of  the  choir,  with  its  sculptured  kings  of  England ; and 
then  the  tombs  in  the  north  transept,  — one  of  a mod- 
ern archbishop,  and  one  of  an  ancient  one,  behind  which 
the  insane  person  who  set  fire  to  the  church  a few 
years  ago  hid  himself  at  nightfall.  Then  our  guide  un- 
locked a side  door,  and  led  us  into  the  chapter-house,  — 
an  octagonal  hall,  with  a vaulted  roof,  a tessellated  floor, 
and  seven  arched  windows  of  old  painted  glass,  the 
richest  that  I ever  saw  or  imagined,  each  looking  like 
an  inestimable  treasury  of  precious  stones,  with  a gleam 
and  glow  even  in  the  sullen  light  of  this  gray  morning. 
What  would  they  be  with  the  sun  shining  through 


YORK. 


191 


195?.] 

them ! With  all  their  brilliancy,  moreover,  they  were 
as  soft  as  rose-leaves.  I never  saw  any  piece  of  human 
architecture  so  beautiful  as  this  chapter-house;  at  least, 
I thought  so  while  I was  looking  at  it,  and  think  so  still  ; 
and  it  owed  its  beauty  in  very  great  measure  to  the 
painted  windows  : I remember  looking  at  these  windows 
from  the  outside  yesterday,  and  seeing  nothing  but  an 
opaque  old  crust  of  conglomerated  panes  of  glass;  but 
now  that  gloomy  mystery  was  radiantly  solved. 

Returning  into  the  body  of  the  cathedral,  we  next 
entered  the  choir,  where,  instead  of  the  crimson  cush- 
ions and  draperies  which  we  had  seen  yesterday,  we 
found  everything  folded  in  black.  It  was  a token  of 
mourning  for  one  of  the  canons,  who  died  on  Saturday 
night.  The  great  east  window,  seventy-five  feet  high, 
and  full  of  old  painted  glass  in  many  exquisitely 
wrought  and  imagined  Scriptural  designs,  is  considered 
the  most  splendid  object  in  the  Minster.  It  is  a pity 
that  it  is  partially  hidden  from  view,  even  in  the  choir, 
by  a screen  before  the  high  altar ; but  indeed,  the 
Gothic  architects  seem  first  to  imagine  beautiful  and 
noble  things,  and  then  to  consider  how  they  may  best 
be  partially  screened  from  sight.  A certain  secrecy 
and  twilight  effect  belong  to  their  plan. 

We  next  went  round  the  side  aisles  of  the  choir, 
which  contain  many  interesting  monuments  of  prelates, 
and  a specimen  of  the  very  common  Elizabethan  design 
of  an  old  gentleman  in  a double  ruff  and  trunk 
breeches,  with  one  of  his  two  wives  on  either  side  of 
him,  all  kneeling  in  prayer ; and  their  conjoint  children, 
in  two  rows,  kneeling  in  the  lower  compartments  of  the 
tomb.  We  saw,  too,  a rich  marble  monument  of  one  of 


192 


English  note-books. 


[1857. 

the  Strafford  family,  and  the  tombstone  of  the  famous 
Earl  himself,  — a flat  tombstone  in  the  pavement  of  the 
aisle,  covering  the  vault  where  he  was  buried,  and  with 
four  iron  rings  fastened  into  the  four  corners  of  the 
stone,  whereby  to  lift  it. 

And  now  the  guide  led  us  into  the  vestry,  where 
there  was  a good  fire  burning  in  the  grate,  and  it  really 
thawed  my  heart,  which  was  congealed  with  the  dis- 
mal chill  of  the  cathedral.  Here  we  saw  a good  many 
curious  things,  — for  instance,  two  wooden  figures  in 
knightly  armor,  which  had  stood  sentinels  beside  the 
ancient  clock  before  it  was  replaced  by  a modern  one ; 
and,  opening  a closet,  the  guide  produced  an  old  iron 
helmet,  which  had  been  found  in  a tomb  where  a knight 
had  been  buried  in  his  armor ; and  three  gold  rings  and 
one  brass  one,  taken  out  of  the  graves,  and  off  the  fin- 
ger-bones of  mediaeval  archbishops,  — one  of  them  with 
a ruby  set  in  it ; and  two  silver-gilt  chalices,  also  treas- 
ures of  the  tombs  ; and  a wooden  head,  carved  in  hu- 
man likeness,  and  painted  to  the  life,  likewise  taken 
from  a grave  where  an  archbishop  was  supposed  to 
have  been  buried.  They  found  no  veritable  skull  nor 
bones,  but  only  this  block-head,  as  if  Death  had  be- 
trayed the  secret  of  what  the  poor  prelate  really  was. 
We  saw,  too,  a canopy  of  cloth,  wrought  with  gold 
threads,  which  had  been  borne  over  the  head  of  King 
James  I.,  when  he  came  to  York,  on  his  way  to  receive 
the  English  Crown.  There  were  also  some  old  brass 
dishes,  in  which  pence  used  to  be  collected  in  monkish 
times.  Over  the  door  of  this  vestry  were  hung  two 
banners  of  a Yorkshire  regiment,  tattered  in  the  Penin- 
sular wars,  and  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  battles 


YORK. 


193 


1857.] 

through  which  they  had  been  borne  triumphantly  ; and 
Waterloo  was  among  them.  The  vestry,  I think,  occu- 
pies that  excrescential  edifice  which  I noticed  yester- 
day as  having  grown  out  of  the  cathedral. 

After  looking  at  these  things,  we  went  down  into  the 
crypts,  under  the  choir.  These  were  very  interesting, 
as  far  as  we  could  see  them ; being  more  antique 
than  anything  aboveground,  but  as  dark  as  any  cellar. 
There  is  here,  in  the  midst  of  these  sepulchral  crypts, 
a spring  of  water,  said  to  be  very  pure  and  delicious, 
owing  to  the  limestone  through  which  the  rain  that  feeds 
its  source  is  filtered.  Near  it  is  a stone  trough,  in  which 
the  monks  used  to  wash  their  hands. 

I do  not  remember  anything  more  that  we  saw  at  the 
cathedral,  and  at  noon  we  returned  to  the  Black  Swan. 

The  rain  still  continued  so  that  S could  not  share 

in  any  more  of  my  rambles,  but  J and  I went  out 

again,  and  discovered  the  Guildhall.  It  is  a very  an- 
cient edifice  of  Richard  II.’s  time,  and  has  a statue  over 
the  entrance  which  looks  time-gnawed  enough  to  be  of 
coeval  antiquity,  although  in  reality  it  is  only  a repre- 
sentation of  George  II.  in  his  royal  robes.  We  went  in, 
and  found  ourselves  in  a large  and  lofty  hall,  with  an 
oaken  roof  and  a stone  pavement,  and  the  farther  end 
was  partitioned  off  as  a court  of  justice.  In  that  por- 
tion of  the  hall  the  Judge  was  on  the  bench,  and  a trial 
was  going  forward  ; but  in  the  hither  portion  a mob  of 
people,  with  their  hats  on,  were  lounging  and  talking, 
and  enjoying  the  warmth  of  the  stoves.  The  window 
over  the  judgment-seat  had  painted  glass  in  it,  and  so, 
I think,  had  some  of  the  hall  windows.  At  the  end  of 
the  hall  hung  a great  picture  of  Paul  defending  hirn- 
9 


VOL.  IT. 


M 


194 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

self  before  Agrippa,  where  the  Apostle  looked  like  an 
athlete,  and  had  a remarkably  bushy  black  beard.  Be- 
tween two  of  the  windows,  huug  an  Indian  bell  from 
Burmah,  ponderously  thick  and  massive.  Both  the 
picture  and  the  bell  had  been  presented  to  the  city  as 
tokens  of  affectionate  remembrance  by  its  children  ; and 
it  is  pleasant  to  think  that  such  feelings  exist  in  these 
old  stable  communities,  and  that  there  are  permanent 
localities  where  such  gifts  can  be  kept  from  generation 
to  generation. 

At  four  o’clock  we  left  the  city  of  York,  still  in  a 
pouring  rain.  The  Black  Swan,  where  we  had  been 
staying,  is  a good  specimen  of  the  old  English  inn, 
sombre,  quiet,  with  dark  staircases,  dingy  rooms,  cur- 
tained beds,  — all  the  possibilities  of  a comfortable  life 
and  good  English  fare,  in  a fashion  which  cannot  have 
been  much  altered  for  half  a century.  It  is  very  home- 
like when  one  has  one’s  family  about  him,  but  must  be 
prodigiously  stupid  for  a solitary  man. 

We  took  the  train  for 

MANCHESTER, 

over  pretty  much  the  same  route  that  I travelled  last 
year.  Many  of  the  higher  hills  in  Yorkshire  were 
white  with  snow,  which,  in  our  lower  region,  softened 
into  rain ; but  as  we  approached  Manchester,  the  west- 
ern sky  reddened,  and  gave  promise  of  better  weather. 
We  arrived  at  nearly  eight  o’clock,  and  put  up  at  the 
Palatine  Hotel.  In  the  evening  I scrawled  away  at  my 
journal  till  past  ten  o’clock  ; for  I have  really  made  it  a 
matter  of  conscience  to  keep  a tolerably  full  record  of 
my  travels,  though  conscious  that  everything  good  es* 


MANCHESTER. 


195 


I85r.j 

capes  in  the  process.  In  the  morning  we  went  out 
and  visited  the 

MANCHESTER  CATHEDRAL, 

a particularly  black  and  grimy  edifice,  containing  some 
genuine  old  wood  carvings  within  the  choir.  We 
stayed  a good  while,  in  order  to  see  some  people  mar- 
ried. One  couple,  with  their  groomsman  and  bride’s*- 
maid,  were  sitting  within  the  choir;  but  when  the 
clergyman  was  robed  and  ready,  there  entered  five 
other  couples,  each  attended  by  groomsman  and  bride’s*- 
maid.  They  all  were  of  the  lower  orders ; one  or  two  re^ 
spectably  dressed,  but  most  of  them  poverty-stricken,  — - 
the  men  in  their  ordinary  loafer’s  or  laborer’s  attire,  the 
women  with  their  poor,  shabby  shawls  drawn  closely 
about  them ; faded  untimely,  wrinkled  with  penury  and 
care ; nothing  fresh,  virgin-like,  or  hopeful  about  them  5 
joining  themselves  to  their  mates  with  the  idea  of 
making  their  own  misery  less  intolerable  by  adding  an- 
other’s to  it.  All  the  six  couple  stood  up  in  a row  be- 
fore the  altar,  with  the  groomsmen  and  bride’s-maids  in 
a row  behind  them  ; and  the  clergyman  proceeded  to 
marry  them  in  such  a way  that  it  almost  seemed  to 
make  every  man  and  woman  the  husband  and  wife  of 
every  other.  However,  there  were  some  small  portions 
of  the  service  directed  towards  each  separate  couple ; 
and  they  appeared  to  assort  themselves  in  their  own 
fashion  afterwards,  each  one  saluting  his  bride  with  a 
kiss.  The  clergyman,  the  sexton,  and  the  clerk  all 
seemed  to  find  something  funny  in  this  affair ; and 
the  woman  who  admitted  us  into  the  church  smiled  too, 
when  she  told  us  that  a wedding-party  was  waiting  to 


196 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

be  married.  But  I think  it  was  the  saddest  thing  we 
have  seen  since  leaving  home  ; though  funny  enough 
if  one  likes  to  look  at  it  from  a ludicrous  point  of  view. 
This  mob  of  poor  marriages  was  caused  by  the  fact  that 
no  marriage  fee  is  paid  during  Easter. 

This  ended  the  memorable  things  of  our  tour;  for 

my  wife  and  J left  Manchester  for  Southport,  and 

I for  Liverpool,  before  noon. 

April  19 th.  — On  the  15th,  having  been  invited  to 
attend  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of 

mr.  browne’s  free  library, 

I went  to  the  Town  Hall,  according  to  the  programme, 
at  eleven  o’clock.  There  was  already  a large  number 
of  people  (invited  guests,  members  of  the  Historical 
Society,  and  other  local  associations)  assembled  in  the 
great  ball-room,  and  one  of  these  was  delivering  an 
address  to  Mr.  Browne  as  I entered.  Approaching 
the  outer  edge  of  the  circle,  I was  met  and  cordially 
greeted  by  Monckton  Milnes,  whom  I like,  and  who 
always  reminds  me  of  Longfellow,  though  his  physical 
man  is  more  massive.  While  we  were  talking  together, 
a young  man  approached  him  with  a pretty  little  expres- 
sion of  surprise  and  pleasure  at  seeing  him  there.  He 
had  a slightly  affected  or  made-up  manner,  and  was 
rather  a comely  person.  Mr.  Milnes  introduced  him  to 

me  as  Lord  •.  Hereupon,  of  course,  I observed 

him  more  closely  ; and  I must  say  that  I was  not  long 
in  discovering  a gentle  dignity  and  half-imperceptible 
reserve  in  his  manner ; but  still  my  first  impression 
was  quite  as  real  as  my  second  one.  He  occupies,  I 


LIVERPOOL. 


191 


1857.] 

suppose,  the  foremost  position  among  the  young  men  o( 
England,  and  has  the  fairest  prospects  of  a high  course 
before  him ; nevertheless,  he  did  not  impress  me  as 
possessing  the  native  qualities  that  could  entitle  him  to 
a high  public  career.  He  has  adopted  public  life  as 
his  hereditary  profession,  and  makes  the  very  utmost 
of  all  his  abilities,  cultivating  himself  to  a determined 
end,  knowing  that  he  shall  have  every  advantage  to- 
wards attaining  his  object.  His  natural  disadvantages 
must  have  been,  in  some  respects,  unusually  great ; his 
voice,  for  instance,  is  not  strong,  and  appeared  to  me 
to  have  a more  positive  defect  than  mere  weakness. 
Doubtless  he  has  struggled  manfully  against  this  defect ; 
and  it  made  me  feel  a certain  sympathy,  and,  indeed, 
a friendliness,  for  which  he  would  not  at  all  have 
thanked  me,  had  he  known  it.  I felt,  in  his  person, 
what  a burden  it  is  upon  human  shoulders,  the  necessity 
of  keeping  up  the  fame  and  historical  importance  of  an 
illustrious  house ; at  least,  when  the  heir  to  its  honors 
has  sufficient  intellect  and  sensibility  to  feel  the  claim 
that  his  country  and  his  ancestors  and  his  posterity  all 

have  upon  him.  Lord  is  fully  capable  of  feeling 

these  claims  ; but  I would  not  care,  methinks,  to  take 
his  position,  unless  I could  have  considerably  more  than 
his  strength. 

In  a little  while  we  formed  ourselves  into  a pro- 
cession, four  in  a row,  and  set  forth  from  the  Town 
Hall,  through  James  Street,  Lord  Street,  Lime  Street, 
all  the  way  through  a line  of  policemen  and  a throng  of 
people ; and  the  windows  were  alive  with  heads,  and 
I never  before  was  so  conscious  of  a great  mass  of 
humanity,  though  perhaps  I may  often  have  seen  as 


198  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

great  a crowd.  But  a procession  is  the  best  point  of 
view  from  which  to  see  the  crowd  that  collects  together. 
The  day,  too,  was  very  fine,  even  sunshiny,  and  the 
streets  dry,  — a blessing  which  cannot  be  overestimated  ; 
for  we  should  have  been  in  a strange  trim  for  the  ban- 
quet, had  we  been  compelled  to  wade  through  the  or- 
dinary mud  of  Liverpool.  The  procession  itself  could 
not  have  been  a very  striking  object.  In  America,  it 
would  have  had  a hundred  picturesque  and  perhaps 
ludicrous  features,  — the  symbols  of  the  different  trades, 
banners  with  strange  devices,  flower  shows,  children, 
volunteer  soldiers,  cavalcades,  and  every  suitable  and 
unsuitable  contrivance ; but  we  were  merely  a trail  of 
ordinary-looking  individuals,  in  great-coats,  and  with 
precautionary  umbrellas.  The  only  characteristic  or 
professional  costume,  as  far  as  I noticed,  was  that  of  the 
Bishop  of  Chester,  in  his  flat  cap  and  black  silk  gown  ; 
and  that  of  Sir  Henry  Smith,  the  General  of  the  Dis- 
trict, in  full  uniform,  with  a star  and  half  a dozen  medals 
on  his  breast.  Mr.  Browne  himself,  the  hero  of  the  day, 
was  the  plainest  and  simplest  man  of  all,  — an  exceed- 
ingly unpretending  gentleman  in  black  ; small,  white- 
haired,  pale,  quiet,  and  respectable.  I rather  wondered 
why  he  chose  to  be  the  centre  of  all  this  ceremony ; for 
he  did  not  seem  either  particularly  to  enjoy  it,  or  to  be 
at  all  incommoded  by  it,  as  a more  nervous  and  suscepti- 
ble man  might  have  been. 

The  site  of  the  projected  edifice  is  on  one  of  the 
streets  bordering  on  St.  George’s  Hall ; and  when  we 
came  within  the  enclosure,  the  corner-stone,  a large 
square  of  red  freestone,  was  already  suspended  over  its 
desi'ned  place.  It  has  a brass  plate  let  into  it,  with  an 


LIVERPOOL, 


199 


1857.] 

inscription,  which  will  perhaps  not  be  seen  again  till 
the  present  English  type  has  grown  as  antique  as  black 
letter  is  now.  Two  or  three  photographs  were  now 
taken  of  the  site,  the  corner-stone,  Mr.  Browne,  the 
distinguished  guests,  and  the  crowd  at  large  ; then  en- 
sued a prayer  from  the  Bishop  of  Chester,  and  speeches 

from  Mr.  Holme,  Mr.  Browne,  Lord  , Sir  John 

Pakington,  Sir  Henry  Smith,  and  as  many  others  as 

there  was  time  for.  Lord  acquitted  himself  very 

creditably,  though  brought  out  unexpectedly,  and  with 
evident  reluctance.  I am  convinced  that  men,  liable  to 
be  called  on  to  address  the  public,  keep  a constant 
supply  of  commonplaces  in  their  minds.,  which,  with 
little  variation,  can  be  adapted  to  one  subject  about  as 
well  as  to  another;  and  thus  they  are  always  ready 
to  do  well  enough,  though  seldom  to  do  particularly 
well. 

From  the  scene  of  the  corner-stone,  we  went  to  St. 
George’s  Hall,  where  a drawing-room  and  dressing- 
room  had  been  prepared  for  the  principal  guests.  Be- 
fore the  banquet,  I had  some  conversation  with  Sir 
James  Kay  Shuttle  worth,  who  had  known  Miss  Bronte 
very  intimately,  and  bore  testimony  to  the  wonderful  fi- 
delity of  Mrs.  Gaskell’s  life  of  her.  He  seemed  to  have 
had  an  affectionate  regard  for  her,  and  said  that  her 
marriage  promised  to  have  been  productive  of  great  hap- 
piness ; her  husband  being  not  a remarkable  man,  but 
with  the  merit  of  an  exceeding  love  for  her. 

Mr.  Browne  now  took  me  up  into  the  gallery,  which 
by  this  time  was  full  of  ladies  ; and  thence  we  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  noble  hall,  with  the  tables  laid,  in 
readiness  for  the  banquet.  I cannot  conceive  of  any- 


200  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

thing  finer  than  this  hall ; it  needs  nothing  but  painted 
windows  to  make  it  perfect,  and  those  I hope  it  may 
have  one  day  or  another. 

At  two  o’clock  we  sat  down  to  the  banquet,  which 
hardly  justified  that  name,  being  only  a cold  collation, 
though  sufficiently  splendid  in  its  way.  In  truth,  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  provide  a hot  dinner 
for  nine  hundred  people  in  a place  remote  from  kitchens. 
The  principal  table  extended  lengthwise  of  the  hall, 
and  was  a little  elevated  above  the  other  tables,  which 
stretched  across,  about  twenty  in  all.  Before  each  guest, 
besides  the  bill  of  fare,  was  laid  a programme  of  the 
expected  toasts,  among  which  appeared  my  own  name, 
to  be  proposed  by  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes.  These  things 
do  not  trouble  me  quite  as  much  as  they  used,  though 
still  it  sufficed  to  prevent  much  of  the  enjoyment  which 
I might  have  had  if  I could  have  felt  myself  merely  a 
spectator.  My  left-hand  neighbor  was  Colonel  Camp- 
bell of  the  Artillery ; my  right-hand  one  was  Mr. 
Picton,  of  the  Library  Committee ; and  I found  them 
both  companionable  men,  especially  the  Colonel,  who 
had  served  in  China  and  in  the  Crimea,  and  owned 
that  lie  hated  the  French.  We  did  not  make  a very 
long  business  of  the  eatables,  and  then  came  the  usual 
toasts  of  ceremony,  and  afterwards  those  more  peculiar 
to  the  occasion,  one  of  the  first  of  which  was  “ The 

House  of  Stanley,”  to  which  Lord  responded. 

It  was  a noble  subject,  giving  scope  for  as  much  elo- 
quence as  any  man  could  have  brought  to  bear  upon  it, 
and  capable  of  being  so  wrought  out  as  to  develop  and 
illustrate  any  sort  of  conservative  or  liberal  tendencies 
which  the  speaker  might  entertain.  There  could  not 


LIVERPOOL. 


201 


1857.] 


be  a richer  opportunity  for  reconciling  and  making 
friends  betwixt  the  old  system  of  society  and  the  new ; 

but  Lord  did  not  seem  to  make  anything  of  it. 

I remember  nothing  that  he  said  excepting  his  state- 
ment that  the  family  had  been  five  hundred  years  con- 
nected with  the  town  of  Liverpool.  I wish  I could 
have  responded  to  “ The  House  of  Stanley,”  and  his 
Lordship  could  have  spoken  in  my  behalf.*  None  of 
the  speeches  were  remarkably  good  ; the  Bishop  of 
Chester’s  perhaps  the  best,  though  he  is  but  a little 
man  in  aspect,  not  at  all  filling  up  one’s  idea  of  a bisk 
op,  and  the  rest  were  on  an  indistinguishable  level, 
though,  being  all  practised  speakers,  they  were  less 
hum-y  and  lia-y  than  English  orators  ordinarily 
are. 

I was  really  tired  to  death  before  my  own  turn  came, 
sitting  all  that  time,  as  it  were,  on  the  scaffold,  with  the 
rope  round  my  neck.  At  last  Monckton  Milnes  was 
called  up  and  made  a speech,  of  which,  to  my  dismay, 
I could  hardly  hear  a single  word,  owing  to  his  being 
at  a considerable  distance,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
chairman,  and  flinging  his  voice,  which  is  a bass  one, 
across  the  hall,  instead  of  adown  it,  in  my  direction.  I 
could  not  distinguish  one  word  of  any  allusions  to  my 
works,  nor  even  when  he  came  to  the  toast,  did  I hear 
the  terms  in  which  he  put  it,  nor  whether  I was  toasted 
on  my  own  basis,  or  as  representing  American  literature, 
or  as  Consul  of  the  United  States.  At  all  events,  there 
was  a vast  deal  of  clamour;  and  uprose  peers  and  bish- 
op, general,  mayor,  knights  and  gentlemen,  everybody 
in  the  hall  greeting  me  with  all  the  honors.  I had  up- 
risen, too,  to  commence  my  speech  ; but  had  to  sit  down 
9* 


202 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

again  till  matters  grew  more  quiet,  and  then  I got  up, 
and  proceeded  to  deliver  myself  with  as  much  composure 
as  I ever  felt  at  my  own  fireside.  It  is  very  strange, 
this  self-possession  and  clear-sightedness  which  I have 
experienced  when  standing  before  an  audience,  showing 
me  my  way  through  all  the  difficulties  resulting  from 
my  not  having  heard  Monckton  Milnes’s  speech  ; and 
on  since  reading  the  latter,  I do  not  see  how  I could 
have  answered  it  better.  My  speech  certainly  was 
better  cheered  than  any  other ; especially  one  passage, 
where  I made  a colossus  of  Mr.  Browne,  at  which  the 
audience  grew  so  tumultuous  in  their  applause  that  they 
drowned  my  figure  of  speech  before  it  was  half  out  of 
my  mouth. 

After  rising  from  table,  Lord and  I talked  about 

our  respective  oratorical  performances  ; and  he  appeared 
to  have  a perception  that  he  is  not  naturally  gifted  in 

this  respect.  I like  Lord  , and  wish  that  it  were 

possible  that  we  might  know  one  another  better.  If  a 
nobleman  has  any  true  friend  out  of  his  own  class,  it 
ought  to  be  a republican.  Nothing  farther  of  interest 
happened  at  the  banquet,  and  the  next  morning  came 
out  the  newspapers  with  vile  reports  of  my  speech, 
attributing  to  me  a variety  of  forms  of  ragged  nonsense, 
which,  poor  speaker  as  I am,  I was  quite  incapable  of 
uttering. 

May  10 th. — The  winter  is  over,  but  as  yet  we 
scarcely  have  what  ought  to  be  called  spring;  nothing 
but  cold  east  winds,  accompanied  with  sunshine,  how- 
ever, as  east  winds  generally  are  in  this  country.  All 
milder  winds  seem  to  bring  rain.  The  grass  has  been 


SOUTHPORT. 


203 


i857.J 

green  for  a month,  — indeed,  it  has  never  been  entirely 
brown,  — and  now  the  trees  and  hedges  are  beginning  to 
be  in  foliage.  Weeks  ago  the  daisies  bloomed,  even  in 
the  sandy  grass-plot  bordering  on  the  promenade  be- 
neath our  front  windows ; and  in  the  progress  of  the 
daisy,  and  towards  its  consummation,  I saw  the  pro- 
priety of  Burns’s  epithet,  “ wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped 
flower,”  — its  little  white  petals  in  the  bud  being  fringed 
all  round  with  crimson,  which  fades  into  pure  white 
when  the  flower  blooms.  At  the  beginning  of  this 
month  I saw  fruit-trees  in  blossom,  stretched  out  flat 
against  stone  walls,  reminding  me  of  a dead  bird  nailed 
against  the  side  of  a barn.  But  it  has  been  a backward 
and  dreary  spring  ; and  I think  Southport,  in  the  course 
of  it,  has  lost  its  advantage  over  the  rest  of  the  Liver- 
pool neighborhood  in  point  of  milder  atmosphere.  The 
east  wind  feels  even  rawer  here  than  in  the  city. 

Nevertheless,  the  columns  of  the  Southport  Visitor 
begin  to  be  well  replenished  with  the  names  of  guests, 
and  the  town  is  assuming  its  aspect  of  summer  life.  To 
say  the  truth,  except  where  cultivation  has  done  its  ut- 
most, there  is  very  little  difference  between  winter  and 
summer  in  the  mere  material  aspect  of  Southport ; there 
being  nothing  but  a waste  of  sand,  intermixed  with 
plashy  pools  to  seaward,  and  a desert  of  sand-hillocks 
on  the  land  side.  But  now  the  brown,  weather- hardened 
donkey-women  haunt  people  that  stray  along  the 
reaches,  and  delicate  persons  face  the  cold,  rasping,  ill- 
tempered  blast  on  the  promenade,  and  children  dig  in 
the  sands  ; and,  for  want  of  something  better,  it  seems 
to  be  determined  that  this  shall  be  considered  spring. 

Southport  is  as  stupid  a place  as  I ever  lived  in  ; 


204  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

and  I cannot  but  bewail  our  ill  fortune  to  have  been 
compelled  to  spend  so  many  months  on  these  barren 
sands,  when  almost  every  other  square  yard  of  Eng- 
land contains  something  that  would  have  been  histori- 
cally or  poetically  interesting.  Our  life  here  has  been 
a blank.  There  was,  indeed,  a shipwreck,  a month  or 
two  ago,  when  a large  ship  came  ashore  within  a mile 
from  our  windows  ; the  larger  portion  of  the  crew  land- 
ing safely  on  the  hither  sands,  while  six  or  seven  be- 
took themselves  to  the  boat,  and  were  lost  in  attempting 
to  gain  the  shore,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Ribble. 
After  a lapse  of  several  weeks,  two  or  three  of  their 
drowned  bodies  were  found  floating  in  this  vicinity, 
and  brought  to  Southport  for  burial ; so  that  it  really  is 
not  at  all  improbable  that  Milton’s  Lycidas  floated  here- 
abouts, in  the  rise  and  lapse  of  the  tides,  and  that  his 
bones  may  still  be  whitening  among  the  sands. 

In  the  same  gale  that  wrecked  the  above-mentioned 
vessel,  a portion  of  a ship’s  mast  was  driven  ashore, 
after  evidently  having  been  a very  long  time  in  and 
under  water  ; for  it  was  covered  with  great  barnacles, 
and  torn  sea-weed,  insomuch  that  there  was  scarcely  a 
bare  place  along  its  whole  length  ; clusters  of  sea- 
anemones  were  sticking  to  it,  and  I know  not  what 

strange  marine  productions  besides.  J at  once 

recognized  the  sea-anemones,  knowing  them  by  his 
much  reading  of  Gosse’s  Aquarium;  and  though  they 
must  now  have  been  two  or  three  days  high  and  dry 
out  of  water,  he  made  an  extempore  aquarium  out  of 
a bowl,  and  put  in  above  a dozen  of  these  strange 
creatures.  In  a little  while  they  bloomed  out  wonder- 
fully, and  even  seemed  to  produce  young  anemones; 


PETERBOROUGH. 


205 


1857.] 

but,  from  some  fault  in  his  management,  they  after- 
wards grew  sickly  and  died.  S thinks  that  the  old 

storm-shattered  mast,  so  studded  with  the  growth  of  the 
ocean  depths,  is  a relic  of  the  Spanish  Armada  which 
strewed  its  wrecks  along  all  the  shores  of  England  ; 
but  I hardly  think  it  would  have  taken  three  hundred 
years  to  produce  this  crop  of  barnacles  and  sea-anem- 
ones. A single  summer  might  probably  have  done  it. 

Yesterday  we  all  of  us  except  R went  to  Liver- 

pool to  see  the  performances  of  an  American  circus 
company.  I had  previously  been,  a day  or  two  before, 

with  J , and  had  been  happy  to  perceive  that  the 

fact  of  its  being  an  American  establishment  really  in- 
duced some  slight  swelling  of  the  heart  within  me.  It 
is  ridiculous  enough,  to  be  sure,  but  I like  to  find 
myself  not  wholly  destitute  of  this  noble  weakness, 
patriotism.  As  for  the  circus,  I never  was  fond  of 
that  species  of  entertainment,  nor  do  I find  in  this  one 
the  flash  and  glitter  and  whirl  which  I remember  in 
other  American  exhibitions. 

[Here  follow  the  visits  to  Lincoln  and  Boston,  print- 
ed in  Our  Old  Home.  — Ed.] 

May  27  th.  — We  left  Boston  by  railway  at  noon, 
and  arrived  in 

PETERBOROUGH 

in  about  an  hour  and  a quarter,  and  have  put  up  at 
the  Railway  Hotel.  After  dinner  we  walked  into  the 
town  to  see 

THE  CATHEDRAL, 

of  the  towers  and  arches  of  which  we  had  already  had 
a glimpse  from  our  parlor  window. 


206 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


Our  journey  from  Boston  hitherward  was  through  a 
perfectly  level  country,  — the  fens  of  Lincolnshire,  — 
green,  green,  and  nothing  else,  with  old  villages  and 
farm-houses  and  old  church-towers  ; very  pleasant  and 
rather  wearisomely  monotonous.  To  return  to  Peter- 
borough. It  is  a town  of  ancient  aspect ; and  we 
passed,  on  our  way  towards  the  market-place,  a very 
ancient-looking  church,  with  a very  far  projecting  porch, 
opening  in  front  and  on  each  side  through  arches  of 
broad  sweep.  The  street  by  which  we  approached 
from  our  hotel  led  us  into  the  market-place,  which  had 
what  looked  like  an  old  Guildhall  on  one  side.  On  the 
opposite  side,  above  the  houses,  appeared  the  towers 
of  the  cathedral,  and  a street  leads  from  the  market- 
place to  its  front,  through  an  arched  gateway,  which 
used  to  be  the  external  entrance  of  the  abbey,  I 
suppose,  of  which  the  cathedral  was  formerly  the 
church.  The  front  of  the  cathedral  is  very  striking, 
and  unlike  any  other  that  I have  seen  ; being  formed 
by  three  lofty  and  majestic  arches  in  a row,  with  three 
gable  peaks  above  them,  forming  a sort  of  colonnade, 
within  which  is  the  western  entrance  of  the  nave.  The 
towers  are  massive,  but  low  in  proportion  to  their  bulk. 
There  are  no  spires,  but  pinnacles  and  statues,  and  all 
the  rich  detail  of  Gothic  architecture,  the  whole  of  a 
venerable  gray  hue.  It  is  in  perfect  repair,  and  has 
not  suffered  externally,  except  by  the  loss  of  multitudes 
of  statues,  gargoyles,  and  miscellaneous  eccentricities 
of  sculpture,  which  used  to  smile,  frown,  laugh,  and 
weep  over  the  faces  of  these  old  fabrics. 

We  entered  through  a side  portal,  and  sat  down  on  a 
bench  in  the  nave,  and  kept  ourselves  quiet ; for  the 


1857.] 


PETERBOROUGH. 


207 


organ  was  sounding,  and  the  choristers  were  chanting 
in  the  choir.  The  nave  and  transepts  are  very 
noble,  with  clustered  pillars  and  Norman  arches,  and  a 
great  height  under  the  central  tower;  the  whole,  how- 
ever, being  covered  with  plaster  and  whitewash,  except 
the  roof,  which  is  of  painted  oak.  This  latter  adorn- 
ment has  the  merit,  I believe,  of  being  veritably  an- 
cient ; but  certainly  I should  prefer  the  oak  of  its 
native  hue,  for  the  effect  of  the  paint  is  to  make  it 
appear  as  if  the  ceiling  were  covered  with  imitation 
mosaic  work  or  an  oil-cloth  carpet. 

After  sitting  awhile,  we  were  invited  by  a verger, 
who  came  from  within  the  screen,  to  enter  the  choir 
and  hear  the  rest  of  the  service.  We  found  the  choris- 
ters there  in  their  white  garments,  and  an  audience  of 
half  a dozen  people,  and  had  time  to  look  at  the  interior 
of  the  choir.  All  the  carved  wood-work  of  the  taber- 
nacle, the  Bishop’s  throne,  the  prebends’  stalls,  and 
whatever  else,  is  modern  ; for  this  cathedral  seems  to 
have  suffered  wofully  from  Cromwell’s  soldiers,  who 
hacked  at  the  old  oak,  and  hammered  and  pounded 
upon  the  marble  tombs  till  nothing  of  the  first  and 
very  few  of  the  latter  remain.  It  is  wonderful  how 
suddenly  the  English  people  lost  their  sense  of  the 
sanctity  of  all  manner  of  externals  in  religion,  without 
losing  their  religion  too.  The  French,  in  their  Rev- 
olution, underwent  as  sudden  a change ; but  they  be- 
came pagans  and  atheists,  and  threw  away  the  substance 
with  the  shadow. 

I suspect  that  the  interior  arrangement  of  the  choir 
and  the  chancel  has  been  greatly  modernized ; for  it  is 
quite  unlike  anything  that  I have  seen  elsewhere.  In- 


208  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

stead  of  one  vast  eastern  window,  there  are  rows  of 
windows*  lighting  the  Lady  Chapel,  and  seen  through 
rows  of  arches  in  the  screen  of  the  chancel ; the  effect 
being,  whoever  is  to  have  the  credit  of  it,  very  rich  and 
beautiful.  There  is,  I think,  no  stained  glass  in  the 
windows  of  the  nave,  though  in  the  windows  of  the 
chancel  there  is  some  of  recent  date,  and  some  frag- 
ments of  veritable  antique.  The  effect  of  the  whole 
interior  is  grand,  expansive,  and  both  ponderous  and 
airy ; not  dim,  mysterious,  and  involved,  as  Gothic  in- 
teriors often  are,  the  roundness  and  openness  of  the 
arches  being  opposed  to  this  latter  effect. 

When  the  chanting  came  to  a close,  one  verger  took 
his  stand  at  the  entrance  of  the  choir,  and  another 
stood  farther  up  the  aisle,  and  then  the  door  of  a stall 
opened,  and  forth  came  a clerical  dignity  of  much 
breadth  and  substance,  aged  and  infirm,  and  was  ushered 
out  of  the  choir  with  a great  deal  of  ceremony.  We 
took  him  for  the  bishop,  but  he  proved  to  be  only  a 
canon.  We  now  engaged  an  attendant  to  show  us 
through  the  Lady  Chapel  and  the  other  penetralia, 
which  it  did  not  take  him  long  to  accomplish.  One  of 
the  first  things  he  showed  us  was  the  tombstone,  in  the 
pavement  of  the  southern  aisle,  beneath  which  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  had  been  originally  buried,  and  where 
she  lay  for  a quarter  of  a century,  till  borne  to  her 
present  resting-place  in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  is  a 
plain  marble  slab,  with  no  inscription.  Near  this,  there 
was  a Saxon  monument  of  the  date  870,  with  sculpture 
in  relief  upon  it,  — the  memorial  of  an  Abbot  Hedda, 
who  was  killed  by  the  Danes  when  they  destroyed  the 
monastery  that  preceded  the  abbey  and  church.  I 


PETERBOROUGH. 


209 


1857.] 

remember,  likewise,  the  recumbent  figure  of  a prelate, 
whose  face  has  been  quite  obliterated  by  puritanic  vio- 
lence ; and  I think  that  there  is  not  a single  tomb 
older  than  the  parliamentary  wars,  which  has  not  been 
in  like  manner  battered  and  shattered,  except  the 
Saxon  abbot’s  just  mentioned.  The  most  pretentious 
monument  remaining  is  that  of  a Mr.  Deacon,  a gentle- 
man of  George  I.’s  time,  in  wig  and  breeches,  leaning 
on  his  elbow,  and  resting  one  hand  upon  a skull.  In 
the  north  aisle,  precisely  opposite  to  that  of  Queen 
Mary,  the  attendant  pointed  out  to  us  the  slab  beneath 
which  lie  the  ashes  of  Catharine  of  Arragon,  the 
divorced  queen  of  Henry  VIII. 

In  the  nave  there  was  an  ancient  font,  a venerable 
and  beautiful  relic,  which  has  been  repaired  not  long 
ago,  but  in  such  a way  as  not  to  lessen  its  individuality. 
This  sacred  vessel  suffered  especial  indignity  from 
Cromwell’s  soldiers  ; insomuch  that  if  anything  could 
possibly  destroy  its  sanctity,  they  would  have  effected 
that  bad  end.  On  the  eastern  wall  of  the  nave,  and 
near  the  entrance,*  hangs  the  picture  of  old  Scarlet,  the 
sexton  who  buried  both  Mary  of  Scotland  and  Cath- 
arine of  Arragon,  and  not  only  these  two  queens,  but 
everybody  else  in  Peterborough,  twice  over.  I think 
one  feels  a sort  of  enmity  and  spite  against  these  grave- 
diggers, who  live  so  long,  and  seem  to  contract  a kin- 
dred and  partnership  with  Death,  being  boon  compan- 
ions with  him,  and  taking  his  part  against  mankind. 

In  a chapel,  or  some  side  apartment,  there  were  two 
pieces  of  tapestry  wretchedly  faded,  the  handiwork  of 
two  nuns,  and  copied  from  two  of  Raphael’s  cartoons. 


210  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857- 

We  now  emerged  from  the  cathedral,  and  walked 
round  its  exterior,  admiring  it  to  our  utmost  capacity, 
and  all  the  more  because  we  had  not  heard  of  it  before- 
hand, and  expected  to  see  nothing  so  huge,  majestic, 
grand,  and  gray.  And  of  all  the  lovely  closes  that  I 
ever  beheld,  that  of  Peterborough  Cathedral  is  to  me 
the  most  delightful ; so  quiet  it  is,  so  solemnly  and 
nobly  cheerful,  so  verdant,  so  sweetly  shadowed,  and  so 
presided  over  by  the  stately  minster,-  and  surrounded 
by  ancient  and  comely  habitations  of  Christian  men. 
The  most  enchanting  place,  the  most  enviable  as  a 
residence  in  all  this  world,  seemed  to  me  that  of  the 
Bishop’s  secretary,  standing  in  the  rear  of  the  cathedral, 
and  bordering  on  the  churchyard  ; so  that  you  pass 
through  hallowed  precincts  in  order  to  come  at  it,  and 
find  it  a Paradise,  the  holier  and  sweeter  for  the  dead 
men  who  sleep  so  near.  We  looked  through  the  gate- 
way into  the  lawn,  which  really  seemed  hardly  to  be- 
long to  this  world,  so  bright  and  soft  the  sunshine  was, 
so  fresh  the  grass,  so  lovely  the  trees,  so  trained  and 
refined  and  mellowed  down  was  the  whole  nature  of  the 
spot,  and  so  shut  in  and  guarded  from  all  intrusion. 
It  is  in  vain  to  write  about  it ; nowhere  but  in  Eng- 
land can  there  be  such  a spot,  nor  anywhere  but  in  the 
close  of  Peterborough  Cathedral. 

May  2Stk.  — I walked  up  into  the  town  this  morn- 
ing, and  again  visited  the  cathedral.  On  the  way,  I 
observed  the  Falcon  Inn,  a very  old-fashioned  hostelry, 
with  a thatched  roof,  and  what  looked  like  the  barn 
door  or  stable  door  in  a side  front.  Very  likely  it  may 
have  been  an  inn  ever  since  Queen  Elizabeth’s  time 


PETERBOROUGH. 


211 


i 857.  J 

The  Guildhall,  as  I supposed  it  to  be,  in  the  market- 
place, has  a basement  story  entirely  open  on  all  sides, 
but  from  its  upper  story  it  communicates  with  a large 
old  house  in  the  rear.  I have  not  seen  an  olderdooking 
town  than  Peterborough ; but  there  is  little  that  is  pic- 
turesque about  it,  except  within  the  domain  of  the 
cathedral.  It  was  very  fortunate  for  the  beauty  and 
antiquity  of  these  precincts,  that  Henry  VIII.  did 
not  suffer  the  monkish  edifices  of  the  abbey  to  be 
overthrown  and  utterly  destroyed,  as  was  the  case  with 
so  many  abbeys,  at  the  Reformation ; but,  converting 
the  abbey  church  into  a cathedral,  he  preserved  much 
of  the  other  arrangement  of  the  buildings  connected 
with  it.  And  so  it  happens  that  to  this  day  we  have 
the  massive  and  stately  gateway,  with  its  great  pointed 
arch,  still  keeping  out  the  world  from  those  who  have 
inherited  the  habitations  of  the  old  monks ; for  though 
the  gate  is  never  closed,  one  feels  himself  in  a sacred 
seclusion  the  instant  he  passes  under  the  archway. 
And  everywhere  there  are  old  houses  that  appear  to 
have  been  adapted  from  the  monkish  residences,  or 
from  their  spacious  offices,  and  made  into  convenient 
dwellings  for  ecclesiastics,  or  vergers,  or  great  or  small 
people  connected  with  the  cathedral ; and  with  all 
modern  comfort  they  still  retain  much  of  the  quaintness 
of  the  olden  time,  — arches,  even  rows  of  arcades,  pil- 
lars, walls,  beautified  with  patches  of  Gothic  sculpture, 
not  wilfully  put  on  by  modern  taste,  but  lingering 
from  a long  past ; deep  niches,  let  into  the  fronts  of 
houses,  and  occupied  by  images  of  saints ; a growth  of 
ivy,  overspreading  walls,  and  just  allowing  the  windows 
to  peep  through,  — so  that  no  novelty,  nor  anything 


212  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

of  our  hard,  ugly,  and  actual  life  comes  into  these  limits, 
through  the  defences  of  the  gateway,  without  being 
mollified  and  modified.  Except  in  some  of  the  old  col- 
leges of  Oxford,  I have  not  seen  any  other  place  that 
impressed  me  in  this  way ; and  the  grounds  of  Peter- 
borough Cathedral  have  the  advantage  over  even  the 
Oxford  colleges,  insomuch  that  the  life  is  here  domestic, 
— that  of  the  family,  that  of  the  affections,  — a natu- 
ral life,  which  one  deludes  himself  with  imagining  may 
be  made  into  something  sweeter  and  purer  in  this  beau- 
tiful spot  than  anywhere  else.  Doubtless  the  inhabi- 
tants find  it  a stupid  and  tiresome  place  enough,  and 
get  morbid  and  sulky,  and  heavy  and  obtuse  of  head 
and  heart,  with  the  monotony  of  their  life.  But  still 
I must  needs  believe  that  a man  with  a full  mind,  and 
objects  to  employ  his  affection,  ought  to  be  very  happy 
here.  And  perhaps  the  forms  and  appliances  of  human 
life  are  never  fit  to  make  people  happy  until  they  cease 
to  be  used  for  the  purposes  for  which  they  were  directly 
intended,  and  are  taken,  as  it  were,  in  a sidelong  appli- 
cation. I mean  that  the  monks,  probably,  never  en- 
joyed their  own  edifices  while  they  were  a part  of 
the  actual  life  of  the  day,  so  much  as  these  present 
inhabitants  now  enjoy  them  when  a new  use  has  grown 
up  apart  from  the  original  one. 

Towards  noon  we  all  walked  into  the  town  again, 
and  on  our  way  went  into  the  old  church  with  the 
projecting  portal,  which  I mentioned  yesterday.  A 
woman  came  hastening  with  the  keys  when  she  saw  us 
looking  up  at  the  door.  The  interior  had  an  exceeding 
musty  odor,  and  was  very  ancient,  with  side  aisles 
opening  by  a row  of  pointed  arches  into  the  nave,  and 


1857.] 


PETERBOROUGH. 


213 


a gallery  of  wood  on  each  side,  and  built  across  the 
two  rows  of  arches.  It  was  paved  with  tombstones, 
and  I suppose  the  dead  people  contributed  to  the  musty 
odor.  Very  naked  and  unadorned  it  was,  except  with 
a few  mural  monuments  of  no  great  interest.  We 
stayed  but  a little  while,  and  amply  rewarded  the 
poor  woman  with  a sixpence.  Thence  we  proceeded 
to  the  cathedral,  pausing  by  the  way  to  look  at  the 
old  Guildhall,  which  is  no  longer  a Guildhall,  but 
a butter-market ; and  then  we  bought  some  prints 
of  exterior  and  interior  views  of  the  Minster,  of 
which  there  are  a great  variety  on  note-paper,  letter- 
sheets,  large  engravings,  and  lithographs.  It  is  very 
beautiful ; there  seems  to  be  nothing  better  than  to  say 
this  over  again.  We  found  the  doors  most  hospitably 
open,  and  every  part  entirely  free  to  us,  — a kindness 
and  liberality  which  we  have  nowhere  else  experienced 
in  England,  whether  as  regards  cathedrals  or  any  other 
public  buildings.  My  wife  sat  down  to  draw  the  font, 
and  I walked  through  the  Lady  Chapel  meanwhile, 
pausing  over  the  empty  bed  of  Queen  Mary,  and  the 
grave  of  Queen  Catharine,  and  looking  at  the  rich  and 
sumptuous  roof,  where  a fountain,  as  it  were,  of  groins 
of  arches  spouts  from  numberless  pilasters,  intersect- 
ing one  another  in  glorious  intricacy.  Under  the  cen- 
tral tower,  opening  to  either  transept,  to  the  nave  and 
to  the  choir,  are  four  majestic  arches,  which  I think 
must  equal  in  height  those  of  which  I saw  the  ruins, 
and  oiae,  all  but  perfect,  at  Furness  Abbey.  They  are 
about  eighty  feet  high. 

I may  as  well  give  up  Petei  borough  here,  though 
I hate  to  leave  it  undescribed  even  to  the  tufts  of  yellow 


214  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

flowers,  which  grow  on  the  projections  high  out  of 
reach,  where  the  winds  have  sown  their  seeds  in  soil 
made  by  the  aged  decay  of  the  edifice*  I could  write 
a page,  too,  about  the  rooks  or  jackdaws  that  flit  and 
clamor  about  the  pinnacles,  and  dart  in  and  out  of  the 
eyelet-holes,  the  piercings,  — whatever  they  are  called, 
— in  the  turrets  and  buttresses.  On  our  way  back  to  the 
hotel,  J — — saw  an  advertisement  of  some  knights  In 
armor  that  were  to  tilt  to-day  \ so  he  and  I waited,  and 
by  and  by  a procession  appeared,  passing  through  the 
antique  market-place,  and  in  front  of  the  abbey  gate- 
way, which  might  have  befitted  the  same  spot  three 
hundred  years  ago.  They  were  about  twenty  men-at- 
arms  on  horseback,  with  lances  and  banners.  We  were 
a little  too  near  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle ; 
for,  though  some  of  the  armor  was  real,  I could  not 
help  observing  that  other  suits  were  made  of  silver 
paper  or  gold  tinsel.  A policeman  (a  queer  anomaly 
in  reference  to  such  a mediaeval  spectacle)  told  us  that 
they  were  going  to  joust  and  run  at  the  ring,  in  a field 
a little  beyond  the  bridge. 

TO  NOTTINGHAM. 

May  2Stk.  — We  left  Peterborough  this  afternoon,  and, 
however  reluctant  to  leave  the  cathedral,  we  were  glad  to 
get  away  from  the  hotel ; for  though  outwardly  preten- 
tious, it  is  a wretched  and  uncomfortable  place,  with 
scanty  table,  poor  attendance,  and  enormous  charges. 
The  first  stage  of  our  journey  to-day  was  to  Grantham, 
through  a country  the  greater  part  of  which  was  as  level 
as  the  Lincolnshire  landscapes  have  been,  throughout 
our  experience  of  them.  We  saw  several  old  villages, 


GRANTHAM. 


215 


(857  ] 

gathered  round  their  several  churches  ; and  one  of  these 
little  communities,  “ Little  Bvforth,”  had  a very  primi- 
tive appearance,  — a group  of  twenty  or  thirty  dwell- 
ings of  stone  and  thatch,  without  a house  among  them 
that  could  be  so  modern  as  a hundred  years.  It  is  a 
little  wearisome  to  think  of  people  living  from  century 
to  century  in  the  same  spot,  going  in  and  out  of  the 
same  doors,  cultivating  the  same  fields,  meeting  the  same 
faces  and  marrying  one  another  over  and  over  again ; 
and  going  to  the  same  church,  and  lying  down  in  the 
same  churchyard,  — to  appear  again,  and  go  through 
the  same  monotonous  round  in  the  next  generation. 

At  Grantham,  our  route  branches  off  from  the  main 
line  ; and  there  was  a delay  of  about  an  hour,  during 
which  we  walked  up  into  the  town,  to  take  a nearer 
view  of  a tall  gray  steeple  which  we  saw  from  the  rail- 
way station.  The  streets  that  led  from  the  station  were 
poor  and  commonplace ; and,  indeed,  a railway  seems 
to  have  the  effect  of  making  its  own  vicinity  mean. 
We  noticed  nothing  remarkable  until  we  got  to  the 
market-place,  in  the  centre  of  which  there  is  a cross, 
doubtless  of  great  antiquity,  though  it  is  in  too  good 
condition  not  to  have  been  recently  repaired.  It  con- 
sists of  an  upright  pillar,  with  a pedestal  of  half  a dozen 
stone  steps,  which  are  worn  hollow  by  the  many  feet 
that  have  scraped  their  hobnailed  shoes  upon  them. 
Among  these  feet,  it  is  highly  probable,  may  have  been 
those  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who  was  a scholar  of  the 

free  school  of  this  town ; and  when  J scampered 

up  the  steps,  we  told  him  so.  Visible  from  the  market- 
place also  stands  the  Angel  Inn,  which  seems  to  be 
a wonderfully  old  inn,  being  adorned  with  gargoyles  and 


216  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

other  antique  sculpture,  with  projecting  windows,  and 
an  arched  entrance,  and  presenting  altogether  a frontis- 
piece of  so  much  venerable  state  that  I feel  curious  to 
know  its  history.  Had  I been  aware  that  the  chief 
hotel  of  Grantham  were  such  a time-honored  establish- 
ment, I should  have  arranged  to  pass  the  night  there, 
especially  as  there  were  interesting  objects  enough  in 
the  town  to  occupy  us  pleasantly.  The  church  — the 
steeple  of  which  is  seen  over  the  market-place,  but  is 
removed  from  it  by  a street  or  two  — is  very  fine  ; the 
tower  and  spire  being  adorned  with  arches,  canopies, 
and  niches,  — twelve  of  the  latter  for  the  twelve  Apos- 
tles, all  of  whom  have  now  vanished,  — and  with  frag- 
ments of  other  Gothic  ornaments.  The  jackdaws  have 
taken  up  their  abodes  ?n  the  crevices  and  crannies  of 
the  upper  half  of  the  steeple. 

We  left  Grantham  at  nearly  seven,  and  reached 

NOTTINGHAM 

just  before  eight.  The  castle,  situated  on  a high  and 
precipitous  rock,  directly  over  the  edge  of  which  look 
the  walls,  was  visible,  as  we  drove  from  the  station  to 
our  hotel.  We  followed  the  advice  of  a railway  at- 
tendant in  going  first  to  the  May  Pole,  which  proved  to 
be  a commercial  inn,  with  the  air  of  a drinking-shop,  in 
a by-alley ; and,  furthermore,  they  could  not  take  us  in. 
So  we  drove  to  the  George  the  Fourth,  which  seems  to 
be  an  excellent  house  ; and  here  I have  remained  quiet, 
the  size  of  the  town  discouraging  me  from  going  out  in 
the  twilight  which  was  fast  coming  on  after  tea.  These 
Are  glorious  long  days  for  travel ; daylight  fairly  be- 
tween four  in  the  morning  and  nine  at  night,  and  a 
margin  of  twilight  on  either  side. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


217 


185/.J 

May  29 th . — After  breakfast,  this  morning,  I wan- 
dered out  and  lost  myself ; but  at  last  found  the  post- 
office,  and  a letter  from  Mr.  Wilding,  with  some  per- 
plexing intelligence.  Nottingham  is  an  unlovely  and 
uninteresting  town.  The  castle  I did  not  see ; but  I 
happened  upon  a large  and  stately  old  church,  almost 
cathedralic  in  its  dimensions.  On  returning  to  the 
hotel,  we  deliberated  on  the  mode  of  getting  to  New- 
stead  Abbey,,  and  we  finally  decided  upon  taking  a fly ; 
in  which  conveyance,  accordingly,  we  set  out  before 
twelve.  It  was  a slightly  overcast  day,  about  half  in- 
termixed of  shade  and  sunshine,  and  rather  cool,  but 
not  so  cool  that  we  could  exactly  wish  it  warmer.  Our 
drive  to  Newstead  lay  through  what  was  once  a por- 
tion of  Sherwood  Forest,  though  all  of  it,  I believe,  has 
now  become  private  property,  and  is  converted  into  fer- 
tile fields,  except  where  the  owners  of  estates  have  set 
out  plantations.  We  have  now  passed  out  of  the  fen- 
country,  and  the  land  rises  and  falls  in  gentle  swells, 
presenting  a pleasant,  but  not  striking,  character  of  sce- 
nery. I remember  no  remarkable  object  on  the  road,  — 
here  and  there  an  old  inn,  a gentleman’s  seat  of  mod- 
erate pretension,  a great  deal  of  tall  and  continued 
hedge,  a quiet  English  greenness  and  rurality,  — till, 
drawing  near 

NEWSTEAD  ABBEY, 

ve  began  to  see  copious  plantations,  principally  of  firs, 
larches,  and  trees  of  that  order,  looking  very  sombre, 
though  with  some  intermingling  of  lighter  foliage.  It 
was  after  one  when  we  reached  “ The  Hut,”  — a small, 
modern  wayside  inn,  almost  directly  across  the  road 
from  the  entrance-gate  of  Newstead.  The  post-boy 
YOL.  II.  10 


218 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185:. 

calls  the  distance  ten  miles  from  Nottingham*  He  also 
averred  that  it  was  forbidden  to  drive  visitors  within  the 
gates  ; so  we  left  the  fly  at  the  inn,  and  set  out  to  walk 
from  the  entrance  to  the  house.  There  is  no  porter’: 
lodge  ; and  the  grounds,  in  this  outlying  region,  had  not 
the  appearance  of  being  very  primly  kept,  but  were 
well  wooded  with  evergreens,  and  much  overgrown  with 
ferns,  serving  for  cover  for  hares,  which  scampered  in 
and  out  of  their  hiding-places.  The  road  went  winding 
gently  along,  and,  at  the  distance  of  nearly  a mile, 
brought  us  to  a ^econd  gate,  through  which  we  likewise 
passed,  ^and  walked  onward  a good  way  farther,  seeing 
much  wood,  but  as  yet  nothing  of  the  Abbey.  At  last, 
through  the  trees,  we  caught  a glimpse  of  its  battle- 
ments,* and  saw,  too,  the  gleam  of  water,  and  then  ap- 
peared the  Abbey’s  venerable  front.  It  comprises  the 
western  wall  of  the  church,  which  is  all  that  remains  of 
that  fabric,  — a great,  central  window,  entirely  -empty, 
without  tracery  or  mullions ; the  ivy  clambering  up  on 
the  inside  of  the  wall,  and  hanging  over  in  front.  The 
front  of  the  inhabited  part  of  the  house  extends  along 
on  a line  with  this  church  wall,  rather  low,  with  battle 
ments  along  its  top,  and  all  in  good  keeping  with  the 
ruinous  remnant.  We  met  a servant,  who  replied  civ- 
illy to  our  inquiries  about  the  mode  of  gaining  admit- 
tance, and  bade  us  ring  a bell  at  the  corner  of  the  prin- 
cipal porch.  We  rang  accordingly,  and  were  forthwith 
admitted  into  a low,  vaulted  basement,  ponderously 
wrought  with  intersecting  arches,  dark  and  rather 
chilly,  just  like  what  I remember  to  have  seen  at  Battle 
AJbbey  ; and,  after  waiting  here  a*little  while,  a respect- 
able elderly  gentlewoman  appeared,  of  whom  we  re* 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


219 


i 857.  ] 

quested  to  be  shown  round  the  Abbey.  She  cour- 
teously  acceded,  first  presenting  us  to  a book  in  which 
to  inscribe  our  names. 

I suppose  ten  thousand  people,  three  fourths  of  them 
Americans,  have  written  descriptions  of  Newstead  Ab- 
bey ; and  none  of  them,  so  far  as  I have  read,  give  any 
true  idea  of  the  place ; neither  will  my  description,  if  I 
write  one.  In  fact,  I forget  very  much  that  I saw,  and 
especially  in  what  order  the  objects  came.  In  the  base- 
ment was  Byron’s  bath,  — a dark  and  cold  and  cellar- 
like hole,  which  it  must  have  required  good  courage  to 
plunge  into ; in  this  region,  too,  or  near  it,  was  the 
chapel,  which  Colonel  Wildman  has  decorously  fitted 
up,  and  where  service  is  now  regularly  performed,  but 
which  was  used  as  a dog’s  kennel  in  Byron’s  time. 

After  seeing  this,  we  were  led  to  Byron’s  own  bed* 
chamber,  which  remains  just  as  when  he  slept  in  it, — - 
the  furniture  and  all  the  other  arrangements  being  relig- 
iously preserved.  It  was  in  the  plainest  possible  style, 
homely,  indeed,  and  almost  mean,  — an  ordinary  paper- 
hanging, and  everything  so  commonplace  that  it  was 
only  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window  that  made  it 
look  unlike  a bedchamber  in  a middling-class  lodging- 
house.  It  would  have  seemed  difficult,  beforehand,  to 
fit  up  a room  in  that  picturesque  old  edifice  so  that  it 
should  be  utterly  void  of  picturesqueness ; but  it  was  ef- 
fected in  this  apartment,  and  I suppose  it  is  a specimen 
of  the  way  in  which  old  mansions  used  to  be  robbed  of 
their  antique  character,  and  adapted  to  modern  tastes, 
before  mediaeval  antiquities  came  into  fashion.  Some 
prints  of  the  Cambridge  colleges,  and  other  pictures  in- 
dicating Byron’s  predilections  at  the  time,  and  which  he 


220 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185/ « 


himself  had  hung  there,  were  on  the  walls.  This,  the 
housekeeper  told  us,  had  been  the  Abbot’s  chamber,  in 
the  monastic  time.  Adjoining  it,  is  the  haunted  room, 
where  the  ghostly  monk,  whom  Byron  introduces  into 
Don  Juari,  is  said  to  have  his  lurking-place.  It  is  fitted 
up  in  the  same  style  as  Byron’s,  and  used  to  be  occu- 
pied by  his  valet  or  page.  No  doubt  in  his  Lordship’s 
day,  these  were  the  only  comfortable  bedrooms  in  the 
Abbey;  and  by  the  housekeeper’s  account  of  what 
Colonel  Wildman  has  done,  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  the 
place  must  have  been  in  a most  wild,  shaggy,  tumble- 
down  condition,  inside  and  out,  when  he  bought  it. 

It  is  very  different  now.  After  showing  us  these  two 
apartments  of  Byron  and  his  servant,  the  housekeeper 
led  us  from  one  to  another  and  another  magnificent 
chamber,  fitted  up  in  antique  style,  with  oak  panelling, 
and  heavily  carved  bedsteads,  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s 
time,  or  of  the  Stuarts,  hung  with  rich  tapestry  curtains 
of  similar  date,  and  with  beautiful  old  cabinets  of  carved 
wood,  sculptured  in  relief,  or  tortoise-shell  and  ivory. 
The  very  pictures  and  realities,  these  rooms  were, 
of  stately  comfort ; and  they  were  called  by  the  name 
of  kings,  — King  Edward’s,  King  Charles  II.’s,  King 
Henry  VII.’s  chamber  ; and  they  were  hung  with  beau- 
tiful pictures,  many  of  them  portraits  of  these  kings. 
The  chimney-pieces  were  carved  and  emblazoned  ; and 
all,  so  far  as  I could  judge,  was  in  perfect  keeping,  so 
that  if  a prince  or  noble  of  three  centuries  ago  were  to 
come  to  lodge  at  Newstead  Abbey,  he  would  hardly 
know  that  he  had  strayed  out  of  his  own  century.  And 
yet  he  might  have  known  by  some  token,  for  there  are 
volumes  of  poetry  and  light  literature  on  the  tables  in 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


221 


5857.] 

these  royal  bedchambers,  and  in  that  of  Henry  VII. 
I saw  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  and  The 
Scarlet  Letter  in  Routledge’s  edition. 

Certainly  the  house  is  admirably  fitted  up ; and 
there  must  have  been  something  very  excellent  and 
comprehensive  in  the  domestic  arrangements  of  the 
monks,  since  they  adapt  themselves  so  well  to  a state 
of  society  entirely  different  from  that  in  which  they 
originated.  The  library  is  a very  comfortable  room, 
and  provocative  of  studious  ideas,  though  lounging  and 
luxurious.  It  is  long,  and  rather  low,  furnished  with 
soft  couches,  and,  on  the  whole,  though  a man  might 
dream  of  study,  I think  he  would  be  most  likely  to  read 
nothing  but  novels  there.  I know  not  what  the  room 
was  in  monkish  times,  but  it  was  waste  and  ruinous  in 
Lord  Byron’s.  Here,  I think,  the  housekeeper  unlocked 
a beautiful  cabinet,  and  took  out  the  famous  skull 
which  Lord  Byron  transformed  into  a drinking-goblet. 
It  has  a silver  rim  and  stand,  but  still  the  ugly  skull  is 
bare  and  evident,  and  the  naked  inner  bone  receives 
the  wine.  I should  think  it  would  hold  at  least  a quart, 
— enough  to  overpower  any  living  head  into  which 
this  death’s  head  should  transfer  its  contents  ; and  a 
man  must  be  either  very  drunk  or  very  thirsty,  before 
he  would  taste  wine  out  of  such  a goblet.  I think 
Byron’s  freak  was  outdone  by  that  of  a cousin  of  my 
own,  who  once  solemnly  assured  me  that  he  had  a spit- 
toon made  out  of  the  skull  of  his  enemy.  The  ancient 
coffin  in  which  the  goblet-skull  was  found  was  shown 
us  in  the  basement  of  the  Abbey. 

There  was  much  more  to  see  in  the  house  than  I had 
any  previous  notion  of ; but  except  the  two  chambers 


222  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857, 

already  noticed,  nothing  remained  the  least  as  Byron 
left  it.  Yes,  another  place  there  was,  — his  own 
small  dining-room,  with  a table  of  moderate  size,  where, 
no  doubt,  the  skull-goblet  has  often  gone  its  rounds. 
Colonel  Wildman’s  dining-room  was  once  Byron’s  shoot- 
ing-gallery, and  the  original  refectory  of  the  monks. 
It  is  now  magnificently  arranged,  with  a vaulted  roof,  a 
music-gallery  at  one  end,  suits  of  armor  and  weapons 
on  the  walls,  and  mailed  arms  extended,  holding  can- 
delabras.  There  are  one  or  two  painted  windows,  com- 
memorative of  the  Peninsular  war,  and  the  battles  in 
which  the  Colonel  and  his  two  brothers  fought,  — for 
these  Wildmen  seem  to  have  been  mighty  troopers, 
and  Colonel  Wildman  is  represented  as  a fierce-looking 
mustachioed  hussar  at  two  different  ages.  The  house- 
keeper spoke  of  him  affectionately,  but  says  that  he  is 
now  getting  into  years,  and  that  they  fancy  him  failing. 
He  has  no  children.  He  appears  to  have  been  on  good 
terms  with  Byron,  and  had  the  latter  ever  returned  to 
England,  he  was  under  promise  to  make  his  first  visit 
to  his  old  home  and  it  was  in  such  an  expectation  that 
Colonel  Wildman  had  kept  Byron’s  private  apartments 
in  the  same  condition  in  which  he  found  them.  Byron 
was  informed  of  all  the  Colonel’s  fittings  up  and  restora- 
tions, and  when  he  introduces  the  Abbey  in  Don  Juan, 
the  poet  describes  it,  not  as  he  himself  left  it,  but  as 
Colonel  Wildman  has  restored  it.  There  is  a beautiful 
drawing-room,  and  all  these  apartments  are  adorned 
with  pictures,  the  collection  being  especially  rich  in  por- 
traits by  Sir  Peter  Lely,  — that  of  Nell  Gwynn  being 
one,  who  is  one  of  the  few  beautiful  women  whom  I 
have  seen  on  canvas. 


Newstead  abbey. 


1857.] 


223 


We  parted  with  the  housekeeper,  and  I with  a good 
many  shillings,  at  the  door  by  which  we  entered  ; and 
our  next  business  was  to  see  the  private  grounds  and 
gardens.  A little  boy  attended  us  through  the  first  part 
of  our  progress,  but  soon  appeared  the  veritable  gar- 
dener, — a shrewd  and  sensible  old  man;  who  has  been 
very  many  years  on  the  place.  There  was  nothing  of 
special  interest  as  concerning  Byron  until  we  entered 
the  original  old  monkish  garden,  which  is  still  laid  out 
in  the  same  fashion  as  the  monks  left  it,  with  a large, 
oblong  piece  of  water  in  the  centre,  and  terraced 
banks  rising  at  two  or  three  different  stages  with  per- 
fect regularity  around  it;  so  that  the  sheet  of  water 
looks  like  the  plate  of  an  immense  looking-glass,  of  which 
the  terraces  form  the  frame.  It  seems  as  if,  were 
there  any  giant  large  enough,  he  might  raise  up  this 
mirror  and  set  it  on  end.  In  the  monks’  garden,  there 
is  a marble  statue  of  Pan,  which,  the  gardener  told  us, 
was  brought  by  the  “ Wicked  Lord  ” (great-uncle  of 
Byron)  from  Italy,  and  was  supposed  by  the  country 
people  to  represent  the  Devil,  and  to  be  the  object  of 
his  worship,  — a natural  idea  enough,  in  view  of  his  horns 
and  cloven  feet  and  tail,  though  this  indicates,  at  all 
events,  a very  jolly  devil.  There  is  also  a female 
statue,  beautiful  from  the  waist  upward,  but  shaggy  and 
cloven-footed  below,  and  holding  a little  cloven-footed 
child  by  the  hand.  This,  the  old  gardener  assured  us, 
was  Pandora,  wife  of  the  above-mentioned  Pan,  with 
her  son.  Not  far  from  this  spot,  we  came  to  the  tree 
on  which  Byron  carved  his  own  name  and  that  of  his 
sister  Augusta.  It  is  a tree  of  twin  stems,  — a birch- 
tree,  I think,  growing  up  side  by  side.  One  of  the 


224 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

stems  still  lives  and  flourishes,  but  that  on  which  he 
carved  the  two  names  is  quite  dead,  as  if  there  had 
been  something  fatal  in  the  inscription  that  has  made  it 
forever  famous.  The  names  are  still  very  legible,  al- 
though the  letters  had  been  closed  up  by  the  growth 
of  the  bark  before  the  tree  died.  They  must  have 
been  deeply  cut  at  first. 

There  are  old  yew-trees  of  unknown  antiquity  in 
this  garden,  and  many  other  interesting  things;  and 
among  them  may  be  reckoned  a fountain  of  very  pure 
water,  called  the  “ Holy  Well,”  of  which  we  drank. 
There  are  several  fountains,  besides  the  large  mirror  in 
the  centre  of  the  garden  ; and  these  are  mostly  inhabited 
by  carp,  the  genuine  descendants  of  those  which  peopled 
the  fish-ponds  in  the  days  of  the  monks.  Coming  in 
front  of  the  Abbey,  the  gardener  showed  us  the  oak 
that  Byron  planted,  now  a vigorous  young  tree ; and 
the  monument  which  he  erected  to  his  Newfoundland 
dog,  and  which  is  larger  than  most  Christians  get,  being 
composed  of  a marble,  altar-shaped  tomb,  surrounded 
by  a circular  area  of  steps,  as  much  as  twenty  feet  in 
diameter.  The  gardener  said,  however,  that  Byron  in- 
tended this,  not  merely  as  the  burial-place  of  his  dog, 
but  for  himself  too,  and  his  sister.  I know  not  how 
this  may  have  been,  but  this  inconvenience  would  have 
attended  his  being  buried  there,  that,  on  transfer  of  the 
estate,  his  mortal  remains  would  have  become  the  prop- 
erty of  some  other  man. 

We  had  now  come  to  the  empty  space,  — a smooth 
green  lawn,  where  had  once  been  the  Abbey  church. 
The  length  had  been  sixty-four  yards,  the  gardener 
said,  and  within  his  remembrance  there  had  been  many 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


225 


1857.] 

remains  of  it,  but  now  they  are  quite  removed,  with  the 
exception  of  the  one  ivy-grown  western  wall,  which,  as 
I mentioned,  forms  a picturesque  part  of  the  present 
front  of  the  Abbey.  Through  a door  in  this  wall  the 
gardener  now  let  us  out 

In  the  evening  our  landlady,  who  seems  to  be  a very 
intelligent  woman,  of  a superior  class  to  most  landladies, 
came  into  our  parlor,  while  I was  out,  and  talked  about 
the  present  race  of  Byrons  and  Lovelaces,  who  have 
often  been  at  this  house.  There  seems  to  be  a taint  in 
the  Byron  blood  which  makes  those  who  inherit  it 
wicked,  mad,  and  miserable.  Even  Colonel  Wildman 
comes  in  for  a share  of  this  ill  luck,  for  he  has  almost 
ruined  himself  by  his  expenditure  on  the  estate,  and 
by  his  lavish  hospitality,  especially  to  the  Duke  of 
Sussex,  who  liked  the  Colonel,  and  used  often  to  visit 
him  during  his  lifetime,  and  his  Royal  Highness’s 
gentlemen  ate  and  drank  Colonel  Wildman  almost  up. 
So  says  our  good  landlady.  At  any  rate,  looking  at 
this  miserable  race  of  Byrons,  who  held  the  estate  so 
long,  and  at  Colonel  Wildman,  whom  it  has  ruined  in 
forty  years,  we  might  see  grounds  for  believing  in  the 
evil  fate  which  is  supposed  to  attend  confiscated  church 
property.  Nevertheless,  I would  accept  the  estate, 
were  it  offered  me. 

....  Glancing  back,  I see  that  I have  omitted 
some  items  that  were  curious  in  describing  the  house ; 
for  instance,  one  of  the  cabinets  had  been  the  personal 
property  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
fashion  of  modern  furniture  has  nothing  to  equal  these 
old  cabinets  for  beauty  and  convenience.  In  the  state 
apartments,  the  floors  were  so  highly  waxed  and  pol- 
io* 


o 


226 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


185? 


ished  that  we  slid  on  them  as  if  on  ice,  and  could  only 
make  sure  of  our  footing  by  treading  on  strips  of  car- 
peting that  were  laid  down. 

June  7th . — We  left  Nottingham  a week  ago,  and 
made  our  first  stage  to  Derby,  where  we  had  to  wait  an 
hour  or  two  at  a great,  bustling,  pell-mell,  crowded  rail- 
way station.  It  was  much  thronged  with  second  and 
third  class  passengers,  coming  and  departing  in  continual 
trains;  for  these  were  the  Whitsuntide  holidays,  which 
set  all  the  lower  orders  of  English  people  astir.  This 
time  of  festival  was  evidently  the  origin  of  the  old 
“ Election  ” holidays  in  Massachusetts ; the  latter  occur- 
ring at  the  same  period  of  the  year,  and  being  celebrated 
(so  long  as  they  could  be  so)  in  very  much  the  same 
way,  with  games,  idleness,  merriment  of  set  purpose, 
and  drunkenness.  After  a weary  while  we  took  the 
train  for 

MATLOCK, 

via  Ambergate,  and  arrived  at  the  former  place  late  in 
the  afternoon.  The  village  of  Matlock  is  situated  on 
the  banks  of  the  Derwent,  in  a delightful  little  nook 
among  the  hills,  which  rise  above  it  in  steeps,  and  in 
precipitous  crags,  and  shut  out  the  world  so  effectually 
that  I wonder  how  the  railway  ever  found  it  out.  In- 
deed, it  does  make  its  approach  to  this  region  through 
a long  tunnel.  It  was  a beautiful,  sunny  afternoon 
when  we  arrived,  and  my  present  impressions  are,  that 
I have  never  seen  anywhere  else  such  exquisite  scenery 
as  that  which  surrounds  the  village.  The  street  itself, 
to  be  sure,  is  commonplace  enough,  and  hot,  dusty,  and 
disagreeable  ; but  if  you  look  above  it,  or  on  either  side, 


MATLOCK. 


227 


1657.  | 

there  are  green  hills  descending  abruptly  down,  and 
softened  with  woods,  amid  which  are  seen  villas,  cottages, 
castles ; and  beyond  the  river  is  a line  of  crags,  perhaps 
three  hundred  feet  high,  clothed  with  shrubbery  in  some 
parts  from  top  to  bottom,  but  in  other  places  presenting 
a sheer  precipice  of  rock,  over  which  tumbles,  as  it  were, 
a cascade  of  ivy  and  creeping  plants.  It  is  very  beauti- 
ful, and,  I might  almost  say,  very  wild ; but  it  has  those 
characteristics  of  finish,  and  of  being  redeemed  from 
nature,  and  converted  into  a portion  of  the  adornment 
of  a great  garden,  which  I find  in  all  English  scenery. 
Not  that  I complain  of  this  ; on  the  contrary,  there  is 
nothing  that  delights  an  American  more,  in  contrast  with 
the  roughness  and  ruggedness  of  his  native  scenes,  -w 
to  which,  also,  he  might  be  glad  to  return  after  a while. 

We  put  up  at  the  old  Bath  Hotel,  — an  immense  house, 
with  passages  of  such  extent  that  at  first  it  seemed 
almost  a day’s  journey  from  parlor  to  bedroom,  The 
house  stands  on  a declivity,  and  after  ascending  one 
pair  of  stairs,  we  came,  in  travelling  along  the  passage? 
way,  to  a door  that  opened  upon  a beautifully  arranged 
garden,  with  arbors  and  grottos,  and  the  hillside  rising 
steep  above.  During  all  the  time  of  our  stay  at  Mat? 
lock  there  was  brilliant  sunshine,  and,  the  grass  and 
foliage  being  in  their  freshest  and  most  luxuriant  phase, 
the  place  has  left  as  bright  a picture  as  I have  any- 
where in  my  memory. 

The  morning  after  our  arrival  we  took  a walk,  and, 
following  the  sound  of  a church-bell,  entered  what  ap? 
peared  to  be  a park,  and,  passing  along  a road  at  the 
base  of  a line  of  crags,  soon  came  in  sight  of  a beautiful 
church  I rather  imagine  it  to  be  the  place  of  worship 


228  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

of  the  Arkwright  family,  whose  seat  is  in  this  vicinity, — - 
the  descendants  of  the  famous  Arkwright  who  con- 
tributed so  much  towards  turning  England  into  a cotton- 
manufactory.  We  did  not  enter  the  church,  but  passed 
beyond  it,  and  over  a bridge,  and  along  a road  that  as- 
cended among  the  hills  and  finally  brought  us  out  by  a 
circuit  to  the  other  end  of  Matlock  village,  after  a walk 
of  three  or  four  miles.  In  the  afternoon  we  took  a boat 
across  the  Derwent,  — a passage  which  half  a dozen 
strokes  of  the  oars  accomplished,  — and  reached  a very 
pleasant  seclusion  called  “ The  Lovers’  Walk.”  A fer- 
riage of  twopence  pays  for  the  transit  across  the  river, 
and  gives  the  freedom  of  these  grounds,  which  are 
threaded  with  paths  that  meander  and  zigzag  to  the  top 
of  the  precipitous  ridge,  amid  trees  and  shrubbery,  and 
the  occasional  ease  of  rustic  seats.  It  is  a sweet  walk 

for  lovers,  and  was  so  for  us ; although  J , with  his 

scramblings  and  disappearances,  and  shouts  from  above, 
and  headlong  scamperings  down  the  precipitous  paths, 
occasionally  frightened  his  mother.  After  gaining  the 
heights,  the  path  skirts  along  the  precipice,  allowing  us 
to  see  down  into  the  village  street,  and,  nearer,  the 
Derwent  winding  through  the  valley  so  close  beneath 
us  that  we  might  have  flung  a stone  into  it.  These 
crags  would  be  very  rude  and  harsh  if  left  to  them- 
selves, but  they  are  quite  softened  and  made  sweet  and 
tender  by  the  great  deal  of  foliage  that  clothes  their 
sides,  and  creeps  and  clambers  over  them,  only  letting 
a stern  face  of  rock  be  seen  here  and  there,  and  with 
a smile  rather  than  a frown. 

The  next  day,  Monday,  we  went  to  see  the  grand 
cavern.  The  entrance  is  high  up  on  the  hillside,  whither 


MATLOCK. 


229 


1857.] 

we  were  led  by  a guide,  of  whom  there  are  many,  and 
they  all  pay  tribute  to  the  proprietor  of  the  cavern. 
There  is  a small  shed  by  the  side  of  the  cavern  mouth, 
where  the  guide  provided  himself  and  us  with  tallow 
candles,  and  then  led  us  into  the  darksome  and  ugly 
pit,  the  entrance  of  which  is  not  very  imposing,  for  it 
has  a door  of  rough  pine  boards,  and  is  kept  under  lock 
and  key  This  is  the  disagreeable  phase  — one  of  the 
disagreeable  phases  — of  man’s  conquest  over  nature  in 
England,  — cavern  mouths  shut  up  with  cellar  doors, 
cataracts  under  lock  and  key,  precipitous  crags  com- 
pelled to  figure  in  ornamented  gardens,  — and  all  ac- 
cessible at  a fixed  amount  of  shillings  or  pence.  It  is 
not  possible  to  draw  a full  free  breath  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. When  you  think  of  it,  it  makes  the  wild- 
est scenery  look  like  the  artificial  rock-work  which 
Englishmen  are  so  fond  of  displaying  in  the  little  bit 
of  grass-plot  under  their  suburban  parlor  windows. 
However,  the  cavern  was  dreary  enough  and  wild 
enough,  though  in  a mean  sort  of  way ; for  it  is  but  a 
long  series  of  passages  and  crevices,  generally  so  nar- 
row that  you  scrape  your  elbows,  and  so  low  that  you 
hit  your  head.  It  has  nowhere  a lofty  height,  though 
sometimes  it  broadens  out  into  ample  space,  but  not  into 
grandeur,  the  roof  being  always  within  reach,  and  in 
most  places  smoky  with  the  tallow  candles  that  have 
been  held  up  to  it.  A very  dirty,  sordid,  disagreeable 
burrow,  more  like  a cellar  gone  mad  than  anything 
else ; but  it  served  to  show  us  how  the  crust  of  the 
earth  is  moulded.  This  cavern  was  known  to  the 
Romans,  and  used  to  be  worked  by  them  as  a lead- 
mine.  Derbyshire  spar  is  now  taken  from  it;  and  in 


230 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS- 


[1857 


some  of  its  crevices  the  gleam  of  the  tallow  candles 
is  faintly  reflected  from  the  crystallizations ; but,  on  the 
whole,  I felt  like  a mole,  as  I went  creeping  along, 
and  was  glad  when  we  came  into  the  sunshine  again. 
I rather  think  my  idea  of  a cavern  is  taken  from  the 
one  in  the  Forty  Thieves,  or  in  Gil  Bias,  — a vast, 
hollow  womb,  roofed  and  curtained  with  obscurity. 
This  reality  is  very  mean. 

Leaving  the  cavern,  we  went  to  the  guide’s  cottage, 
situated  high  above  the  village,  where  he  showed  us 
specimens  of  ornaments  and  toys  manufactured  by  him- 
self from  Derbyshire  spar  and  other  materials.  There 
was  very  pretty  mosaic  work,  flowers  of  spar,  and  leaves 
of  malachite,  and  miniature  copies  of  Cleopatra’s  Needle, 
and  other  Egyptian  monuments,  and  vases  of  graceful 
pattern,  brooches,  too,  and  many  other  things.  The 
most  valuable  spar  is  called  Blue  John,  and  is  only  to 
be  found  in  one  spot,  where,  also,  the  supply  is  said  to 
be  growing  scant.  We  bought  a number  of  articles, 
and  then  came  homeward,  still  with  our  guide,  who 
showed  us,  on  the  way,  the  Romantic  Rocks.  These 
are  some  crags  which  have  been  rent  away,  and  stand 
insulated  from  the  hillside,  affording  a pathway  between 
it  and  them  ; while  the  places  can  yet  be  seen  where 
the  sundered  rocks  would  fit  into  the  craggy  hill  if 
there  were  but  a Titan  strong  enough  to  adjust  them 
again.  It  is  a very  picturesque  spot,  and  the  price  for 
seeing  it  is  twopence , though  in  our  case  it  was  in- 
cluded in  the  four  shillings  which  we  had  paid  for  seeing 
the  cavern.  The  representative  men  of  England  are 
the  showmen  and  the  policemen  ; both  very  good  people 
in  their  way. 


MATLOCK. 


231 


185?.] 

Returning  to  the  hotel,  J and  his  mother  went 

through  the  village  to  the  river,  near  the  railway,  where 

J set  himself  to  fishing,  and  caught  three  minnows. 

I followed,  after  a while,  to  fetch  them  back,  and  we 
called  into  one  or  two  of  the  many  shops  in  the  village, 
which  have  articles  manufactured  of  the  spar  for  sale. 
Some  of  these  are  nothing  short  of  magnificent.  There 
was  an  inlaid  table,  valued  at  sixty  guineas,  and  a 
splendid  ornament  for  any  drawing-room ; another,  in- 
laid with  the  squares  of  a chessboard.  We  heard  of  a 
table  in  the  possession  of  the  Marquis  of  Westminster, 
the  value  of  which  is  three  hundred  guineas.  It  would 
be  easy  and  pleasant  to  spend  a great  deal  of  money  in 
such  things  as  we  saw  there  ; but  all  our  purchases  in 
Matlock  did  not  amount  to  more  than  twenty  shillings, 
invested  in  brooches,  shawl-pins,  little  vases  and  toys, 
which  will  be  valuable  to  us  as  memorials  on  the  other 
side  of  the  water.  After  this,  we  visited  a petrifying 
cave,  of  which  there  are  several  hereabouts.  The 
process  of  petrifaction  requires  some  months,  or  per- 
haps a year  or  two,  varying  with  the  size  of  the  article 
to  be  operated  upon.  The  articles  are  placed  in  the 
cave,  under  the  drippings  from  the  roof,  and  a hard 
deposit  is  formed  upon  them,  and  sometimes,  as  in  the 
case  of  a bird’s-nest,  causes  a curious  result,  — every 
straw  and  hair  being  immortalized  and  stiffened  into 
stone.  A horse’s  head  was  in  process  of  petrifaction  ; 

and  J bought  a broken  eggshell  for  a penny, 

though  larger  articles  are  expensive.  The  process 
would  appear  to  be  entirely  superficial,  — a mere  crust 
on  the  outside  of  things,  — but  we  saw  some  specimens 
of  petrified  oak,  where  the  stony  substance  seemed  to 


232 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857 


be  intimately  incorporated  with  the  wood,  and  to  have 
really  changed  it  into  stone.  These  specimens  were 
immensely  ponderous,  and  capable  of  a high  polish, 
which  brought  out  beautiful  streaks  and  shades. 

One  might  spend  a very  pleasant  summer  in  Matlock, 
and  I think  there  can  be  no  more  beautiful  place  in  the 
world  ; but  we  left  it  that  afternoon,  and  railed  to  Man- 
chester, where  we  arrived  between  ten  and  eleven  at 

night.  The  next  *day  I left  S to  go  to  the  Art 

Exhibition,  and  took  J with  me  to  Liverpool,  where 

I had  an  engagement  that  admitted  of  no  delay.  Thus 
ended  our  tour,  in  which  we  had  seen  but  a little  bit 
of  England,  yet  rich  with  variety  and  interest.  What 
a wonderful  land  ! It  is  our  forefathers’  land ; our  land, 
for  I will  not  give  up  such  a precious  inheritance.  We 
are  now  back  again  in  flat  and  sandy  Southport,  which, 
during  the  past  week,  has  been  thronged  with  Whitsun- 
tide people,  who  crowd  the  streets,  and  pass  to  and  fro 
along  the  promenade,  with  a universal  and  monotonous 
air  of  nothing  to  do,  and  very  little  enjoyment.  It  is  a 
pity  that  poor  folks  cannot  employ  their  little  hour  of 
leisure  to  better  advantage,  in  a country  where  the  soil 
is  so  veined  with  gold. 

These  are  delightfully  long  days.  Last  night,  at  half 
past  nine,  I could  read  with  perfect  ease  in  parts  of  the 
voom  remote  from  the  window  ; and  at  nearly  half  past 
eleven  there  was  a broad  sheet  of  daylight  in  the  west, 
gleaming  brightly  over  the  plashy  sands.  I question 
whether  there  be  any  total  night  at  this  season. 

June  21  st, — Southport,  I presume,  is  now  in  its 
most  vivid  aspect ; there  being  a multitude  of  visitors 


SOUTHPORT. 


233 


1857.] 

here,  principally  of  the  middling  classes,  and  a frequent 
crowd,  whom  I take  to  be  working-people  from  Man- 
chester and  other  factory  towns.  It  is  the  strangest 
place  to  come  to  for  the  pleasures  of  the  sea,  of  which 
we  scarcely  have  a glimpse  from  month’s  end  to  month’s 
end,  nor  any  fresh,  exhilarating  breath  from  it,  but  a 
lazy,  languid  atmosphere,  brooding  over  the  waste  of 
sands ; or  even  if  there  be  a sulky  and  bitter  wind 
blowing  along  the  promenade,  it  still  brings  no  salt 
elixir.  I never  was  more  weary  of  a place  in  all  my 
life,  and  never  felt  such  a disinterested  pity  as  of  the 
people  who  come  here  for  pleasure.  Nevertheless,  the 
town  has  its  amusements  ; in  the  first  place,  the  day- 
long and  perennial  one  of  donkey-riding  along  the 
sands,  large  parties  of  men  and  girls  pottering  along 
together ; the  Flying  Dutchman  trundles  hither  and 
thither  when  there  is  breeze  enough  ; an  archery-man 
sets  up  his  targets  on  the  beach  ; the  bathing-houses 
stand  by  scores  and  fifties  along  the  shore,  and  likewise 
on  the  banks  of  the  Kibble,  a mile  seaward ; the  hotels 
have  their  billiard-rooms ; there  is  a theatre  every 
evening  ; from  morning  till  night  comes  a succession  of 
organ-grinders,  playing  interminably  under  your  win- 
dow ; and  a man  with  a bassoon  and  a monkey,  who 
takes  your  pennies  and  pulls  off  his  cap  in  acknowl- 
edgment ; and  wandering  minstrels,  with  guitar  and 
voice  ; and  a Highland  bagpipe,  squealing  out  a tangled 
skein  of  discord,  together  with  a Highland  maid,  who 
dances  a hornpipe  ; and  Punch  and  Judy,  — in  a word, 
we  have  specimens  of  all  manner  of  vagrancy  that 
infests  England.  In  these  long  days,  and  long  and 
pleasant  ones,  the  promenade  is  at  its  liveliest  about 


234 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185*. 


nine  o’clock,  which  is  but  just  after  sundown  ; and  our 

little  R finds  it  difficult  to  go  to  sleep  amid  so 

much  music  as  comes  to  her  ears  from  bassoon,  bagpipe, 
organ,  guitar,  and  now  and  then  a military  band.  One 
feature  of  the  place  is  the  sick  and  infirm  people,  whom 
we  see  dragged  along  in  bath-chairs,  or  dragging  their 
own  limbs  languidly ; or  sitting  on  benches  ; or  meet- 
ing in  the  streets,  and  making  acquaintance  on  the 
strength  of  mutual  maladies,  — pale  men  leaning  on 
their  ruddy  wives  ; cripples,  three  or  four  together  in  a 
ring,  and  planting  their  crutches  in  the  centre.  I don't 
remember  whether  I have  ever  mentioned  among  the 
notabilities  of  Southport  the  Town  Crier,  — a meek- 
looking  old  man,  who  sings  out  hrs  messages  in  a most 
doleful  tone,  as  if  he  took  his  title  in  a literal  sense, 
and  were  really  going  to  cry,  or  crying  in  the  world’s 
behalf ; one  other  stroller,  a foreigner  with  a dog, 
shaggy  round  the  head  and  shoulders,  and  closely 
shaven  behind.  The  poor  little  beast  jumped  through 
hoops,  ran  about  on  two  legs  of  one  side,  danced  on  its 
hind  legs,  or  *on  its  fore  paws,  with  its  hind  ones 
straight  up  in  the  air,  — all  the  time  keeping  a watch 
on  his  master’s  eye,  and  evidently  mindful  of  many  a 
beating. 


June  25th.  — The  war-steamer  Niagara  came  up  the 
Mersey  a few  days  since,  and  day  before  yesterday 
Captain  Hudson  called  at  my  office,  — a somewhat 
meagre,  elderly  gentleman,  of  simple  and  hearty  manners 
and  address,  having  his  purser,  Mr.  Eldredge,  with  him, 
who,  I think,  rather  prides  himself  upon  having  a 
Napoleonic  profile.  The  captain  is  an  old  acquaint- 


LIVERPOOL* 


235 


1857.] 

ance  of  Mrs.  Blodgett,  and  has  come  ashore  princi- 
pally with  a view  to  calling  on  her ; oo,  after  we  had 
left  our  cards  for  the  Mayor,  I showed  these  naval 
gentlemen  the  way  to  her  house.  Mrs.  Blodgett  and 

Miss  W- were  prodigiously  glad  to  see  him  ; and 

they  all  three  began  to  talk  of  old  times  and  old  ac- 
quaintances ; for  when  Mrs.  Blodgett  was  a rich  lady 
at  Gibraltar,  she  used  to  have  the  whole  navy-list  at 
her  table,  — young  midshipmen  and  lieutenants  then 
perhaps,  but  old,  gouty,  paralytic  commodores  now,  if 
still  even  partly  alive.  It  was  arranged  that  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  with  as  many  of  the  ladies  of  her  family  as 
she  chose  to  bring,  should  accompany  me  on  my  official 
visit  to  the  ship  the  next  day  ; and  yesterday  we  went 

accordingly,  — Mrs.  Blodgett,  Miss  W , and  six  or 

seven  American  captains’  wives,  their  husbands  follow- 
ing in  another  boat.  I know  too  little  of  ships  to 
describe  one,  or  even  to  feel  any  great  interest  in  the 
details  of  this  or  of  any  other  ship  ; but  the  nautical 
people  seemed  to  see  much  to  admire.  She  lay  in  the 
Sloyne,  in  the  midst  of  a broad  basin  of  the  Mersey, 
with  a pleasant  landscape  of  green  England,  now  warm 
with  summer  sunshine,  on  either  side,  with  churches 
and  villa  residences,  and  suburban  and  rural  beauty. 
The  officers  of  the  ship  are  gentlemanly  men,  externally 
very  well  mannered,  although  not  polished  and  refined 
to  any  considerable  extent.  At  least,  I have  not  found 
naval  men  so,  in  general ; but  still  it  is  pleasant  to  see 
Americans  who  are  not  stirred  by  such  motives  as 
usually  interest  our  countrymen, — -no  hope  nor  desire 
of  growing  rich,  but  planting  their  claims  to  respec- 
tability on  other  grounds,  and  therefore  acquiring  a 


236 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS 


[185? 


certain  nobleness,  whether  it  be  inherent  in  their  nature 
or  no.  It  always  seems  to  me  they  look  down  upon 
civilians  with  quiet  and  not  ill-natured  scorn,  which  one 
has  the  choice  of  smiling  or  being  provoked  at.  It  is 
not  a true  life  which  they  lead,  but  shallow  and  aimless ; 
and  unsatisfactory  it  must  be  to  the  better  minds  among 
them  ; nor  do  they  appear  to  profit  by  what  would 
seem  the  advantages  presented  to  them  in  their  world- 
wide, though  not  world-deep  experience.  They  get  to 
be  very  clannish  too. 

After  seeing  the  ship,  we  landed,  all  of  us,  ladies  and 
captain,  and  went  to  the  gardens  of  the  Rock  Ferry 
Hotel,  where  J and  I stayed  behind  the  rest. 

TO  SCOTLAND. 

June  2Stk.  — On  the  26th  my  wife,  J , and  I left 

Southport,  taking  the  train  for  Preston,  and  as  we  had 
to  stop  an  hour  or  two  before  starting  for  Carlisle,  I 
walked  up  into  the  town.  The  street  through  which 
most  of  my  walk  lay  was  brick -built,  lively,  bustling, 
and  not  particularly  noteworthy ; but,  turning  a little 
way  down  another  street,  the  town  had  a more  ancient 
aspect.  The  day  was  intensely  hot,  the  sun  lying 
bright  and  broad  as  ever  I remember  it  in  an  American 
city ; so  that  I was  glad  to  get  back  again  to  the  shade 
and  shelter  of  the  station.  The  heat  and  dust,  more- 
over, made  our  journey  to  Carlisle  very  uncomfortable. 
It  was  through  very  pretty,  and  sometimes  picturesque, 
scenery,  being  on  the  confines  of  the  hill-country,  which 
we  could  see  on  our  left,  dim  and  blue ; and  likewise 
we  had  a refreshing  breath  from  the  sea  in  passing 
along  the  verge  of  Morecambe  Bay.  We  reached 


CARLISLE. 


237 


1857.J 

Carlisle  at  about  five  o’clock,  and,  after  taking  tea  at 
the  Bush  Hotel,  set  forth  to  look  at  the  town. 

The  notable  objects  were  a castle  and  a cathedral ; 
and  we  first  found  our  way  to  the  castle,  which  stands 
on  elevated  ground,  on  the  side  of  the  city  towards 
Scotland.  A broad,  well-constructed  path  winds  round 
the  castle  at  the  base  of  the  wall,  on  the  verge  of  a 
steep  descent  to  the  plain  beneath,  through  which  winds 
the  river  Eden.  Along  this  path  we  walked  quite 
round  the  castle,  a circuit  of  perhaps  half  a mile,  — 
pleasant,  being  shaded  by  the  castle’s  height  and  by  the 
foliage  of  trees.  The  walls  have  been  so  much  rebuilt 
and  restored  that  it  is  only  here  and  there  that  we  see 
an  old  buttress,  or  a few  time-worn  stones  intermixed 
with  the  new  facing  with  which  the  aged  substance  is 
overlaid.  The  material  is  red  freestone,  which  seems 
to  be  very  abundant  in  this  part  of  the  country.  We 
found  no  entrance  to  the  castle  till  the  path  had  led  us 
from  the  free  and  airy  country  into  a very  mean  part 
of  the  town,  where  the  wretched  old  houses  thrust 
themselves  between  us  and  the  castle  wall,  and  then, 
passing  through  a narrow  street,  we  walked  up  what 
appeared  like  a by-lane,  and  the  portal  of  the  castle 
was  before  us.  There  was  a sentry-box  just  within  the 
gate,  and  a sentinel  was  on  guard,  for  Carlisle  Castle  is 
a national  fortress,  and  has  usually  been  a depot  for 
arms  and  ammunition.  The  sergeant,  or  corporal  of 
the  guard,  sat  reading  within  the  gateway,  and,  on  my 
request  for  admittance,  he  civilly  appointed  one  of  the 
soldiers  to  conduct  us  to  the  castle.  As  I recollect,  the 
chief  gateway  of  the  castle,  with  the  guard-room  in 
the  thickness  of  the  wall,  is  situated  some  twenty 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


238 


[1857. 


yards  behind  the  first  entrance  where  we  met  the 
sentinel. 

It  was  an  intelligent  young  soldier  who  showed  us 
round  the  castle,  and  very  civil,  as  I always  find  sol- 
diers to  be.  He  had  not  anything  particularly  interest- 
ing to  show,  nor  very  much  to  say  about  it  ; and  what 
he  did  say,  so  far  as  it  referred  to  the  history  of  the 
castle,  was  probably  apocryphal. 

The  castle  has  an  inner  and  outer  ward  on  the 
descent  of  the  hill,  and  included  within  the  circuit  of 
the  exterior  wall.  Having  been  always  occupied  by 
soldiers,  it  has  not  been  permitted  to  assume  the  pictur- 
esque aspect  of  a ruin,  but  the  buildings  of  the  interior 
have  either  been  constantly  repaired,  as  they  required 
it,  or  have  been  taken  down  when  past  repair.  We 
saw  a small  part  of  the  tower  where  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  was  confined  on  her  first  coming  to  England  ; 
these  remains  consist  only  of  a portion  of  a winding 
stone  staircase,  at  which  we  glanced  through  a window. 
The  keep  is  very  large  and  massive,  and,  no  doubt,  old 
in  its  inner  substance.  We  ascended  to  the  castle  walls, 
and  looked  out  over  the  river  towards  the  Scottish 
hills,  which  are  visible  in  the  distance, — the  Scottish 
border  being  not  more  than  eight  or  nine  miles  off. 
Carlisle  Castle  has  stood  many  sieges,  and  witnessed 
many  battles  under  its  walls.  There  are  now,  on  its 
ramparts,  only  some  half  a dozen  old-fashioned  guns, 
which  our  soldier  told  us  had  gone  quite  out  of  use  in 
these  days.  They  were  long  iron  twelve-pounders, 
with  one  or  two  carronades.  The  soldier  was  of  an 
artillery  regiment,  and  wore  the  Crimean  medal.  He 
said  the  garrison  now  here  consists  only  of  about  twenty 


CARLISLE. 


239 


1857.] 

men,  all  of  whom  had  served  in  the  Crimea,  like  him- 
self. They  seem  to  lead  a very  dull  and  monotonous 
life,  as  indeed  it  must  be,  without  object  or  much  hope, 
or  any  great  employment  of  the  present,  like  prisoners, 
as  indeed  they  are.  Our  guide  showed  us  on  the  ram- 
part a place  wLere  the  soldiers  had  been  accustomed 
to  drop  themselves  down  at  night,  hanging  by  their 
hands  from  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  alighting  on  their 
feet  close  beside  the  path  on  the  outside.  The  height 
seemed  at  least  that  of  an  ordinary  house,  but  the  sol- 
dier said  that  nine  times  out  of  ten  the  fall  might  be 
ventured  without  harm  ; and  he  spoke  from  experience, 
having  himself  got  out  of  the  castle  in  this  manner. 
The  place  is  now  boarded  up,  so  as  to  make  egress  dif- 
ficult or  impossible. 

The  castle,  after  all,  was  not  particularly  worth  see- 
ing. The  soldier’s  most  romantic  story  was  of  a daugh- 
ter of  Lord  Scroope,  a former  governor  of  the  castle, 
when  Mary  of  Scotland  was  confined  here.  She  at- 
tempted to  assist  the  Queen  in  escaping,  but  was  shot 
dead  in  the  gateway  by  the  warder ; and  the  soldier 
pointed  out  the  very  spot  where  the  poor  young  lady 
fell  and  died  ; — all  which  would  be  very  interesting  were 
there  a word  of  truth  in  the  story.  But  we  liked  our 
guide  for  his  intelligence,  simplicity,  and  for  the  pleas- 
ure which  he  seemed  to  take,  as  an  episode  of  his  dull 
daily  life,  in  talking  to  strangers.  He  observed  that  the 
castle  walls  were  solid,  and,  indeed,  there  was  breadth 
enough  to  drive  a coach  and  four  along  the  top  ; but  the 
artillery  of  the  Crimea  would  have  shelled  them  into 
ruins  in  a very  few  hours.  When  we  got  back  to  the 
guard-house,  he  took  us  inside,  and  showed  the  disma) 


240 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


and  comfortless  rooms  where  soldiers  are  confined  for 
drunkenness,  and  other  offences  against  military  laws, 
telling  us  that  he  himself  had  been  confined  there,  and 
almost  perished  with  cold.  I should  not  much  wonder 
if  he  were  to  get  into  durance  again,  through  misuse  of 
the  fee  which  I put  into  his  hand  at  parting. 

The  cathedral  is  at  no  great  distance  from  the  castle ; 
and  though  the  streets  are  mean  and  sordid  in  the 
vicinity,  the  close  has  the  antique  repose  and  shadowy 
peace,  at  once  domestic  and  religious,  which  seem 
peculiar  and  universal  in  cathedral  closes.  The 
foundation  of  this  cathedral  church  is  very  ancient,  it 
having  been  the  church  portion  of  an  old  abbey,  the 
refectory  and  other  remains  of  which  are  still  seen 
around  the  close.  But  the  whole  exterior  of  the  build- 
ing, except  here  and  there  a buttress,  and  one  old  patch 
of  gray  stones,  seems  to  have  beei>  renewed  within  a 
very  few  years  with  red  freestone ; and,  really,  I think 
it  is  all  the  more  beautiful  for  being  new,  — the  orna- 
mental parts  being  so  sharply  cut,  and  the  stone,  more- 
over, showing  various  shadings,  which  will  disappear 
when  it  gets  weather-worn.  There  is  a very  large  and 
fine  east  window,  of  recent  construction,  wrought  with 
delicate  stone  tracery.  The  door  of  the  south  transept 
stood  open,  though  barred  by  an  iron  grate.  We 
looked  in,  and  saw  a few  monuments  on  the  wall,  but 
found  nobody  to  give  us  admittance.  The  portal  of 
this  entrance  is  very  lovely  with  wreaths  of  stone  foliage 
and  flowers  round  the  arch,  recently  carved  ; yet  not  so 
recently  but  that  the  swallows  have  given  their  sanction 
to  it,  as  if  it  were  a thousand  years  old,  and  have  built 
their  nests  in  the  deeply  carved  recesses.  While  we  were 


GLASGOW. 


241 


1857.] 

looking,  a little  bird  flew  into  the  small  opening  between 
two  of  these  petrified  flowers,  behind  which  was  his 
nest,  quite  out  of  sight.  After  some  attempts  to  find 
the  verger,  we  went  back  to  the  hotel 

In  the  morning  my  wife  and  J went  back  to  see 

the  interior  of  the  cathedral,  while  I strayed  at  large 
about  the  town,  again  passing  round  the  castle  site,  and 
thence  round  the  city,  where  I found  some  inconsider- 
able portions  of  the  wall  which  once  girt  it  about.  It 
was  market-day  in  Carlisle,  and  the  principal  streets 
were  much  thronged  with  human  life  and  business  on 
that  account;  and  in  as  busy  a street  as  any  stands  a 
marble  statue,  in  robes  of  antique  state,  fitter  for  a niche 
in  Westminster  Abbey  than  for  the  thronged  street  of  a 
town.  It  is  a statue  of  the  Earl  of  Lonsdale,  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant of  Cumberland,  who  died  about  twenty  years  ago. 

[Here  follows  the  record  of  the  visits  to  the  “ Haunts 
of  Burns,1 ” already  published  in  Our  Old  Home.  — Ed.] 

GLASGOW. 

July  ls£.  — Immediately  after  our  arrival  yesterday, 
we  went  out  and  inquired  our  way  to  the  cathedral, 
which  we  reached  through  a good  deal  of  Scotch  dirt, 
and  a rabble  of  Scotch  people  of  all  sexes  and  ages. 
The  women  of  Scotland  have  a faculty  of  looking 
exceedingly  ugly  as  they  grow  old.  The  cathedral 
I have  already  noticed  in  the  record  of  my  former 
visit  to  Scotland.  I did  it  no  justice  then,  nor  shall 
do  it  any  better  justice  now ; but  it  is  a fine  old  church, 
although  it  makes  a colder  and  severer  impression 
than  most  of  the  Gothic  architecture  which  I have  else- 
where seen.  I do  not  know  why  this  should  be  so  $ 

yon.  ji.  11  r 


242 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


for  portions  of  it  are  wonderfully  rich,  and  everywhere 
there  are  arches  opening  beyond  arches,  and  clustered 
pillars  and  groined  roofs,  and  vistas,  lengthening  along 
the  aisles.  The  person  who  shows  it  is  an  elderly  man 
of  jolly  aspect  and  demeanor  ; he  is  enthusiastic  about 
the  edifice,  and  makes  it  the  thought  and  object  of  his 
life  ; and  being  such  a merry  sort  of  man,  always  say- 
ing something  mirthfully,  and  yet,  in  all  his  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions,  having  reference  to  this  solemn 
cathedral,  he  has  the  effect  of  one  of  the  corbels  or 
gargoyles,  — those  ludicrous,  strange  sculptures  which 
the  Gothic  architects  appended  to  their  arches. 

The  upper  portion  of  the  minster,  though  very  stately 
and  beautiful,  is  not  nearly  so  extraordinary  as  the 
crypts.  Here  the  intricacy  of  the  arches,  and  the  pro- 
found system  on  which  they  are  arranged,  is  inconceiv- 
able, even  when  you  see  them,  — a whole  company  of 
arches  uniting  in  one  keystone  ; arches  uniting  to  form 
a glorious  canopy  over  the  shrine  or  tomb  of  a prelate ; 
arches  opening  through  and  beyond  one  another,  which- 
ever way  you  look,  — all  amidst  a shadowy  gloom,  yet 
not  one  detail  wrought  out  the  less  beautifully  and 
delicately  because  it  could  scarcely  be  seen.  The 
wreaths  of  flowers  that  festoon  one  of  the  arches  are  cut 
in  such  relief  that  they  do  but  just  adhere  to  the  stone 
on  which  they  grow.  The  pillars  are  massive,  and  the 
arches  very  low,  the  effect  being  a twilight,  which  at 
first  leads  the  spectator  to  imagine  himself  under- 
ground ; but  by  and  by  I saw  that  the  sunshine  came 
in  through  the  narrow  windows,  though  it  scarcely 
looked  liked  sunshine  then.  For  many  years  these 
crypts  were  used  as  burial-ground,  and  earth  was 


GLASGOW. 


243 


i857„] 

brought  in,  for  the  purpose  of  making  graves ; so  that 
the  noble  columns  were  half  buried,  and  the  beauty  of 
the  architecture  quite  lost  and  forgotten.  Now  the 
dead  men’s  bones  and  the  eartli  that  covered  them 
have  all  been  removed,  leaving  the  original  pavement 
of  the  crypt,  or  a new  one  in  its  stead,  with  only  the 
old  relics  of  saints,  martyrs,  and  heroes  underneath, 
where  they  have  lain  so  long  that  they  have  become  a 

part  of  the  spot I was  quite  chilled  through, 

and  the  old  verger  regretted  that  we  had  not  come  dur- 
ing the  late  hot  weather,  when  the  everlasting  damp 
and  chill  of  the  spot  would  have  made  us  entirely  com- 
fortable. These  crypts  originated  in  the  necessity  of 
keeping  the  floor  of  the  upper  cathedral  on  one  level, 
the  edifice  being  built  on  a declivity,  and  the  height  of 
the  crypt  being  measured  by  the  descent  of  the  site. 

After  writing  the  above,  we  walked  out  and  saw 
something  of  the  newer  portion  of  Glasgow  ; and,  really, 
I am  inclined  to  think  it  the  stateliest  of  cities.  The 
Exchange  and  other  public  buildings,  and  the  shops  in 
Buchanan  Street,  are  very  magnificent;  the  latter,  es- 
pecially, excelling  those  of  London.  There  is,  how- 
ever, a pervading  sternness  and  grimness  resulting 
from  the  dark  gray  granite,  which  is  the  universal 
building  material  both  of  the  old  and  new  edifices. 
Later  in  the  forenoon  we  again  walked  out,  and  went 
along  Argyle  Street,  and  through  the  Trongate  and  the 
Salt-Market.  The  two  latter  were  formerly  the  prin- 
cipal business  streets,  and,  together  with  High  Street, 
the  abode  of  the  rich  merchants  and  other  great  people 
of  the  town.  High  Street,  and,  still  more,  the  Salt- 
Market,  now  swarm  with  the  lower  orders  to  a degree 


244  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

which  I never  witnessed  elsewhere ; so  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  make  one’s  way  among  the  sullen  and  unclean 
crowd,  and  not  at  all  pleasant  to  breathe  in  the  noisome* 
ness  of  the  atmosphere.  The  children  seem  to  have 
been  unwashed  from  birth.  Some  of  the  gray  houses 
appear  to  have  once  been  stately  and  handsome,  and 
have  their  high  gable  ends  notched  at  the  edges,  like  a 
flight  of  stairs.  We  saw  the  Tron  steeple,  and  the 
statue  of  King  William  III.,  and  searched  for  the 

Old  Tolbooth Wandering  up  the  High  Street, 

we  turned  once  more  into  the  quadrangle  of  the  Uni- 
versity, and  mounted  a broad  stone  staircase  which 
ascends  square,  and  with  right-angular  turns  on  one 
corner,  on  the  outside  of  the  edifices.  It  is  very  strik- 
ing in  appearance,  being  ornamented  with  a balustrade, 
on  which  are  large  globes  of  stone,  and  a great  lion 
and  unicorn  curiously  sculptured  on  the  opposite  side. 
While  we  waited  here,  staring  about  us,  a man  ap- 
proached, and  offered  to  show  us  the  interior.  He 
seemed  to  be  in  charge  of  the  College  buildings.  We 
accepted  his  offer,  and  were  led  first  up  this  stone 
staircase,  and  into  a large  and  stately  hall,  panelled 
high  towards  the  ceiling  with  dark  oak,  and  adorned 
with  elaborately  carved  cornices,  and  other  wood-work. 
There  was  a long  reading- table  towards  one  end  of 
the  hall,  on  which  were  laid  pamphlets  and  periodicals  ; 
and  a venerable  old  gentleman,  with  white  head  and 
bowed  shoulders,  sat  there  reading  a newspaper.  This 
was  the  Principal  of  the  University,  and  as  he  looked 
towards  us  graciously,  yet  as  if  expecting  some  ex- 
planation of  our  entrance,  I approached  and  apologized 
for  intruding  on  the  plea  of  our  being  strangers  and 


GLASGOW. 


245 


1857.] 

anxious  to  see  the  College.  He  made  a courteous 
response,  though  in  exceedingly  decayed  and  broken 
accents,  being  now  eighty-six  years  old,  and  gave  us 
free  leave  to  inspect  everything  that  was  to  be  seen. 
This  hall  was  erected  two  years  after  the  Restoration 
of  Charles  II.,  and  has  been  the  scene,  doubtless,  of 
many  ceremonials  and  high  banquetings  since  that 
period  ; and,  among  other  illustrious  personages,  Queen 
Victoria  has  honored  it  with  her  presence.  Thence  wt 
went  into  several  recitation  or  lecture  rooms  in  various 
parts  of  the  buildings  ; but  they  were  all  of  an  extreme 
plainness,  very  unlike  the  rich  old  Gothic  libraries  and 
chapels  and  halls  which  we  saw  in  Oxford.  Indeed, 
the  contrast  between  this  Scotch  severity  and  that 
noble  luxuriance,  and  antique  majesty,  and  rich  and 
sweet  repose  of  Oxford,  is  very  remarkable,  both  within 
the  edifices  and  without.  But  we  saw  one  or  two  curi- 
ous things,  — for  instance,  a chair  of  mahogany,  elabo- 
rately carved  with  the  arms  of  Scotland  and  other 
devices,  and  having  a piece  of  the  kingly  stone  of  Scone 
inlaid  in  its  seat.  This  chair  is  used  by  the  Principal 
on  certain  high  occasions,  and  we  ourselves,  of  course, 
sat  down  in  it.  Qur  guide  assigned  to  it  a date  pre- 
posterously earlier  than  could  have  been  the  true  one, 
judging  either  by  the  character  of  the  carving  or  by 
the  fact  that  mahogany  has  not  been  known  or  used 
much  more  than  a century  and  a half. 

Afterwards  he  led  us  into  the  Divinity  Hall,  where, 
he  said,  there  were  some  old  portraits  of  historic  people, 
and  among  them  an  original  picture  of  Mary,  Queen 
of  Scots.  There  was,  indeed,  a row  of  old  portraits  at 
each  end  of  the  apartment,  — for  instance,  Zachariab 


24  G 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185?. 


Boyd,  who  wrote  the  rhyming  version  of  the  Bible, 
which  is  still  kept,  safe  from  any  critical  eye,  in  the 
library  of  the  University,  to  which  he  presented  this,’ 
besides  other  more  valuable  benefactions,  — for  which 
they  have  placed  his  bust  in  a niche  in  the  principal 
quadrangle  ; also,  John  Knox  makes  one  of  the  row  of 
portraits ; and  a dozen  or  two  more  of  Scotch  worthies, 
all  very  dark  and  dingy.  As  to  the  picture  of  Mary 
of  Scotland,  it  proved  to  be  not  hers  at  all,  but  a picture 
of  Queen  Mary,  the  consort  of  William  III.,  whose  por- 
trait, together  with  that  of  her  sister,  Queen  Anne,  hangs 
in  the  same  row.  We  told  our  guide  this,  but  he  seemed 
unwilling  to  accept  it  as  a fact.  There  is  a museum 
belonging  to  the  University ; but  this,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  could  not  be  shown  to  us  just  at  this  time, 
and  there  was  little  else  to  show.  We  just  looked  at 
the  gardens,  but,  though  of  large  extent,  they  are  so 
meagre  and  bare  — so  unlike  that  lovely  shade  of  the 
Oxford  gardens  — that  we  did  not  care  to  make  fur- 
ther acquaintance  with  them. 

Then  we  went  back  to  our  hotel,  and  if  there  were 
not  already  more  than  enough  of  description,  both  past 
and  to  come,  I should  describe  George’s  Square,  on 
one  side  of  which  the  hotel  is  situated.  A tall  column 
rises  in  the  grassy  centre  of  it,  lifting  far  into  the  upper 
air  a fine  statue  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  which  we  saw  to 
great  advantage  last  night,  relieved  against  the  sunset 
sky  ; and  there  are  statues  of  Sir  John  Moore,  a native 
of  Glasgow,  and  of  James  Watt,  at  corners  of  the 
square.  Glasgow  is  certainly  a noble  city. 

After  lunch  we  embarked  on  board  the  steamer,  and 
came  up  the  Clyde.  Ben  Lomond,  and  other  Highland 


18 57.  J 


DUMBARTON. 


247 


hills,  soon  appeared  on  the  horizon ; we  passed  Douglas 
Castle,  on  a point  of  land  projecting  into  the  river ; and, 
passing  under  the  precipitous  height  of  Dumbarton 
Castle,  which  we  had  long  before  seen,  came  to  our 
voyage’s  end  at  this  village,  where  we  have  put  up  at 
the  Elephant  Hotel. 

. July  2 d.  — After  tea,  rot  far  from  seven  o’clock,  it 
being  a beautiful  decline  of  day,  we  set  out  to  walk  to 

DUMBARTON  CASTLE,  ; 

which  stands  apart  from  the  town,  and  is  said  to  have 
been  once  surrounded  by  the  waters  of  the  Clyde. 
The  rocky  height  on  which  the  castle  stands  is  a very 
striking  object,  bulging  up  out  of  the  Clyde,  with  abrupt 
decision,  to  the  elevation  of  five  hundred  feet.  The 
summit  is  cloven  in  twain,  the  cleft  reaching  nearly  to 
the  bottom  on  the  side  towards  the  river,  but  not  com- 
ing down  so  deeply  on  the  landward  side.  It  is  pre- 
cipitous all  around  ; and  wherever  the  steepness  admits, 
or  does  not  make  assault  impossible,  there  are  gray 
ramparts  round  the  hill,  with  cannon  threatening  the 
lower  world.  Our  path  led  us  beneath  one  of  these 
precipices  several  hundred  feet  sheer  down,  and  with 
an  ivied  fragment  of  ruined  wall  at  the  top.  A soldier 
who  sat  by  the  wayside  told  us  that  this  was  called  the 
“ Lover’s  Leap,”  because  a young  girl,  in  some  love- 
exigency,  had  once  jumped  down  from  it,  and  came 
safely  to  the  bottom.  We  reached  the  castle  gate, 
which  is  near  the  shore  of  the  Clyde,  and  there  found 
another  artillery  soldier,  who  guided  us  through  the 
fortress.  He  said  that  there  were  now  but  about  a 
dozen  soldiers  stationed  in  the  castle,  and  no  officer. 


248  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

The  lowest  battery  looks  towards  the  river,  and 
consists  of  a few  twelve-pound  cannon  ; but  probably 
the  chief  danger  of  attack  was  from  the  land,  and  the 
chief  pains  have  been  taken  to  render  the  castle  defen- 
sible in  that  quarter.  There  are  flights  of  stone  stairs 
ascending  up  through  the  natural  avenue,  in  the  cleft 
of  the  double-summited  rock ; and  about  midway 
there  is  an  arched  doorway,  beneath  which  there  used' 
to  be  a portcullis,  — so  that  if  an  enemy  had  won  the 
lower  part  of  the  fortress,  the  upper  portion  was  still 
inaccessible.  Where  the  cleft  of  the  rock  widens  into 
a gorge,  there  are  several  buildings,  old,  but  not  apper- 
taining to  the  ancient  castle,  which  has  almost  entirely 
disappeared.  We  ascended  both  summits,  and,  reach- 
ing the  loftiest  point  on  the  right,  stood  upon  the 
foundation  of  a tower  that  dates  back  to  the  fifth 
century,  whence  we  had  a glorious  prospect  of  High- 
lands and  Lowlands  ; the  chief  object  being  Ben  Lo- 
mond, with  its  great  dome,  among  a hundred  other  blue 
and  misty  hills,  with  the  sun  going  down  over  them  ; 
and,  in  another  direction,  the  Clyde,  winding  far  down- 
ward through  the  plain,  with  the  headland  of  Dumbeck 
close  at  hand,  and  Douglas  Castle  at  no  great  distance. 
On  the  ramparts  beneath  us  the  soldier  pointed  out  the 
spot  where  Wallace  scaled  the  wall,  climbing  an  ap- 
parently inaccessible  precipice,  and  taking  the  castle 
The  principal  parts  of  the  ancient  castle  appear  to  have 
been  on  the  other  and  lower  summit  of  the  hill,  and 
thither  we  now  went,  and  traced  the  outline  of  its  wall, 
although  none  of  it  is  now  remaining.  Here  is  the 
magazine,  still  containing  some  powder,  and  here  is  a 
battery  of  eighteen-pound  guns,  with  pyramids  of  balls, 


DUMBARTON. 


249 


1857.] 

all  in  readiness  against  an  assault ; which,  however, 
hardly  any  turn  of  human  affairs  can  hereafter  bring 
about.  The  appearance  of  a fortress  is  kept  up  merely 
for  ceremony’s  sake  ; and  these  cannon  have  grown 
antiquated.  Moreover,  as  the  soldier  told  us,  they  are 
seldom  or  never  fired,  even  for  purposes  of  rejoicing  or 
salute,  because  their  thunder  produces  the  singular 
effect  of  depriving  the  garrison  of  water.  There  is  a 
large  tank,  and  the  concussion  causes  the  rifts  of  the 
stone  to  open,  and  thus  lets  the  water  out.  Above  this 
battery,  and  elsewhere  about  the  fortress,  there  are 
warders’  turrets  of  stone,  resembling  great  pepper-boxes. 
When  Dr.  Johnson  visited  the  castle,  he  introduced 
his  bulky  person  into  one  of  these  narrow  receptacles, 
and  found  it  difficult  to  get  out  again.  A gentleman 
who  accompanied  him  was  just  stepping  forward  to  offer 
his  assistance,  but  Boswell  whispered  him  to  take  no 
notice,  lest  Johnson  should  be  offended ; so  they  left 
him  to  get  out  as  he  could.  He  did  finally  extricate 
himself,  else  we  might  have  seen  his  skeleton  in  the 
turret.  Boswell  does  not  tell  this  story,  which  seems 
to  have  been  handed  down  by  local  tradition. 

The  less  abrupt  declivities  of  the  rock  are  covered 
with  grass,  and  afford  food  for  a few  sheep,  who  scam- 
per about  the  heights,  and  seem  to  have  attained  the 
dexterity  of  goats  in  clambering.  I never  knew  a 
purer  air  than  this  seems  to  be,  nor  a lovelier  golden 
sunset. 

Descending  into  the  gorge  again,  we  went  into  the 
armory,  which  is  in  one  of  the  buildings  occupying  the 
space  between  the  two  hill-tops.  It  formerly  contained 
a large  collection  of  arms  ; but  these  have  been  re 

11  * 


250  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

moved  to  the  Tower  of  London,  and  there  are  now 
only  some  tattered  banners,  of  which  I do  not  know 
the  history,  and  some  festoons  of  pistols,  and  grenades, 
shells,  and  grape  and  canister  shot,  kept  merely  as 
curiosities ; and,  far  more  interesting  than  the  .above, 
a few  battle-axes,  daggers,  and  spear-heads  from  the 
held  of  Bannockburn  ; and,  more  interesting  still,  the 
sword  of  William  Wallace.  It  is  a formidable-looking 
weapon,  made  for  being  swayed  with  both  hands,  and, 
with  its  hilt  on  the  floor,  reached  about  to  my  chin; 
but  the  young  girl  who  showed  us  the  armory  said  that 
about  nine  inches  had  been  broken  off  the  point.  The 
blade  was  not  massive,  but  somewhat  thin,  compared 
with  its  great  length  ; and  I found  that  I could  brandish 
it,  using  both  hands,  with  perfect  ease.  It  is  two- 
edged,  without  any  gaps,  and  is  quite  brown  and  lustre- 
less with  old  rust,  from  point  to  hilt. 

' These  were  all  the  memorables  of  our  visit  to  Dum- 
barton Castle,  which  is  a most  interesting  spot,  and 
connected  with  a long  series  of  historical  events.  It 
was  first  besieged  by  the  Danes,  and  had  a prominent 
share  in  all  the  warfare  of.  Scotland,  so  long  as  the  old 
warlike  times  and  - manners  lasted.  Our  soldier  was 
very  intelligent  and  courteous,  but,  as  usual  with  these 
guides,  was  somewhat  apocryphal  in  his  narrative ; 
telling  us  that  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  confined  here 
before  being  taken  to  England,  and  that  the  cells  in 
which  she  then  lived  are  still  extant,  under  one  of  the 
ramparts.  The  fact  is,  she  was  brought  here  when  a 
child  of  six  years  old,  before  going  to  France,  and 
doubtless  scrambled  up  and  down  these  heights  as  freely 
and  merrily  as  the  sheep  we  saw. 


DUMBARTON. 


251 


1857.] 

We  now  returned  to  our  hotel,  a very  nice  one,  and 
found  the  street  of  Dumbarton  all  alive  in  the  summer- 
evening  with  the  sports  of  children  and  the  gossip  of 
grown  people.  There  was  almost  no  night,  for  at 
twelve  o’clock  there  was  still  a golden  daylight,  and 
Yesterday,  before  it  died,  must  have  met  the  Morrow. 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  fortress  there  is  a large 
sun-dial  of  stone,  which  was  made  by  a French  officer 
imprisoned  here  during  the  Peninsular  war.  It  still 
numbers  faithfully  the  hours  that  are  sunny,  and  it  is 
a lasting  memorial  of  him,  in  the  stronghold  of  his 
enemies. 

INVERANNAN. 

Evening . — After  breakfast  at  Dumbarton,  I went 
out  to  look  at  the  town,  which  is  of  considerable  size, 
and  possesses  both  commerce  and  manufactures.  There 
was  a screw-steamship  at  the  pier,  and  many  sailor- 
looking people  were  seen  about  the  streets.  There  are 
very  few  old  houses,  though  still  the  town  retains  an 
air  of  antiquity  which  one  does  not  well  see  how  to 
account  for,  when  everywhere  there  is  a modern  front, 
and  all  the  characteristics  of  a street  built  to-day. 
Turning  from  the  main  thoroughfare  I crossed  a 
bridge  over  the  Clyde,  and  gained  from  it  the  best 
view  of  the  cloven  crag  of  Dumbarton  Castle  that  I 
had  yet  found.  The  two  summits  are  wider  apart, 
more  fully  relieved  from  each  other,  than  when  seen 
from  other  points ; and  the  highest  ascends  into  a per- 
fect pyramid,  the  lower  one  being  obtusely  rounded. 
There  seem  to  be  iron-works,  or  some  kind  of  manufac- 
tory, on  the  farther  side  of  the  bridge  ; and  I noticed  a 
quaint,  chateau-like  mansion,  with  hanging  turrets  stand- 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


252 


[1857. 


in g apart  from  the  street,  probably  built  by  some  person 
enriched  by  business. 

We  left  Dumbarton  at  noon,  taking  the  rail  to  Bab 
loch,  and  the  steamer  to  the  head  of  Loch  Lomond. 

Wild  mountain  scenery  is  not  very  good  to  describe^ 
nor  do  I think  any  distinct  impressions  are  ever  con- 
veyed by  such  attempts ; so  I mean  to  be  brief  in  what 
I saw  about  this  part  of  our  tour,  especially  as  I sus- 
pect that  I have  said  whatever  I knew  how  to  say  in 
the  record  of  my  former  visit  to  the  Highlands.  As  for 
Loch  Lomond,  it  lies  amidst  very  striking  scenery,  be- 
ing poured  in  among  the  gorges  of  steep  and  lofty  moun- 
tains, which  nowhere  stand  aside  to  give  it  room,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  do  their  best  to  shut  it  in.  It  is  every- 
where narrow,  compared  with  its  length  of  thirty  miles  ; 
but  it  is  the  beauty  of  a lake  to  be  of  no  greater  width 
than  to  allow  of  the  scenery  of  one  of  its  shores  being 
perfectly  enjoyed  from  the  other.  The  scenery  of  the 
Highlands,  so  far  as  I have  seen  it,  cannot  properly  be 
called  rich,  but  stern  and  impressive,  with  very  hard 
outlines,  which  are  unsoftened,  mostly,  by  any  foliage, 
though  at  this  season  they  are  green  to  their  summits. 
They  have  hardly  flesh  enough  to  cover  their  bones,  — 
hardly  earth  enough  to  lie  over  their  rocky  substance,  — 
as  may  be  seen  by  the  minute  variety,  — the  notched 
and  jagged  appearance  of  the  profile  of  their  sides  and 
tops:  this  being  caused  by  the  scarcely  covered  rocks 
wherewith  these  great  hills  are  heaped  together. 

Our  little  steamer  stopped  at  half  a dozen  places  on 
its  voyage  up  the  lake,  most  of  them  being  stations  where 
hotels  have  been  established.  Morally,  the  Highlands 
must  have  been  more  completely  sophisticated  by  the  in- 


1857.] 


UP  LOCH  LOMOND. 


. 253 


vention  of  railways  and  steamboats  than  almost  any  other 
part  of  the  world  ; but  physically  it  can  have  wrought 
no  great  change.  These  mountains,  in  their  general  as- 
pect, must  be  very  much  the  same  as  they  were  thou- 
sands of  years  ago  ; for  their  sides  never  were  capable 
of  cultivation,  nor  even  with  such  a soil  and  so  bleak 
an  atmosphere  could  they  have  been  much  more  richly 
wooded  than  we  see  them  now.  They  seem  to  me  to 
be  among  the  unchangeable  things  of  Nature,  like  the 
sea  and  sky ; but  there  is  no  saying  what  use  human 
ingenuity  may  hereafter  put  them  to.  At  all  events,  I 
have  no  doubt  in  the  world  that  they  will  go  out  of  fash- 
ion in  due  time ; for  the  taste  for  mountains  and  wild 
scenery  is,  with  most  people,  an  acquired  taste,  and  it 
was  easy  to  see  to-day  that  nine  people  in  ten  care 
nothing  about  them.  One  group  of  gentlemen  and  la- 
dies — at  least,  men  and  women  — spent  the  whole  time 
in  listening  to  a trial  for  murder,  which  was  read  aloud 
by  one  of  their  number  from  a newspaper.  I rather 
imagine  that  a taste  for  trim  gardens  is  the  most  natural 
and  universal  taste  as  regards  landscape.  But  perhaps 
it  is  necessary  for  the  health  of  the  human  mind  and 
heart  that  there  should  be  a possibility  of  taking  refuge 
in  what  is  wild  and  uncontaminated  by  any  meddling 
of  man’s  hand,  and  so  it  has  been  ordained  that  science 
shall  never  alter  the  aspect  of  the  sky,  whether  stern, 
angry,  or  benefi cent,  — nor  of  the  awful  sea,  either  in  calm 
or  tempest,  — nor  of  these  rude  Highlands.  But  they  will 
go  out  of  general  fashion,  as  I have  said,  and  perhaps 
the  next  fashionable  taste  will  be  for  cloud  land,  — that 
is,  looking  skyward,  and  observing  the  wonderful  vari- 
ety of  scenery,  that  now  constantly  passes  unnoticed, 
among  the  clouds. 


254  . 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


At  the  head  of  the  lake,  we  found  that  there  was  only 
a horse-cart  to  convey  our  luggage  to  the  hotel  at  In- 
verannan,  and  that  we  ourselves  must  walk,  the  dis- 
tance being  two  miles.  It  had  sprinkled  occasionally 
during  our  voyage,  but  was  now  sunshiny,  and  not  ex- 
cessively warm  ; so  we  set  forth  contentedly  enough, 
and  had  an  agreeable  walk  along  an  almost  perfectly 
level  road;  for  it  is  one  of  the  beauties  of  these  hills, 
that  they  descend  abruptly  down,  instead  of  undulating 
away  forever.  There  were  lofty  heights  on  each  side 
of  us,  but  not  so  lofty  as  to  have  won  a distinctive 
name ; and  adown  their  sides  we  could  see  the  rocky 
pathways  of  cascades,  which,  at  this  season,  are  either 
quite  dry,  or  mere  trickles  of  a rill.  The  hills  and  val- 
leys abound  in  streams,  sparkling  through  pebbly 
beds,  and  forming  here  and  there  a dark  pool ; and  they 
would  be  populous  with  trout  if  all  England,  with  one 
fell  purpose,  did  not  come  hither  to  fish  them.  A fish- 
erman must  find  it  difficult  to  gratify  his  propensities 
in  these  days  ; for  even  the  lakes  and  streams  in  Nor- 
way are  now  preserved.  J , by  the  way,  threatens 

ominously  to  be  a fisherman.  He  rode  the  latter  por- 
tion of  the  way  to  the  hotel  on  the  luggage-cart ; and 
when  we  arrived,  we  found  that  he  had  already  gone 
off  to  catch  fish,  or  to  attempt  it  (for  there  is  as  much 
chance  of  his  catching  a whale  as  a trout),  in  a moun- 
tain stream  near  the  house.  I went  in  search  of  him, 
but  without  success,  and  was  somewhat  startled  at  the 
depth  and  blackness  of  some  of  the  pools  into  which  the 
stream  settled  itself  and  slept.  Finally,  he  came  in 
while  we  were  at  dinner.  We  afterwards  walked  out 
with  him,  to  let  him  play  at  fishing  again,  and  discovered 


INVERSNAID. 


255 


1867.J 

an  the  bank  of  the  stream  a wonderful  oak,  with  as 
many  as  a dozen  boles  springing  either  from  close  to 
the  ground  or  within  a foot  or  two  of  it,  and  looking 
like  twelve  separate  trees,  at  least,  instead  of  one. 

INVERSNAID. 

July  3 d.  — Last  night  seemed  to  close  in  clear, 
and  even  at  midnight  it  was  still  light  enough  to 
read;  but  this  morning  rose  on  us  misty  and  chill, 
with  spattering  showers  of  rain.  Clouds  momentarily 
settled  and  shifted  on  the  hill-tops,  shutting  us  in  even 
more  completely  than  these  steep  and  rugged  green 
walls  would  be  sure  to  do,  even  in  the  clearest  weather. 
Often  these  clouds  came  down  and  enveloped  us  in  a 
drizzle,  or  rather  a shower,  of  such  minute  drops  that 
they  had  not  weight  enough  to  fall.  This,  I suppose, 
was  a genuine  Scotch  mist ; and  as  such  it  is  well 
enough  to  have  experienced  it,  though  I would  willingly 
never  see  it  again.  Such  being  the  state  of  the  weath- 
er, my  wife  did  not  go  out  at  all,  but  I strolled  about  the 
premises,  in  the  intervals  of  rain-drops,  gazing  up  at  the 
hillsides,  and  recognizing  that  there  is  a vast  variety  of 
shape,  of  light  and  shadow,  and  incidental  circumstance, 
even  in  what  looks  so  monotonous  at  first  as  the  green 
slope  of  a hill.  The  little  rills  that  come  down  from 
the  summits  were  rather  more  distinguishable  than 
yesterday,  having  been  refreshed  by  the  night’s  rain  ; 
but  still  they  were  very  much  out  of  proportion  with 
the  wide  pathways  of  bare  rock  adown  which  they  ran. 
These  little  rivulets,  no  doubt,  often  lead  through  the 
wildest  scenery  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  Highlands, 
or  anywhere  else,  and  to  the  formation  and  wildness  of 


256  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857, 

which  they  have  greatly  contributed  by  sawing  away 
for  countless  ages,  and  thus  deepening  the  ravines. 

I suspect  the  American  clouds  are  more  picturesque 
than  those  of  Great  Britain,  whatever  our  mountains 
may  be ; at  least,  I remember  the  Berkshire  hills  look- 
ing grander,  under  the  influence  of  mist  and  cloud,  than 
the  Highlands  did  to-day.  Our  clouds  seem  to  be 
denser  and  heavier,  and  more  decided,  and  form  greater 
contrasts  of  light  and  shade.  I have  remarked  in  Eng- 
land that  the  cloudy  firmament,  even  on  a day  of 
settled  rain,  always  appears  thinner  than  those  I had 
been  accustomed  to  at  home,  so  as  to  deceive  me  with 
constant  expectations  of  better  weather.  It  has  been 
the  same  to-day.  Whenever  I looked  upward,  I thought 
it  might  be  going  to  clear  up  ; but,  instead  of  that, 
it  began  to  rain  more  in  earnest  after  midday,  and  at 
half  past  two  we  left  Inverannan  in  a smart  shower. 
At  the  head  of  the  lake,  we  took  the  steamer,  with  the 
rain  pouring  more  heavily  than  ever,  and  landed  at  In- 
versnaid  under  the  same  dismal  auspices.  We  left  a 
very  good  hotel  behind  us,  and  have  come  to  another 
that  seems  also  good.  We  are  more  picturesquely  situ- 
ated at  this  spot  than  at  Inverannan,  our  hotel  being 
within  a short  distance  of  the  lake  shore,  with  a glen 
just  across  the  water,  which  will  doubtless  be  worth 
looking  at  when  the  mist  permits  us  to  see  it.  A good 
many  tourists  were  standing  about  the  door  when  we 
arrived,  and  looked  at  us  with  the  curiosity  of  idle  and 
weather-bound  people.  The  lake  is  here  narrow,  but  a 
hundred  fathoms  deep ; so  that  a great  part  of  the 
height  of  the  mountains  which  beset  it  round  is  hidden 
beneath  its  surface. 


1857.] 


INVERSNAID. 


257 


July  4th.  — This  morning  opened  still  misty,  but 
with  a more  hopeful  promise  than  yesterday,  and  when 
I went  out,  after  breakfast,  there  were  gleams  of  sun- 
shine here  and  there  on  the  hillsides,  falling,  one  did 
not  exactly  see  how,  through  the  volumes  of  cloud. 
Close  beside  the  hotel  of  Inversnaid  is  the  waterfall ; 
all  night,  my  room  being  on  that  side  of  the  house,  I 
had  heard  its  voice,  and  now  I ascended  beside  it  to  a 
point  where  it  is  crossed  by  a wooden  bridge.  There 
is  thence  a view,  upward  and  downward,  of  the  most 
striking  descents  of  the  river,  as  I believe  they  call  it, 
though  it  is  but  a mountain-stream,  which  tumbles  down 
an  irregular  and  broken  staircase  in  its  headlong  haste 
to  reach  the  lake.  It  is  very  picturesque,  however, 
with  its  ribbons  of  white  foam  over  the  precipitous 
steps,  and  its  deep  black  pools,  overhung  by  black 
rocks,  which  reverberate  the  rumble  of  the  falling  water. 
J and  I ascended  a little  distance  along  the  cas- 

cade, and  then  turned  aside ; he  going  up  the  hill,  and  I 
taking  a path  along  its  side  which  gave  me  a view  across 
the  lake.  I rather  think  this  particular  stretch  of  Loch 
Lomond,  in  front  of  Inversnaid,  is  the  most  beautiful 
lake  and  mountain  view  that  I have  ever  seen.  It  is 
so  shut  in  that  you  can  see  nothing  beyond,  nor  would 
suspect  anything  more  to  exist  than  this  watery  vale 
among  the  hills ; except  that,  directly  opposite,  there  is 
the  beautiful  glen  of  Inveruglass,  which  winds  away 
among  the  feet  of  Ben  Crook,  Ben  Ein,  Ben  Vain  and 
Ben  Voirlich,  standing  mist-in  wreathed  together.  The 
mists,  this  morning,  had  a very  soft  and  beautiful  effect, 
and  made  the  mountains  tenderer  than  I have  hitherto 
felt  them  to  be ; and  they  lingered  about  their  heads 

Q 


258 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


like  morning-dreams,  flitting  and  retiring,  and  letting  the 
sunshine  in,  and  snatching  it  away  again.  My  wife 
came  up,  and  we  enjoyed  it  together,  till  the  steamer 
came  smoking  its  pipe  along  the  loch,  stopped  to 
land  some  passengers,  and  steamed  away  again.  While 
we  stood  there,  a Highlander  passed  by  us,  with  a very 
dark  tartan,  and  bare  shanks,  most  enormously  calved. 
I presume  he  wears  the  dress  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
displaying  those  stalwart  legs  ; for  he  proves  to  be  no 
genuine  Gael,  but  a manufacturer,  who  has  a shooting- 
box,  or  a share  in  one,  on  the  hill  above  the  hotel. 

We  now  engaged  a boat,  and  were  rowed  to  Rob 
Roy’s  cave,  which  is  perhaps  half  a mile  distant  up  the 
lake.  The  shores  look  much  more  striking  from  a row- 
boat, creeping  along  near  the  margin,  than  from  a 
steamer  in  the  middle  of  the  loch  ; and  the  ridge,  be- 
neath which  Rob’s  cave  lies,  is  precipitous  with  gray 
rocks,  and  clothed,  too,  with  thick  foliage.  Over  the 
cave  itself  there  is  a huge  ledge  of  rock,  from  which 
immense  fragments  have  tumbled  down,  ages  and  ages 
ago,  and  fallen  together  in  such  a way  as  to  leave  a 
large  irregular  crevice  in  Rob  Roy’s  cave.  We 
scrambled  up  to  its  mouth  by  some  natural  stairs,  and 
scrambled  down  into  its  depths  by  the  aid  of  a ladder. 
I suppose  I have  already  described  this  hole  in  the 
record  of  my  former  visit.  Certainly,  Rob  Roy,  and 
Robert  Bruce,  who  is  said  to  have  inhabited  it  before 
him,  were  not  to  be  envied  their  accommodations ; 
yet  these  were  not  so  very  intolerable  when  compared 
with  a Highland  cabin,  or  with  cottages  such  as  Burns 
lived  in. 

J — had  chosen  to  remain  to  fish.  On  our  return 


LOCH  KATRINE. 


259 


1857.] 

from  the  cave,  we  found  that  he  had  caught  nothing  ; 
but  just  as  we  stepped  into  the  boat,  a fish  drew  his 
float  far  under  water,  and  J — tugging  at  one  end  of 
the  line,  and  the  fish  at  the  other,  the  latter  escaped, 

with  the  hook  in  his  mouth.  J avers  that  he  saw 

the  fish,  and  gives  its  measurement  as  about  eighteen 
inches ; but  the  fishes  that  escape  us  are  always  of 
tremendous  size.  The  boatman  thought,  however,  that 
it  might  have  been  a pike. 

THE  TROSACHS’  HOTEL. ARD CHE ANOCHRO CHAN* 

July  6th.  — ....  Not  being  able  to  get  a post- 
chaise,  we  took  places  in  the  omnibus  for  the  head  of 
Loch  Katrine.  Going  up  to  pay  a parting  visit  to  the 
waterfall  before  starting,  I met  with  Miss  C- — — , as  she 
lately  was,  who  is  now  on  her  wedding  tour  as  Mrs. 

B . She  was  painting  the  falls  in  oil,  with  good 

prospect  of  a successful  picture.  She  came  down  to  the 

hotel  to  see  my  wife,  and  soon  afterwards  J and  I 

set  out  to  ascend  the  steep  hill  that  comes  down  upon 
the  lake  of  Inversnaid,  leaving  the  omnibus  to  follow  at 
leisure.  The  Highlander  who  took  us  to  Rob  Roy’s 
cave  had  foreboded  rain,  fronj  the  way  in  which  the 
white  clouds  hung  about  the  mountain-tops  ; nor  was 
his  augury  at  fault,  for  just  at  three  o’clock,  the  time  he 
foretold,  there  were  a few  rain-drops,  and  a more  der 
fined  shower  during  the  afternoon,  while  we  were  on 
Loch  Katrine.  The  few  drops,  however,  did  not  dis- 
turb us  ; and,  reaching  the  top  of  the  hill,  J and  I 

turned  aside  to  examine  the  old  stone  fortress  which 
was  erected  in  this  mountain  pass  to  bridle  the  High- 
landers after  the  rebellion  of  1 7 45.  It  stands  in  a very 


260  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

desolate  and  dismal  situation,  at  the  foot  of  long  bare 
slopes,  on  mossy  ground,  in  the  midst  of  a disheartening 
loneliness,  only  picturesque  because  it  is  so  exceedingly 
ungenial  and  unlovely.  The  chief  interest  of  this  spot 
is  the  fact  that  Wolfe,  in  his  earlier  military  career, 
was  stationed  here.  The  fortress  was  a very  plain 
structure,  built  of  rough  stones,  in  the  form  of  a par- 
allelogram, one  side  of  which  I paced,  and  found  it  be- 
tween thirty  and  forty  of  my  paces  long.  The  two  ends 
have  fallen  down  ; the  two  sides  that  remain  are  about 
twenty  feet  high,  and  have  little  port-holes  for  defence, 
but  no  openings  of  the  size  of  windows.  The  roof  is 
gone,  and  the  interior  space  overgrown  with  grass.  Two 
little  girls  were  at  play  in  one  corner,  and,  going  round 
to  the  rear  of  the  ruin,  I saw  that  a small  Highland 
cabin  had  been  built  against  the  wall.  ' A dog  sat  in  the 
doorway,  and  gave  notice  of  my  approach,  and  'some 
hens  kept  up  their  peculiarly  domestic  converse  about 
the  door. 

We  kept  on  our  way,  often  looking  back  towards 
Loch  Lomond,  and  wondering  at  the  grandeur  which 
Ben  Vain  and  Ben  Voirlieh,  and  the  rest  of  the  Ben 
fraternity,  had  suddenly  put  on.  The  mists  which  had 
hung  about  them  all  day  had  now  descended  lower, 
and  lay  among  the  depths  and  gorges  of  the  hills,  where 
also  the  sun  shone  softly  down  among  them,  and  filled 
those  deep  mountain  laps,  as  it  were,  with  a dimmer 
sunshine.  Ben  Yain,  too,  and  his  brethren,  had  a veil 
of  mist  all  about  them,  which  seemed  to  render  them 
really  transparent ; and  they  had  unaccountably  grown 
higher,  vastly  higher,  than  when  we  viewed  them  from 
the  shore  of  the  lake.  It  was  as  if  we  were  looking  at 


LOCH  KATRINE. 


261 


1857.] 

them  through  the  medium  of  a poet’s  imagination.  All 
along  the  road,  since  we  left  Inversnaid,  there  had  been 
the  stream,  which  there  formed  the  waterfall,  and 
which  here  was  brawling  down  little  declivities,  and 
sleeping  in  black  pools,  which  we  disturbed  by  flinging 
stones  into  them  from  the  roadside.  We  passed  a 
drunken  old  gentleman,  who  civilly  bade  me  “good 
day  ” ; and  a man  and  woman  at  work  in  a field,  the 
former  of  whom  shouted  to  inquire  the  hour ; and  we 
had  come  in  sight  of  little  Loch  Arklet  before  the  om- 
nibus came  up  with  us.  It  was  about  five  o’clock  when 
we  reached  the  head  of 

LOCH  KATRINE, 

and  went  on  board  the  steamer  Rob  Roy  ; and,  setting 
forth  on  our  voyage,  a Highland  piper  made  music  for 
us  the  better  part  of  the  way. 

We  did  not  see  Loch  Katrine,  perhaps,  under  its 
best  presentment ; for  the  surface  was  roughened  with 
a little  wind,  and  darkened  even  to  inky  blackness  by 
the  clouds  that  overhung  it.  The  hill-tops,  too,  wore  a 
very  dark  frown.  A lake  of  this  size  cannot  be  terrific, 
and  is  therefore  seen  to  best  advantage  when  it  is  beau- 
tiful. The  scenery  of  its  shores  is  not  altogether  so  rich 
and  lovely  as  I had  preimagined  ; not  equal,  indeed,  to 
the  best  parts  of  Loch  Lomond,  — the  hills  being  lower 
and  of  a more  ridgy  shape,  and  exceedingly  bare,  at 
least  towards  the  lower  end.  But  they  turn  the  lake 
aside  with  headland  after  headland,  and  shut  it  in 
closely,  and  open  one  vista  after  another,  so  that  the 
eye  is  never  weary,  and,  least  of  all,  as,  we  approach  the 
end.  The  length  of  the  loch  is  ten  miles,  and  at  its 


262 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857 


termination  it  meets  the  pass  of  the  Trosachs,  between 
Ben  An  and  Ben  Venue,  which  are  the  rudest  and 
shaggiest  of  hills.  The  steamer  passes  Ellen’s  Isle,  but 
to  the  right,  which  is  the  side  opposite  to  that  on  which 
Fitz-James  must  be  supposed  to  have  approached  it.  It 
is  a very  small  island,  situated  where  the  loch  narrows, 
and  is  perhaps  less  than  a quarter  of  a mile  distant  from 
either  shore.  It  looks  like  a lump  of  rock,  with  just 
soil  enough  to  support  a crowd  of  dwarf  oaks,  birches, 
and  firs,  which  do  not  grow  so  high  as  to  be  shadowy 
trees.  Our  voyage  being  over,  we  landed,  and  found 
two  omnibuses,  one  of  which  took  us  through  the  fa- 
mous pass  of  the  Trosachs,  a distance  of  a mile  and  a 
quarter,  to  a hotel,  erected  in  castellated  guise  by  Lord 
Willoughby  d’Eresby.  We  were  put  into  a parlor 
within  one  of  the  round  towers,  panelled  all  round,  and 
with  four  narrow  windows,  opening  through  deep  em- 
brasures. No  play-castle  was  ever  more  like  the 
reality,  and  it  is  a very  good  hotel,  like  all  that  we 
have  had  experience  of  in  the  Highlands.  After  tea  we 
walked  out,  and  visited  a little  kirk  that  stands  near 
the  shore  of  Loch  Achray,  at  a good  point  of  view  for 
seeing  the  hills  round  about. 

This  morning  opened  cloudily ; but  after  breakfast  I 
set  out  alone,  and  walked  through  the  pass  of  the 
Trosachs,  and  thence  by  a path  along  the  right  shore 
of  the  lake.  It  is  a very  picturesque  and  beautiful 
path,  following  the  windings  of  the  lake,  — now  along 
the  beach,  now  over  an  impending  bank,  until  it  comes 
opposite  to  Ellen’s  Isle,  which  on  this  side  looks  more 
worthy  to  be  the  ^jsland  of  the  poem  than  as  we  first 
saw  it.  Its  shore  is  craggy  and  precipitous,  but  there 


1857. 


THE  TROSACHS. 


263 


was  a point  where  it  seemed  possible  to  land,  nor  was 
it  too  much  to  fancy  that  there  might  be  a rustic  habita- 
tion among  the  shrubbery  of  this  rugged  spot.  It  is 
foolish  to  look  into  these  matters  too  strictly.  Scott 
evidently  used  as  much  freedom  with  his  natural  scenery 
as  he  did  with  his  historic  incidents ; and  he  could 
have  made  nothing  of  either  one  or  the  other  if  he 
had  been  more  scrupulous  in  his  arrangement  and 
adornment  of  them.  In  his  description  of  the  Trosachsr 
he  has  produced  something  very  beautiful,  and  as  true 
as  possible,  though  certainly  its  beauty  has  a little  of 
the  scene-painter’s  gloss  on  it.  Nature  is  better,  no 
doubt,  but  Nature  cannot  be  exactly  reproduced  on 
canvas  or  in  print ; and  the  artist’s  only  resource  is  to 
substitute  something  that  may  stand  instead  of  and 
suggest  the  truth. 

The  path  still  kept  onward,  after  passing  Ellen’s 
Isle,  and  I followed  it,  finding  it  wilder,  more  shadowy 
with  overhanging  foliage  of  trees,  old  and  young,  — more 
like  a mountain-path  in  Berkshire  or  New  Hampshire, 
yet  still  with  an  old-world  restraint  and  cultivation 
about  it,  — the  farther  I went.  At  last  I came  upon 
some  bars,  and  though  the  track  was  still  seen  beyond, 
I took  this  as  a hint  to  stop,  especially  as  I was  now 
two  or  three  miles  from  the  hotel,  and  it  just  then 
began  to  rain.  My  umbrella  was  a poor  one  at  best, 
and  had  been  tattered  and  turned  inside  out,  a day  or 
two  ago,  by  a gust  on  Loch  Lomond  ; but  I spread 
it  to  the  shower,  and,  furthermore,  took  shelter  under 
the  thickest  umbrage  I could  find.  The  rain  came 
straight  down,  and  bubbled  in  the  loch ; the  little  rills 
gathered  force,  and  plashed  merrily  over  the  stones ; 


2G4 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


the  leaves  of  the  trees  condensed  the  shower  into  large 
drops,  and  shed  them  down  upon  me  where  I stood. 
Still  I was  comfortable  enough  in  a thick  Skye  Tweed, 
and  waited  paitently  till  the  rain  abated ; then  took  my 
way  homeward,  and  admired  the  pass  of  the  Trosachs 
more  than  when  I first  traversed  it.  If  it  has  a 
fault,  it  is  one  that  few  scenes  in  Great  Britain  share 
with  it,  — that  is,  the  trees  and  shrubbery,  with  which 
the  precipices  are  shagged,  conceal  them  a little  too 
much.  A crag,  streaked  with  black  and  white,  here  and 
there  shows  its  head  aloft,  or  its  whole  height  from  base 
to  summit,  and  suggests  that  more  of  such  sublimity 
is  hidden  than  revealed.  I think,  however,  that  it  is 
this  unusual  shagginess  which  made  the  scene  a favor- 
ite with  Scott,  and  with  the  people  on  this  side  of  the 
ocean  generally.  There  are  many  scenes  as  good  in 
America,  needing  only  the  poet. 

July  6^.  — We  dined  yesterday  at  the  table  d'hote, 
at  the  suggestion  of  the  butler,  in  order  to  give  less 
trouble  to  the  servants  of  the  hotel,  and  afford  them 
an  opportunity  to  go  to  kirk.  The  dining-room  is  in 
accordance  with  the  rest  of  the  architecture  and  fittings 
up  of  the  house,  and  is  a very  good  reproduction  of  an 
old  baronial  hall,  with  high  panellings  and  a roof  of 
dark,  polished  wood.  There  were  about  twenty  guests 
at  table ; and  if  they  and  the  waiters  had  been  dressed 
in  mediaeval  costume,  we  might  have  imagined  our- 
selves banqueting  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

After  dinner  we  all  took  a walk  through  the  Tro- 
sachs’ pass  again,  and  by  the  right-hand  path  along  the 
lake,  as  far  as  Ellen’s  Isle.  It  was  very  pleasant,  there 


THE  TROSACHS. 


265 


1857.  j 

being  gleams  of  calm  evening  sunshine  gilding  the 
mountain-sides,  and  putting  a golden  crown  occa- 
sionally on  the  head  of  Ben  Venue.  It  is  wonderful 
how  many  aspects  a mountain  has,  — how  many  moun- 
tains there  are  in  every  single  mountain ! — how  they 
vary  too,  in  apparent  attitude  and  bulk'.  When  we 
reached  the  lake,  its  surface  was  almost  unruffled,  ex- 
cept by  now  and  then  the  narrow  pathway  of  a breeze, 
as  if  the  wing  of  an  unseen  spirit  had  just  grazed  it 
in  flitting  across.  The  scene  was  very  beautiful,  and, 
on  the  whole,  I do  not  know  that  Walter  Scott  has 
overcharged  his  description,  although  he  has  symbol- 
ized the  reality  by  types  and  images  which  it  might 
not  precisely  suggest  to  other  minds.  We  were  reluc- 
tant to  quit  the  spot,  and  cherish  still  a hope  of  seeing 
it  again,  though  the  hope  does  not  seem  very  likely  to 
be  gratified. 

This  was  a lowering  and  sullen  morning,  but  soon 
after  breakfast  I took  a walk  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  Loch  Katrine,  and  reached  the  Brig  of  Turk,  a little 
beyond  which  is  the  new  Trosachs’  Hotel,  and  the  lit- 
tle rude  village  of  Duncraggan,  consisting  of  a few 
hovels  of  stone,  at  the  foot  of  a bleak  and  dreary  hill. 
To  the  left,  stretching  up  between  this  and  other  hills, 
is  the  valley  of  Glenfinlass,  — a very  awful  region  in 
Scott’s  poetry  and  in  Highland  tradition,  as  the  haunt 
of  spirits  and  enchantments.  It  presented  a very  deso- 
late prospect.  The  walk  back  to  the  Trosachs  showed 
me  Ben  Venue  and  Ben  An  under  new  aspects,  — the 
bare  summit  of  the  latter  rising  in  a perfect  pyramid, 
whereas  from  other  points  of  view  it  looks  like  quite  a 
different  mountain.  Sometimes  a gleam  of  sunshine 

VOL.  II.  12 


266 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


came  out  upon  the  rugged  side  of  Ben  Venue,  but  his 
prevailing  mood,  like  that  of  the  rest  of  the  landscape, 
was  stern  and  gloomy.  I wish  I could  give  an  idea  of 
the  variety  of  surface  upon  one  of  these  hillsides,  — so 
bulging  out  and  hollowed  in,  so  bare  where  the  rock 
breaks  through,  so  shaggy  in  other  places  with  heath, 
and  then,  perhaps,  a thick  umbrage  of  birch,  oak,  and 
ash  ascending  from  the  base  high  upward.  When  I 
think  I have  described  them,  I remember  quite  a differ- 
ent aspect,  and  find  it  equally  true,  and  yet  lacking 
something  to  make  it  the  whole  or  an  adequate 
truth. 

J had  gone  with  me  part  of  the  way,  but  stopped 

to  fish  with  a pin-hook  in  Loch  Achray,  which  bor- 
dered along  our  path.  When  I returned,  I found  him 
much  elated  at  having  caught  a fish,  which,  however, 
had  got  away,  carrying  his  pin-hook  along  with  it. 
Then  he  had  amused  himself  with  taking  some  lizards 
by  the  tail,  and  had  collected  several  in  a small  hollow 
of  the  rocks.  We  now  walked  home  together,  and  at 
half  past  three  we  took  our  seats  in  a genuine  old- 
fashioned  stage-coach,  of  which  there  are  few  specimens 
now  to  be  met  with.  The  coachman  was  smartly 
dressed  in  the  Queen’s  scarlet,  and  was  a very  pleasant 
and  affable  personage,  conducting  himself  towards  the 
passengers  with  courteous  authority.  Inside  we  were 

four,  including  J , but  on  the  top  there  were  at  least 

a dozen,  and  I would  willingly  have  been  there  too, 
but  had  taken  an  inside  seat,  under  apprehension  of 
rain,  and  was  not  allowed  to  change  it.  Our  drive  was 
not  marked  by  much  describable  incident.  On  chan- 
ging horses  at  Callender,  we  alighted,  and  saw  Ben 


BRIG  OF  ALLAN. 


2G7 


1857.] 

Ledi  behind  us,  making  a picturesque  background  to 
the  little  town,  which  seems  to  be  the  meeting*point 
of  the  Highlands  and  Lowlands.  We  again  changed 
horses  at  Doune,  an  old  town,  which  would  doubtless 
have  been  well  worth  seeing,  had  time  permitted. 
Thence  we  kept  on  till  the  coach  drew  up  at  a spa* 
cious  hotel,  where  we  alighted,  fancying  that  we  had 
reached  Stirling,  which  was  to  have  been  our  journey’s 
end ; but,  after  fairly  establishing  ourselves,  we  found 
that  it  was  the 

BRIG  OF  ALLAN. 

The  place  is  three  miles  short  of  Stirling.  Neverthe* 
less,  we  did  not  much  regret  the  mistake,  finding  that 
the  Brig  of  Allan  is  the  principal  Spa  of  Scotland,  and 
a very  pleasant  spot,  to  all  outward  appearance.  After 
tea  we  walked  out,  both  up  and  down  the  village  street, 
and  across  the  bridge,  and  up  a gentle  eminence  beyond 
it,  whence  we  had  a fine  view  of  a glorious  plain,  out 
of  which  rose  several  insulated  headlands.  One  of 
these  was  the  height  on  which  stands  Stirling  Castle, 
and  which  reclines  on  the  plain  like  a hound  or  a lion 
or  a sphinx,  holding  the  castle  on  the  highest  part, 
where  its  head  should  be.  A mile  or  two  distant  from 
this  picturesque  hill  rises  another,  still  more  striking, 
called  the  Abbey  Craig,  on  which  is  a ruin,  and  where 
is  to  be  built  the  monument  to  William  Wallace.  I 
cannot  conceive  a nobler  or  more  fitting  pedestal.  The 
sullenness  of  the  day  had  vanished,  the  air  was  cool  but 
invigorating,  and  the  cloud  scenery  was  as  fine  as  that 
below  it. 

....  Though  it  was  nearly  ten  o’clock,  the  boys  of 
tfie  village  were  in  full  shout  qnd  play,  for  these  long 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


268 


[1857. 


and  late  summer  evenings  keep  the  children  out  of  bed 
interminably. 

STIRLING. 

July  1th. — We  bestirred  ourselves  early  this  morn- 
ing, ....  and  took  the  rail  for  Stirling  before  eight. 
It  is  but  a few  minutes’  ride,  so ‘that  doubtless  we  were 
earlier  on  the  field  than  if  we  had  slept  at  Stirling. 
After  our  arrival  our  first  call  was  at  the  post-office, 
where  I found  a large  package  containing  letters  from 

America,  but  none  from  U . We  then  went  to  a 

bookseller’s  shop,  and  bought  some  views  of  Stirling 
and  the  neighborhood ; and  it  is  surprising  what  a 
quantity  and  variety  of  engravings  there  are  of  every 
noted  place  that  we  have  visited.  You  seldom  find  two 
sets  alike.  It  is  rather  nauseating  to  find  that  what 
you  came  to  see  has  already  been  looked  at  in  all 
its  lights,  over  and  over  again,  with  thousand-fold  repe- 
tition ; and,  beyond  question,  its  depictment  in  words 
has  been  attempted  still  oftener  than  with  the  pencil. 
It  will  be  worth  while  to  go  back  to  America,  were  it 
only  for  the  chance  of  finding  a still  virgin  scene. 

We  climbed  the  steep  slope  of  the  Castle  Hill,  some- 
times passing  an  antique-looking  house,  with  a high, 
notched  gable,  perhaps  with  an  ornamented  front,  until 
we  came  to  the  sculptures  and  battlemented  wall,  with 

an  archway,  that  stands  just  below  the  castle 

A shabby-looking  man  now  accosted  us,  and  could 
hardly  be  shaken  off.  I have  met  with  several  such 
boors  in  my  experience  of  sight-seeing.  He  kept  along 
with  us,  in  spite  of  all  hints  to  the  contrary,  and  insisted 
on  pointing  out  objects  of  interest.  He  showed  us  a 
house  in  Broad  Street,  below  the  castle  and  cathedral, 


STiRLitf£. 


269 


1857.] 

which  he  said  had  on«>c  been  inhaoited  by  Henry  Darn- 
ley,  Queen  Mary’s  husband.  Ttiere  was  little  or  noth- 
ing peculiar  in  its  appearance  j a large,  gray,  gabled 
house  standing  lengthwise  to  the  street,  with  three  win- 
dows in  the  roof,  and  connected  with  other  houses  on 
each  side.  Almost  directly  across  the  street,  he  pointed 
to  an  archway,  through  the  side  of  a house,  and,  peeping 
through  it,  we  found  a soldier  on  guard  in  a court-yard, 
the  sides  of  which  were  occupied  by  an  old  mansion  of 
the  Argyle  family,  having  towers  at  the  corners,  with 
conical  tops,  like  those  reproduced  in  the  hotel  at  the 
Trosachs.  It  is  now  occupied  as  a military  hospital. 
Shaking  off  our  self-inflicted  guide,  we  now  made  our 
way  to  the  castle  parade,  and  to  the  gateway,  where  a 
soldier  with  a tremendously  red  nose  and  two  medals 
at  once  took  charge  of  us. 

Beyond  all  doubt,  I have  written  quite  as  good  a 
description  of  the  castle  and  Carse  of  Stirling  in  a 
former  portion  of  my  journal  as  I can  now  write.  We 
passed  through  the  outer  rampart  of  Queen  Anne ; 
through  the  old  round  gate-tower  of  an  earlier  day,  and 
beneath  the  vacant  arch  where  the  portcullis  used  to 
fall,  thus  reaching  the  inner  region,  where  stands  the 
old  palace  on  one  side,  and  the  old  Parliament  House 
on  the  other.  The  former  looks  aged,  ragged,  and 
rusly,  but  makes  a good  appearance  enough  pictorially, 
being  adorned  all  round  about  with  statues,  which  may 
have  been  white  marble  once,  but  are  as  gray  as 
weather-beaten  granite  now,  and  look  down  from  be- 
tween tbe  windows  above  the  basement  story.  A 
photograph  would  give  the  idea  of  very  rich  antiquity, 
but  as  it  really  stands,  looking  on  a gravelled  court' 


270  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

yard,  and  with  “ Canteen  ” painted  on  one  of  its  doors, 
the  spectator  does  not  find  it  very  impressive.  The 
great  hall  of  this  palace  is  now  partitioned  off  into  two 
or  three  rooms,  and  the  whole  edifice  is  arranged  to 
serve  as  barracks.  Of  course,  no  trace  of  ancient  mag- 
nificence,  if  anywise  destructible,  can  be  left  in  the 
interior.  We  were  not  shown  into  this  palace,  nor  into 
the  Parliament  House,  nor  into  the  tower,  where  King 
James  stabbed  the  Earl  of  Douglas.  When  I was 
here  a year  ago,  I went  up  the  old  staircase  and  into 
the  room  where  the  murder  was  committed,  although  it 
had  recently  been  the  scene  of  a fire,  which  consumed 
as  much  of  it  as  was  inflammable.  The  window  whence 
the  Earl’s  body  was  thrown  then  remained  ; but  now 
the  whole  tower  seems  to  have  been  renewed,  leaving 
only  the  mullions  of  the  historic  window. 

We  merely  looked  up  at  the  new,  light-colored  free- 
stone of  the  restored  tower  in  passing,  and  ascended  to 
the  ramparts,  where  we  found  one  of  the  most  splendid 
views,  morally  and  materially,  that  this  world  can  show. 
Indeed,  I think  there  cannot  be  such  a landscape  as  the  ' 
Carse  of  Stirling,  set  in  such  a frame  as  it  is,  — the 
Highlands,  comprehending  our  friends,  Ben  Lomond, 
Ben  Venue,  Ben  An,  and  the  whole  Ben  brotherhood, 
with  the  Grampians  surrounding  it  to  the  westward  and 
northward,  and  in  other  directions  some  range  of  prom- 
inent objects  to  shut  it  in  ; and  the  plain  itself,  so 
worthy  of  the  richest  setting,  so  fertile,  so  beautiful,  so 
written  over  and  over  again  with  histories.  The  silver 
Links  of  Forth  are  as  sweet  and  gently  picturesque  an 
object  as  a man  sees  in  a lifetime.  I do  not  wonder 
that  Providence  caused  great  things  to  happen  on  this 


STIRLING. 


271 


1857.] 

plain  ; it  was  like  choosing  a good  piece  of  canvas  to 
paint  a great  picture  upon.  The  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn (which  we  saw  beneath  us,  with  the  Gillie’s  Hill 
on  the  right)  could  not  have  been  fought  upon  a meaner 
plain,  nor  Wallace’s  victory  gained  ; and  if  any  other 
great  historic  act  still  remains  to  be  done  in  this 
country,  I should  imagine  the  Carse  of  Stirling  to  be 
the  future  scene  of  it.  Scott  seems  to  me  hardly  to 
have  done  justice  to  this  landscape,  or  to  have  bestowed 
pains  enough  to  put  it  in  strong  relief  before  the  world  ; 
although  it  is  from  the  lights  shed  on  it,  and  so  much 
other  Scottish  scenery,  by  his  mind,  that  we  chiefly  see 
it,  and  take  an  interest  in  it 

I do  not  remember  seeing  the  hill  of  execution  be- 
fore, — a mound  on  the  same  level  as  the  castle’s  base, 
looking  towards  the  Highlands.  A solitary  cow  was 
now  feeding  upon  it.  I should  imagine  that  no  person 
could  ever  have  been  unjustly  executed  there;  the  spot 
is  too  much  in  the  sight  of  heaven  and  earth  to  counte- 
nance injustice. 

Descending  from  the  ramparts,  we  went  into  the 
Armory,  which  I did  not  see  on  my  former  visit.  The 
superintendent  of  this  department  is  an  old  soldier  of 
very  great  intelligence  and  vast  communicativeness,  and 
quite  absorbed  in  thinking  of  and  handling  weapons  ; 
for  he  is  a practical  armorer.  He  had  few  things  to 
show  us  that  were  very  interesting,  — a helmet  or  two, 
a bomb  and  grenade  from  the  Crimea ; also  some 
muskets  from  the  same  quarter,  one  of  which,  with  a 
sword  at  the  end,  he  spoke  of  admiringly,  as  the  best 
weapon  in  the  collection,  its  only  fault  being  its  extreme 
weight.  He  showed  us,  too,  some  Minie  rifles,  and 


272  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

whole  ranges  of  the  old-fashioned  Brown  Bess,  which 
had  helped  to  win  Wellington’s  victories ; also  the 
halberts  of  sergeants  now  laid  aside,  and  some  swords 
that  had  been  used  at  the  battle  of  Sheriffmuir.  These 
latter  were  very  sht>rt,  not  reaching  to  the  floor,  when 
I held  one  of  them,  point  downward,  in  my  hand.  The 
shortness  of  the  blade  and  consequent  closeness  of  the 
encounter,  must  have  given  the  weapon  a most  dagger- 
like murderousness.  Hanging  in  the  hall  of  arms, 
there  were  two  tattered  banners  that  had  gone  through 
the  Peninsular  battles,  one  of  them  belonging  to  the 
gallant  42d  Regiment.  The  armorer  gave  my  wife 
a rag  from  each  of  these  banners,*  consecrated  by  so 
much  battle  smoke  ; also  a piece  of  old  oak,  half  burned 
to  charcoal,  which  had  been  rescued  from  the  panelling 
of  the  Douglas  Tower.  We  saw  better  things,  more- 
over, than  all  these  rusty  weapons  and  ragged  flags  ; 
namely,  the  pulpit  and  communion-table  of  John  Knox. 
The  frame  of  the  former,  if  I remember  aright,  is 
complete  ; but  one  or  two  of  the  panels  are  knocked 
out  and  lost,  and,  on  the  whole,  it  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  shaken  to  pieces  by  the  thunder  of  his  holdings 
forth,  — much  worm-eaten,  too,  is  the  old  oak  wood,  as 
well  it  may  be,  for  the  letters  MD  (1500)  are  carved 
on  its  front.  The  communion  table  is  polished,  and  in 
much  better  preservation. 

Then  the  armorer  showed  us  a Damascus  blade,  of 
the  kind  that  will  cut  a delicate  silk  handkerchief 
while  floating  in  the  air  ; and  some  inlaid  matchlock 
guns.  A child’s  little  toy-gun  was  lying  on  a work- 
bench among  all  this  array  of  weapons  ; and  when  I 
took  it  up  and  smiled,  he  said  that  it  was  his  son’s. 


STIRLING. 


273 


1857.] 

So  he  called  in  a little  fellow  of  four  years’  old,  who 
was  playing  in  the  castle  yard,  and  made  him  go  through 
the  musket  exercise,  which  he  did  with  great  good-will. 
This  small  Son  of  a Gun,  the  father  assured  us,  cares 
for  nothing  but  arms,  and  has  attained  all  his  skill  with 
the  musket  merely  by  looking  at  the  soldiers  on 
parade 

Our  soldier,  who  had  resigned  the  care  of  us  to  the 
armorer,  met  us  again  at  the  door,  and  led  us  round 
the  remainder  of  the  ramparts,  dismissing  us  finally  at 
the  gate  by  which  we  entered.  All  the  time  we  were 
in  the  castle  there  had  been  a great  discordance  of 
drums  and  fifes,  caused  by  the  musicians  who  were 
practising  just  under  the  walls  ; likewise  the  sergeants 
were  drilling  their  squads  of  men,  and  putting  them 
through  strange  gymnastic  motions.  Most,  if  not  all, 
of  the  garrison  belongs  to  a Highland  regiment,  and 
those  whom,  we  saw  on  duty,  in  full  costume,  looked 
very  martial  and  gallant.  Emerging  from  the  castle, 
we  took  the  broad  and  pleasant  footpath,  which  circles 
it  about  midway  on  the  grassy  steep  which  descends 
from  the  rocky  precipice  on  which  the  walls  are  built. 
This  is  a very  beautiful  walk,  and  affords  a most  strik- 
ing view  of  the  castle,  right  above  our  heads,  the  height 
of  its  wall  forming  one  line  with  the  precipice.  The 
grassy  hillside  is  almost  as  precipitous  as  the  dark  gray 
rock  that  rises  . out  of  it,  to  form  the  foundations  of  the 
castle  ; but  wild  rose-bushes,  both  of  a white  and  red 
variety,  are  abundant  here,  and  all  in  bloom  ; nor  are 
these  the  only  flowers.  There  is  also  shrubbery  in 
some  spots,  tossing  up  green  waves  against  the  preci- 
pice ; and  broad  sheets  of  ivy  here  and  there  mantle  the 
12  * R 


274 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


headlong  lock,  which  also  has  a growth  of  weeds  in  its 
crevices.  The  castle  walls  above,  however,  are  quite 
bare  of  any  such  growth.  Thus,  looking  up  at  the  old 
storied  fortress,  and  looking  down  over  the  wide,  historic 
plain,  we  wandered  half-way  round  the  castle,  and  then, 
retracing  our  steps,  entered  the  town  close  by  an  old 
hospital. 

A hospital  it  was,  or  had  been  intended  for ; but  the 
authorities  of  the  town  had  made  some  convenient  ar- 
rangement with  those  entitled  to  its  charity,  and  had 
appropriated  the  ancient  edifice  to  themselves.  So 
said  a boy  who  showed  us  into  the  Guildhall,  — an 
apartment  with  a vaulted  oaken  roof,  and  otherwise  of 
antique  aspect  and  furniture  ; all  of  which,  however, 
were  modern  restorations.  We  then  went  into  an  old 
church  or  cathedral,  which  was  divided  into  two  parts  ; 
one  of  them,  in  which  I saw  the  royal  arms,  being  prob- 
ably for  the  Church-of-England  service,  and  the  other 
for  the  Kirk  of  Scotland.  I remember  little  or  nothing 
of  this  edifice,  except  that  the  Covenanters  had  uglified 
it  with  pews  and  a gallery,  and  whitewash  ; though  I 
doubt  not  it  was  a stately  Gothic  church,  with  innu- 
merable enrichments  and  incrustations  of  beauty,  when  it 
passed  from  popish  hands  into  theirs.  Thence  we 
wandered  downward,  through  a back  street,  amid  very 
shabby  houses,  some  of  which  bore  tokens  of  having 
once  been  the  abodes  of  courtly  and  noble  personages. 
We  paused  before  one  that  displayed,  I think,  the  sign 
of  a spirit-retailer,  and  looked  as  disreputable  as  a house 
could,  yet  was  built  of  stalwart  stone,  and  had  two 
circular  towers  in  front,  once,  doubtless,  crowned  with 
conical  tops.  We  asked  an  elderly  man  whether  he 


1857* 


STIRLING. 


275 


knew  anything  of  the  history  of  this  house;  and  he 
said  that  he  had  been  acquainted  with  it  for  almost  fifty 
years,  but  never  knew  anything  noteworthy  about  it. 
Reaching  the  foot  of  the  hill,  along  whose  back  the 
streets  of  Stirling  run,  and  which  blooms  out  into  the 
Castle  Craig,  we  returned  to  the  railway,  and  at  noon 
took  leave  of  Stirling. 

I forgot  to  tell  of  the  things  that  awakened  rather 
more  sympathy  in  us  than  any  other  objects  in  the 
castle  armory.  These  were  some  rude  weapons  — - 
pikes,  very  roughly  made ; and  old  rusty  muskets, 
broken  and  otherwise  out  of  order;  and  swords,  by  no 
means  with  Damascus  blades  — that  had  been  taken 
from  some  poor  weavers  and  other  handicraft  men  who 
rose  against  the  government  in  1820.  I pitied  the 
poor  fellows  much,  seeing  how  wretched  were  their 
means  of  standing  up  against  the  cannon,  bayonets, 
swords,  shot,  shell,  and  all  manner  of  murderous  facilities 
possessed  by  their  oppressors.  Afterwards,  our  guide 
showed,  in  a gloomy  quadrangle  of  the  castle,  the  low 
windows  of  the  dungeons  where  two  of  the  leaders  of 
the  insurrectionists  had  been  confined  before  their  ex- 
ecution. I have  not  the  least  shadow  of  doubt  that 
these  men  had  a good  cause  to  fight  for ; but  what 
availed  it  with  such  weapons  ! and  so  few  even  of 
those ! 

....  I believe  I cannot  go  on  to  recount  any 
further  this  evening  the  experiences  of  to-day.  It  has 
been  a very  rich  day  ; only  that  I have  seen  more  than 
my  sluggish  powers  of  reception  can  well  take  in  at 
once.  After  quitting  Stirling,  we  came  in  somewhat 
less  than  an  hour  to 


276 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


LINLITHGOW, 

and,  alighting,  took  up  our  quarters  at  the  Star  and 
Garter  Hotel,  which,  like  almost  all  the  Scottish  cara- 
vansaries of  which  we  have  had  experience,  turns  out 

a comfortable  one We  stayed  within  doors  for 

an  hour  or  two,  and  I busied  myself  writh  writing  up 
my  journal.  At  about  three,  however,  the  sky  brightened 
a little,  and  we  set  forth  through  the  ancient,  rusty,  and 
queer-looking  town  of  Linlithgow,  towards  the  palace 
and  the  ancient  church,  which  latter  was  one  of  St. 
David’s  edifices,  and  both  of  which  stand  close  together, 
a little  removed  from  the  long  street  of  the  village. 
But  I can  never  describe  them  worthily,  and  shall  make 
nothing  of  the  description  if  I attempt  it  now. 

July  8th . — At  about  three  o’clock  yesterday,  as  I said, 
we  walked  forth  through  the  ancient  street  of  Linlith- 
gow, and,  coming  to  the  market-place,  stopped  to  look  at 
an  elaborate  and  heavy  stone  fountain,  which  we  found 
by  an  inscription  to  be  a fac-simile  of  an  old  one  that 
used  to  stand  on  the  same  site.  Turning  to  the  right, 
the  outer  entrance  to  the  palace  fronts  on  this  market- 
place, if  such  it  be  ; and  close  to  it,  a little  on  one  side, 
is  the  church.  A young  woman,  with  a key  in  her 
hand,  offered  to  admit  us  into  the  latter;  so  we  went 
in,  and  found  it  divided  by  a wall  across  the  middle 
into  two  parts.  The  hither  portion,  being  the  nave, 
was  whitewashed,  and  looked  as  bare  and  uninteresting 
as  an  old  Gothic  church  of  St.  David’s  epoch  possibly 
could  do.  The  interior  portion,  being  the  former  choir, 
is  covered  with  pews  over  the  whole  floor,  and  further 


1857.] 


LINLITHGOW. 


277 


defaced  by  galleries,  that  unmercifully  cut  midway 
across  the  stately  and  beautiful  arches.  It  is  likewise 
whitewashed.  There  were,  I believe,  some  mural 
monuments  of  Bailies  and  other  such  people  stuck  up 
about  the  walls,  but  nothing  that  much  interested  me, 
except  an  ancient  oaken  chair,  which  the  girl  said  was 
the  chair  of  St.  Crispin,  and  it  was  fastened  to  the  wall, 
in  the  holiest  part  of  the  church.  I know  not  why  it  was 
there ; but  as  it  had  been  the  chair  of  so  distinguished 
a personage,  we  all  sat  down  in  it.  It  was  in  this 
church  that  the  apparition  of  St.  James  appeared  to 
King  James  IV.,  to  warn  him  against  engaging  in  that 
war  which  resulted  in  the  battle  of  Flodden,  where 
he  and  the  flower  of  his  nobility  were  slain.  The 
young  woman  showed  us  the  spot  where  the  apparition 
spake  to  him,  — a side  chapel,  with  a groined  roof,  at 
the  end  of  the  choir  next  the  nave.  The  Covenanters 
seem  to  have  shown  some  respect  to  this  one  chapel, 
by  refraining  from  drawing  the  gallery  across  its  height ; 
so  that,  except  for  the  whitewash,  and  the  loss  of  the 
painted  glass  in  the  window,  and  probably  of  a good 
deal  of  rich  architectural  detail,  it  looks  as  it  did  when 
the  ghostly  saint  entered  beneath  its  arch,  while  the 
king  was  kneeling  there. 

We  stayed  but  a little  while  in  the  church,  and  then 
proceeded  to  the  palace,  which,  as  I said,  is  close  at 
hand.  On  entering  the  outer  enclosure  through  an 
ancient  gateway,  we  were  surprised  to  find  how  entire 
the  walls  seemed  to  be  ; but  the  reason  is,  I suppose, 
that  the  ruins  have  not  been  used  as  a stone-quarry,  as 
has  almost  always  been  the  case  with  old  abbeys  and 
castles.  The  palace  took  fire  and  was  consumed,  so 


278 


eKGLish  Note-books. 


[m 


far  as  consumable,  in  1745,  while  occupied  by  the  sol- 
diers of  General  Hawley  ; but  even  yet  the  walls  ap- 
pear so  stalwart  that  I should  imagine  it  quite  possible 
to  rebuild  and  restore  the  stately  rooms  on  their  origi- 
nal plan.  It  was  a noble  palace,  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  feet  in  length  by  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  in  breadth,  and  though  destitute  of  much  architect* 
ural  beauty  externally*  yet  its  aspect  from  the  quad- 
rangle which  the  four  sides  enclose  is  venerable  and 
sadly  beautiful.  At  each  of  the  interior  angles  there 
is  a circular  tower,  up  the  whole  height  of  the  edifice 
and  overtopping  it,  and  another  in  the  centre  of  one 
of  the  sides,  all  containing  winding  staircases.  The 
walls  facing  upon  the  enclosed  quadrangle  are  pierced 
with  many  windows,  and  have  been  ornamented  with 
sculpture,  rich  traces  of  which  still  remain  over  the 
arched  entrance-ways ; and  in  the  grassy  centre  of  the 
court  there  is  the  ruin  and  broken  fragments  of  a 
fountain,  which  once  used  to  play  for  the  delight  of  the 
king  and  queen,  and  lords  and  ladies,  who  looked 
down  upon  it  from  hall  and  chamber.  Many  old 
carvings  that  belonged  to  it  are  heaped  together  there ; 
but  the  water  has  disappeared,  though,  had  it  been  a 
natural  spring,  it  would  have  outlasted  all  the  heavy 
stonework. 

As  far  as  we  were  able,  and  could  find  our  way,  we 
went  through  every  room  of  the  palace,  all  round  the 
four  sides.  From  the  first  floor  upwards  it  is  entirely 
roofless.  In  some  of  the  chambers  there  is  an  accumu- 
lation of  soil,  and  a goodly  crop  of  grass ; in  others 
there  is  still  a flooring  of  flags  or  brick  tiles,  though 
damp  and  moss-grown,  and  with  weeds  sprouting  be- 


LINLITHGOW. 


279 


1857.] 

tween  the  crevices.  Grass  and  weeds,  indeed,  have 
found  soil  enough  to  flourish  in,  even  on  the  highest 
ranges  of  the  walls,  though  at  a dizzy  height  above  the 
ground  ; and  it  was  like  an  old  and  trite  touch  of 
romance,  to  see  how  the  weeds  sprouted  on  the  many 
hearth-stones  and  aspired  under  the  chimney-flues,  as  if 
in  emulation  of  the  long-extinguished  flame.  It  was 
very  mournful,  very  beautiful,  very  delightful,  too,  to 
see  how  Nature  takes  back  the  palace,  now  that  kings 
have  done  with  it,  and  adopts  it  as  a part  of  her  great 
garden. 

On  one  side  of  the  quadrangle  we  found  the  roofless 
chamber  where  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  born,  and  in 
the  same  range  the  bedchamber  that  was  occupied  by 
several  of  the  Scottish  Jameses ; and  in  one  corner  of 
the  latter  apartment  there  is  a narrow,  winding  stair- 
case, down  which  I groped,  expecting  to  find  a door, 
either  into  the  enclosed  quadrangle  or  to  the  outside  of 
the  palace.  But  it  ends  in  nothing,  unless  it  be  a dun- 
geon ; and  one  does  not  well  see  why  the  bedchamber 
of  the  king  should  be  so  convenient  to  a dungeon.  It  is 
said  that  King  James  III.  once  escaped  down  this  se- 
cert  stair,  and  lay  concealed  from  some  conspirators  who 
had  entered  his  chamber  to  murder  him.  This  range  of 
apartments  is  terminated,  like  the  other  sides  of  the  pal- 
ace, by  a circular  tower  enclosing  a staircase,  up  which 
we  mounted,  winding  round  and  round,  and  emerging  at 
various  heights,  until  at  last  we  found  ourselves  at  the 
very  topmost  point  of  the  edifice  ; and  here  there  is  a 
small  pepper-box  of  a turret,  almost  as  entire  as  when 
the  stones  were  first  laid.  It  is  called  Queen  Margaret’s 
bower,  and  looks  forth  on  a lovely  prospect  of  moun- 


280 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

tain  and  plain,  and  on  the  old  red  roofs  of  Linlithgow 
town,  and  on  the  little  loch  that  lies  within  the  palace 
grounds.  The  cold  north-wind  blew  chill  upon  us 
through  the  empty  window-frames,  .which  very  likely 
were  never  glazed ; but  it  must  be  a delightful  nook  in 
a calmer  and  warmer  summer  evening. 

Descending  from  this  high  perch,  we  walked  along  ’ 
ledges  and  through  arched  corridors,  and  stood,  con- 
templative, in  the  dampness  of  the  banqueting-hall,  and 
sat  down  on  the  seats  that  still  occupy  the  embrasures 
of  the  deep  windows.  In  one  of  the  rooms,  the  sculpt- 
ure of  a huge  fireplace  has  recently  been  imitated  and 
restored,  so  as  to  give  an  idea  of  what  the  richness  of 
the  adornments  must  have  been  when  the  building  was 
perfect.  We  burrowed  down,  too,  a little  way,  in  the 
direction  of  the  cells,  where  prisoners  used  to  be  con- 
fined ; but  these  were  too  ugly  and  too  impenetrably 
dark  to  tempt  us  far.  One  vault,  exactty  beneath  a 
queen’s  very  bedchamber,  was  designated  as  a prison. 

I should  think  bad  dreams  would  have  winged  up,  and 
made  her  pillow  an  uncomfortable  one. 

There  seems  to  be  no  certain  record  as  respects  the 
date  of  this  palace,  except  that  the  most  recent  part  was 
built  by  James  I.,  of  England,  and  bears  the  figures 
1620  on  its  central  tower.  In  this  part  were  the  kitch- 
ens and  other  domestic  offices.  In  Robert  Bruce’s 
time  there  was  a castle  here,  instead  of  a palace,  and 
an  ancestor  of  our  friend  Bennoch  was  the  means  of 
taking  it  from  the  English  by  a stratagem  in  which 
valor  went  halves.  Four  centuries  afterwards,  it  was 
a royal  residence,  and  might  still  have  been  nominally 
$o,  had  not  Hawley’s  dragoons  lighted  their  fires  on  the 


LINLITHGOW. 


281 


1857,] 

floors  of  the  magnificent  rooms ; but,  on  the  whole,  I 
think  it  more  valuable  as  a ruin  than  if  it  were  still 
perfect.  Scotland,  and  the  world,  needs  only  one  Holy- 
rood  ; and  Linlithgow,  were  it  still  a perfect  palace, ; 
must  have  been  second  in  interest  to  that,  from  its 
lack  of  association  with  historic  events  so  grand  and 
striking. 

After  tea  we  took  another  walk,  and  this  time  went 
along  the  High  Street,  in  quest  of  the  house  whence 
Bothwellhaugh  fired  the  shot  that  killed  the  Regent 
Murray.  It  has  been  taken  down,  however ; or,  if  any 
part  of  it  remain,  it  has  been  built  into  and  incorporated 
with  a small  house  of  dark  stone,  which  forms  one  range 
with  two  athers  that  stand  a few  feet  back  from  the 
general  line  of  the  street.  It  is  as  mean-looking  and 
commonplace  an  edifice  as  is  anywThere  to  be  seen, 
and  is  now  occupied  by  one  Steele,  a tailor.  We  went 
under  a square  arch  (if  an  arch  can  be  square)  that 
goes  quite  through  the  house,  and  found  ourselves  in  a 
little  court ; but  it  was  not  easy  to  identify  anything  as 
connected  with  the  historic  event,  so  we  did  but  glance 
about  us,  and  returned  into  the  street.  It  is  here  nar- 
row, and  as  Bothwellhaugh  stood  in  a projecting  gallery, 
the  Regent  must  have  been  within  a few  yards  of  the 
muzzle  of  his  carbine.  The  street  looks  as  old  as  any 
that  I have  seen,  except,  perhaps,  a vista  here  and  there 
in  Chester,  — the  houses  all  of  stone,  many  of  them  tall, 
with  notched  gables,  and  with  stone  staircases  going  up 
outside,  the  steps  much  worn  by  feet  now  dust ; a pervad- 
ing ugliness,  which  yet  does  not  fail  to  be  picturesque  ; 
a general  filth  and  evil  odor  of  gutters  and  people, 
suggesting  sorrowful  ideas  of  what  the  inner  houses 


282 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

must  be,  when  the  outside  looks  and  smells  so  badly ; 
and,  finally,  a great  rabble  of  the  inhabitants,  talking, 
idling,  sporting,  staring  about  their  own  thresholds  and 
those  of  dram-shops,  the  town  being  most  alive  in  the 
long  twilight  of  the  summer  evening.  There  was  noth- 
ing uncivil  in  the  deportment  of  these  dirty  people, 
old  or  young;  but  they  did  stare  at  us  most  unmerci- 
fully. 

We  walked  very  late,  entering,  after  all  that  we  had 
seen,  into  the  palace  grounds,  and  skirting  along  Lin- 
lithgow Loch,  which  would  be  very  beautiful  if  its  banks 
were  made  shadowy  with  trees,  instead  of  being  almost 
bare.  We  viewed  the  palace  on  the  outside,  too,  and 
saw  what  had  once  been  the  principal  entrance,  but  now 
looked  like  an  arched  window,  pretty  high  in  the  wall ; 
for  it  had  not  been  accessible  except  by  a drawbridge. 
I might  write  pages  in  telling  how  venerable  the  ruin 
looked,  as  the  twilight  fell  deeper  and  deeper  around  it; 
but  we  have  had  enough  of  Linlithgow,  especially  as 
there  have  been  so  many  old  palaces  and  old  towns  to 
write  about,  and  there  will  still  be  more.  We  left 
Linlithgow  early  this  morning,  and  reached  Edinburgh 
in  half  an  hour.  To-morrow  I suppose  I shall  try  to 
set  down  what  I see ; at  least,  some  points  of  it. 

July  9 th.  — Arriving  at 

EDINBURGH, 

and  acting  under  advice  of  the  cabman,  we  drove  to 
Addison’s  Alma  Hotel,  which  we  find  to  be  in  Prince’s 
Street,  having  Scott’s  monument  a few  hundred  yards 
helow,  and  the  Castle  Hill  about  as  much  above. 


1857.] 


EDINBURGH. 


283 


The  Edinburgh  people  seem  to  be  accustomed  to 
climb  mountains  within  their  own  houses ; so  we  had  to 
mount  several  staircases  before  we  reached  our  parlor* 
which  is  a very  good  one,  and  commands  a beautiful 
view  of  Prince’s  Street,  and  of  the  picturesque  old 
town,  and  the  valley  between,  and  of  the  castle  on  its 
hill. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  castle,  which  we  reached 
by  going  across  the  causeway  that  bridges  the  valley, 
and  has  some  edifices  of  Grecian  architecture  on  it, 
contrasting  strangely  with  the  nondescript  ugliness  of 
the  old  town,  into  which  we  immediately  pass.  As  this 
is  my  second  visit  to  Edinburgh,  I surely  need  not 
dwell  upon  describing  it  at  such  length  as  if  I had 
never  been  here  before.  After  climbing  up  through 
various  wards  of  the  castle  to  the  topmost  battery, 
where  Mons  Meg  holds  her  station,  looking  like  an  un- 
couth dragon, — with  a pile  of  huge  stone  balls  beside 
her  for  eggs,  — we  found  that  we  could  not  be  ad- 
mitted to  Queen  Mary’s  apartments,  nor  to  the  crown- 
room,  till  twelve  o’clock  ; moreover,  that  there  was  no 
admittance  to  the  crown-room  without  tickets  from  the 
crown-office,  in  Parliament  Square.  There  being  no 

help  for  it,  I left  my  wife  and  J to  wander  through 

the  fortress,  and  came  down  through  High  Street  in 
quest  of  Parliament  Square,  which  I found  after  many 
inquiries  of  policemen,  and  after  first  going  to  the 
Justiciary  Court,  where  there  was  a great  throng  en- 
deavoring to  get  in  ; for  the  trial  of  Miss  Smith  for  the 
murder  of  her  lover  is  causing  great  excitement  just 
now.  There  was  no  difficulty  made  about  the  tickets, 
and,  returning,  found  S and  J ; but  J— — * 


284 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


grew  tired  of  waiting,  and  set  out  to  return  to  our  hotel, 
through  the  great,  strange  city,  all  by  himself.  Through 
means  of  an  attendant,  we  were  admitted  into  Queen 
Margaret’s  little  chapel,  on  the  top  of  the  rock ; and 
then  we  sat  down,  in  such  shelter  as  there  was,  to  avoid 
the  keen  wind,  blowing  through  the  embrasures  of  the 
ramparts,  and  waited  as  patiently  as  we  could. 

Twelve  o’clock  came,  and  we  went  into  the  crown- 
room,  with  a throng  of  other  visitors,  — so  many  that 
they  could  only  be  admitted  in  separate  groups.  The 
Regalia  of  Scotland  lie  on  a circular  table  within  an 
iron  railing,  round  and  round  which  the  visitors  pass, 
gazing  with  all  their  eyes.  The  room  was  dark,  how- 
ever, except  for  the  dim  twinkle  of  a candle  or  gas- 
light ; and  the  regalia  did  not  show  to  any  advantage, 
though  there  are  some  rich  jewels,  set  in  their  ancient 
gold.  The  articles  consist  of  a two-handed  sword,  with 
a hilt  and  scabbard  of  gold,  ornamented  with  gems,  and 
a mace,  with  a silver  handle,  all  very  beautifully  made ; 
besides  the  golden  collar  and  jewelled  badge  of  the 
Garter,  and  something  else  which  I forget.  Why  they 
keep  this  room  so  dark  I cannot  tell ; but  it  is  a poor 
show,  and  gives  the  spectator  an  idea  of  the  poverty  of 
Scotland,  and  the  minuteness  of  her  sovereignty,  which 
I had  not  gathered  from  her  royal  palaces. 

Thence  we  went  into  Queen  Mary’s  room,  and  saw 
that  beautiful  portrait  — that  very  queen  and  very  wo- 
man — with  which  I was  so  much  impressed  at  my  last 
visit.  It  is  wonderful  that  this  picture  does  not  drive 
all  the  other  portraits  of  Mary  out  of  the  field,  whatever 
may  be  the  comparative  proofs  of  their  authenticity.  I 
do  not  know  the  history  of  this  one,  except  that  it  is  a 


EDINBURGH. 


285 


1857.] 

copy  by  Sir  William  Gordon  of  a picture  by  an  Italian, 
preserved  at  Dun  robin  Castle. 

After  seeing  what  the  castle  had  to  show,  which  is 
but  little  except  itself,  its  rocks,  and  its  old  dwellings  of 
princes  and  prisoners,  we  came  down  through  the  High 
Street,  inquiring  for  John  Knox’s  house.  It  is  a 
strange-looking  edifice,  with  gables  on  high,  projecting 
far,  and  some  sculpture,  and  inscriptions  referring  to 
Knox.  There  is  a tobacconist’s  shop  in  the  basement 
story,  where  I learned  that  the  house  used  to  be  shown 
to  visitors  till  within  three  months,  but  it  is  now  closed, 
for  some  reason  or  other.  Thence  we  crossed  a bridge 
into  the  new  town,  and  came  back  through  Prince’s 
Street  to  the  hotel,  and  had  a good  dinner,  as  prepara- 
tory to  fresh  wearinesses  ; for  there  is  no  other  weariness 
at  all  to  be  compared  to  that  of  sight-seeing. 

In  mid  afternoon  we  took  a cab  and  drove  to  Holy- 
rood  Palace,  which  I have  already  described,  as  well  as 
the  chapel,  and  do  not  mean  to  meddle  with  either  of 
them  again.  We  looked  at  our  faces  in  the  old  mirrors 
that  Queen  Mary  brought  from  France  with  her,  and 
which  had  often  reflected  her  own  lovely  face  and  fig- 
ure ; and  I went  up  the  winding  stair  through  which 
the  conspirators  ascended.  This,  I think,  was  not  ac- 
cessible at  my  former  visit.  Before  leaving  the  palace, 
one  of  the  attendants  advised  us  to  see  some  pictures  in 
the  apartments  occupied  by  the  Marquis  of  Breadal- 
bane  during  the  queen’s  residence  here.  We  found 
some  fine  old  portraits  and  other  paintings  by  Vandyke, 
Sir  Peter  Lely,  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  and  a strange 
head  by  Rubens,  amid  all  which  I walked  wearily, 
wishing  that  there  were  nothing  worth  looking  at  in 


286 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

the  whole  world.  My  wife  differs  altogether  from  me 
in  this  matter;  ....  but  we  agreed,  on  this  occasion, 
in  being  tired  to  death.  Just  as  we  got  through  with 
the  pictures,  I became  convinced  of  what  I had  been 
dimly  suspecting  all  the  while,  namely,  that  at  my 
last  visit  to  the  palace  I had  seen  these  self-same  pic- 
tures, and  listened  to  the  self-same  woman’s  civil  an- 
swers, in  just  the  self-same  miserable  weariness  of 
mood. 

We  left  the  palace,  and  toiled  up  through  the  dirty 
Canongate,  looking  vainly  for  a fly,  and  employing  our 
time,  as  well  as  we  could,  in  looking  at  the  squalid  mob 
of  Edinburgh,  and  peeping  down  the  horrible  vistas  of 
the  closes,  which  were  swarming  with  dirty  life,  as 
some  mouldy  and  half-decayed  substance  might  swarm 
with  insects,  — vistas  down  alleys  where  sin,  sorrow, 
poverty,  drunkenness,  all  manner  of  sombre  and  sordid 
earthly  circumstances,  had  imbued  the  stone,  brick,  and 
wood  of  the  habitations  for  hundreds  of  years.  And 
such  a multitude  of  children  too ; that  was  a most 
striking  feature. 

After  tea  I went  down  into  the  valley  between  the 
old  town  and  the  new,  which  is  now  laid  out  as  an 
ornamental  garden,  with  grass,  shrubbery,  flowers,  grav- 
elled walks,  and  frequent  seats.  Here  the  sun  was 
setting,  and  gilded  the  old  town  with  its  parting,  rays, 
making  it  absolutely  the  most  picturesque  scene  pos- 
sible to  be  seen.  The  mass  of  tall,  ancient  houses, 
heaped  densely  together,  looked  like  a Gothic  dream  ; 
for  there  seemed  to  be  towers  and  all  sorts  of  stately 
architecture,  and  spires  ascended  out  of  the  mass ; and 
above  the  whole  was  the  castle,  with  a diadem  qf  gold 


1857.] 


EDINBURGH. 


28? 

on  its  topmost  turret.  It  wanted  less  than  a quarter 
of  nine  when  the  last  gleam  faded  from  the  windows  of 
the  old  town,  and  left  the  crowd  of  buildings  dim  and 
indistinguishable,  to  reappear  on  the  morrow  in  squalor, 
lifting  their  meanness  skyward,  the  home  of  layer  upon 
layer  of  unfortunate  humanity.  The  change  symbol- 
ized the  difference  between  a poet’s  imagination  of 
life  in  the  past  — or  in  a state  which  he  looks  at 
through  a colored  and  illuminated  medium  — and  the 
sad  reality. 

This  morning  wo  took  a cab,  and  set  forth  between 
ten  and  eleven  to  see  Edinburgh  and  its  environs  ; 
driving  past  the  University,  and  other  noticeable  ob- 
jects in  the  old  town,  and  thence  out  to  Anhur’s  Seat. 
Salisbury  Crags  are  a very  singular  feature  of  the 
outskirts.  From  the  heights,  beneath  Arthur’s  Seat, 
we  had  a fine  prospect  of  the  sea,  with  Leith  and  Porto- 
bello  in  the  distance,  and  of  a fertile  plain  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill.  In  the  course  of  our  drive  our  cabman 
pointed  out  Dumbiedike’s  house  ; also  the  cottage  of 
Jennie  Deans,  — at  least,  the  spot  where  it  formerly 
stood ; and  Muschat’s  Cairn,  of  which  a small  heap  of 
stones  is  yet  remaining.  Near  this  latter  object  are  the 
ruins  of  St.  Anthony’s  Chapel,  a roofless  gable,  and  other 
remains,  standing  on  the  abrupt  hillside.  We  drove 
homeward  past  a parade-ground  on  which  a body  of 
cavalry  was  exercising,  and  we  met  a company  of  in- 
fantry on  their  route  thither.  Then  we  drove  near 
Calton  Hill,  which  seems  to  be  not  a burial-ground, 
although  the  site  of  stately  monuments.  In  fine,  we 
passed  through  the  Grass-Market,  where  we  saw  the 
cross  in  the  pavement  in  the  street,  marking  the  spot, 


288  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

as  I recorded  before,  where  Porteous  was  executed. 
Thence  we  passed  through  the  Cowgate,  all  the  latter 
part  of  our  drive  being  amongst  the  tall,  quaint  edifices 
of  the  old  town,  alike  venerable  and  squalid.  From 
the  Grass-Market  the  rock  of  the  castle  looks  more 
precipitous  than  as  we  had  hitherto  seen  it,  and  its 
prisons,  palaces,  and  barracks  approach  close  to  its  head- 
long verge,  and  form  one  steep  line  with  its  descent. 
We  drove  quite  round  the  Castle  Hill,  and  returned 
down  Prince’s  Street  to  our  hotel.  There  can  be  no 
other  city  in  the  world  that  affords  more  splendid 
scenery,  both  natural  and  architectural,  than  Edin- 
burgh. 

Then  we  went  to  St.  Giles’s  Cathedral,  which  I 
shall  not  describe,  it  having  been  kirkified  into  three 
interior  divisions  by  the  Covenanters  ; and  I left  my 

wife  to  take  drawings,  while  J and  I went  to 

Short’s  Observatory,  near  the  entrance  of  the  castle. 
Here  we  saw  a camera-obscura,  which  brought  before 
us,  without  our  stirring  a step,  almost  all  the  striking 
objects  which  we  had  been  wandering  to  and  fro  to  see. 
We  also  saw  the  mites  in  cheese,  gigantically  magnified 
by  a solar  microscope ; likewise  some  dioramic  viewsf 

with  all  which  J was  mightily  pleased,  and  for 

myself,  being  tired  to  death  of  sights,  I would  as  lief 
see  them  as  anything  else.  We  found,  on  calling  for 
mamma  at  St.  Giles’s,  that  she  had  gone  away  ; but 
she  rejoined  us  between  four  and  five  o’clock  at  our 
hotel,  where  the  next  thing  we  did  was  to  dine.  Again 
after  dinner  we  walked  out,  looking  at  the  shop-win- 
dows of  jewellers,  where  ornaments  made  of  cairngorm 
pebbles  are  the  most  peculiar  attraction.  As  it  was* 


EDINBURGH. 


289 


1857.] 

our  wedding-day,  ....  I gave  S a golden  and 

amethyst-bodied  cairngorm  beetle  with  a ruby  head  ; 
and  after  sitting  awhile  in  Prince’s  Street  Gardens,  we 
came  home. 

July  10^.  — Last  evening  I walked  round  the  castle 
rock,  and  through  the  Grass-Market,  where  I stood  on 
the  inlaid  cross  in  the  pavement,  thence  down  the  High 
Street  beyond  John  Knox’s  house.  The  throng  in  that 
part  of  the  town  was  very  great.  There  is  a strange 
fascination  in  these  old  streets,  and  in  the  peeps  down 
the  closes  ; but  it  doubtless  would  be  a great  blessing 
were  a fire  to  sweep  through  the  whole  of  ancient 
Edinburgh.  This  system  of  living  on  flats,  up  to  I 
know  not  what  story,  must  be  most  unfavorable  to 
cleanliness,  since  they  have  to  fetch  their  water  all  that 
distance  towards  heaven,  and  how  they  get  rid  of  their 
rubbish  is  best  known  to  themselves. 

My  wife  has  gone  to  Roslin  this  morning,  and  since 

her  departure  it  has  been  drizzly,  so  that  J and  I, 

after  a walk  through  the  new  part  of  the  town,  are 
imprisoned  in  our  parlor  with  little  resource  except  to 
look  across  the  valley  to  the  castle,  where  Mons  Meg  is 
plainly  visible  on  the  upper  platform,  and  the  lower 
ramparts,  zigzagging  about  the  edge  of  the  precipice, 
which  nearly  in  front  of  us  is  concealed  or  softened  by 
a great  deal  of  shrubbery,  but  farther  off  descends 
steeply  down  to  the  grass  below.  Somewhere  on  this 
side  of  the  rock  was  the  point  where  Claverhouse,  on 
quitting  Edinburgh  before  the  battle  of  Killiecrankie, 
clambered  up  to  hold  an  interview  with  the  Duke  of 
Gordon.  What  an  excellent  thing  it  is  to  have  such 
13  s 


VOL.  II. 


290 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


striking  and  indestructible  land-marks  and  time-marks 
that  they  serve  to  affix  historical  incidents  to,  and  thus, 
as  it  were,  nail  down  the  Past  for  the  benefit  of  all 
future  ages  ! 

The  old  town  of  Edinburgh  appears  to  be  situated, 
in  its  densest  part,  on  the  broad  back  of  a ridge,  which 
rises  gradually  to  its  termination  in  the  precipitous 
rock,  on  which  stands  the  castle.  Between  the  old 
town  and  the  new  is  the  valley,  which  runs  along  at  the 
base  of  this  ridge,  and  which,  in  its  natural  state,  was 
probably  rough  and  broken,  like  any  mountain  gorge. 
The  lower  part  of  the  valley,  adjacent  to  the  Canongate, 
is  now  a broad  hollow  space,  fitted  up  with  dwellings, 
shops,  or  manufactories  ; the  next  portion,  between  two 
bridges,  is  converted  into  an  ornamental  garden  free  to 
the  public,  and  contains  Scott’s  beautiful  monument,  — 
a cancpy  of  Gothic  arches  and  a fantastic  spire,  beneath 
which  he  sits,  thoughtful  and  observant  of  what  passes 
in  the  contiguous  street ; the  third  portion  of  the  valley, 
above  the  last  bridge,  is  another  ornamental  garden, 
open  only  to  those  who  have  pass-keys.  It  is  an 
admirable  garden,  with  a great  variety  of  surface,  and 
extends  far  round  the  castle  rock,  with  paths  that  lead 
up  to  its  very  base,  among  leafy  depths  of  shrubbery, 

and  winds  beneath  the  sheer,  black  precipice.  J 

and  I walked  there  this  forenoon,  and  took  refuge  from 
a shower  beneath  an  overhanging  jut  of  the  rock,  where 
a bench  had  been  placed,  and  where  a curtain  of  hang- 
ing ivy  helped  to  shelter  us.  On  our  return  to  the 
hotel,  we  found  mamma  just  alighting  from  a cab. 
She  had  had  very  bad  fortune  in  her  excursion  to 
Roslin,  having  had  to  walk  a long  distance  to  the 


1857.] 


MELROSE. 


291 


chapel,  and  being  caught  in  the  rain  ; and,  after  all, 
she  could  only  spend  seven  minutes  in  viewing  the 
beautiful  Roslin  architecture. 

MELROSE. 

July  11  th.  — We  left  Edinburgh,  where  we  had 
found  at  Addison’s,  87  Prince’s  Street,  the  most  comfort- 
able hotel  in  Great  Britain,  and  went  to  Melrose,  where 
we  put  up  at  the  George,  This  is  all  travelled  ground 
with  me,  so  that  I need  not  much  perplex  myself  with 
further  description,  especially  as  it  is  impossible,  by 
any  repetition  of  attempts,  to  describe  Melrose  Abbey, 
We  went  thither  immediately  after  tea,  and  were  shown 
over  the  ruins  by  a very  delectable  old  Scotchman,  in* 
comparably  the  best  guide  I ever  met  with.  I think 
he  must  take  pains  to  speak  the  Scotch  dialect,  he  does 
it  with  such  pungent  felicity  and  effect,  and  it  gives  a 
flavor  to  everything  he  says,  like  the  mustard  and 
vinegar  in  a salad.  This  is  not  the  man  I saw  when 
here  before.  The  Scotch  dialect  is  still,  in  a greater 
or  less  degree,  universally  prevalent  in  Scotland,  inso- 
much that  we  generally  find  it  difficult  to  comprehend 
the  answers  to  our  questions,  though  more,  I think, 
from  the  unusual  intonation  than  either  from  strange 
words  or  pronunciation.  But  this  old  man,  though  he 
spoke  the  most  unmitigated  Scotch,  was  perfectly  in- 
telligible,— perhaps  because  his  speech  so  well  accord- 
ed with  the  classic  standard  of  the  Waverley  Novels. 
Moreover,  he  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  Abbey  ? 
stone  by  stone  ; and  it  was  curious  to  see  him,  as  we 
walked  among  its  aisles,  and  over  the  grass  beneath  its 
roofless  portions,  pick  up  the  withered  leaves  that  had 


292 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


fallen  there,  and  do  other  such  little  things,  as  a good 
housewife  might  do  to  a parlor.  I have  met  with  two 
or  three  instances  where  the  guardian  of  an  old  edifice 
seemed  really  to  love  it,  and  this  was  one,  although  the 
old  man  evidently  had  a Scotch  Covenanter’s  contempt 
and  dislike  of  the  faith  that  founded  the  Abbey.  He 
repeated  King  David’s  dictum  that  King  David  the 
First  was  “ a sair  saint  for  the  crown,”  as  bestowing 
so  much  wealth  on  religious  edifices ; but  really,  unless 
it  be  Walter  Scott,  I know  not  any  Scotchman  who  has 
done  so  much  for  his  country  as  this  same  St.  David. 
As  the  founder  of  Melrose  and  many  other  beautiful 
churches  and  abbeys,  he  left  magnificent  specimens  of 
the  only  kind  of  poetry  which  the  age  knew  how  to 
produce ; and  the  world  is  the  better  for  him  to  this 
day,  — which  is  more,  I believe,  than  can  be  said  of  any 
hero  or  statesman  in  Scottish  annals. 

We  went  all  over  the  ruins,  of  course,  and  saw  the 
marble  stone  of  King  Alexander,  and  the  spot  where 
Bruce’s  heart  is  said  to  be  buried,  and  the  slab  of 
Michael  Scott,  with  the  cross  engraved  upon  it ; also 
the  exquisitely  sculptured  kail-leaves,  and  other  foliage 
and  flowers,  with  which  the  Gothic  artists  inwreathed 
this  edifice,  bestowing  more  minute  and  faithful  labor 
than  an  artist  of  these  days  would  do  on  the  most 
delicate  piece  of  cabinet-work.  We  came  away  sooner 
than  we  wished,  but  we  hoped  to  return  thither  this 
morning;  and,  for  my  part,  I cherish  a presentiment 
that  this  will  not  be  our  last  visit  to  Scotland  and  Mel- 
rose  J and  I then  walked  to  the  Tweed, 

where  we  saw  two  or  three  people  angling,  with  naked 
legs,  or  trousers  turned  up,  and  wading  among  the  rude 


ABBOTSFORD. 


293 


J857] 

stones  that  make  something  like  a dam  over  the  wide 
and  brawling  stream.  I did  not  observe  that  they 

caught  any  fish,  but  J was  so  fascinated  with  the 

spectacle  that  he  pulled  out  his  poor  little  fishing-line, 
and  wished  to  try  his  chance  forthwith.  I never  saw 
the  angler’s  instinct  stronger  in  anybody.  We  walked 
across  the  footbridge  that  here  spans  the  Tweed ; and 

J observed  that  he  did  not  see  how  William  of 

Deloraine  could  have  found  so  much  difficulty  in  swim- 
ming his  horse  across  so  shallow  a river.  Neither  do  I. 
It  now  began  to  sprinkle,  and  we  hastened  back  to  the 
hotel. 

It  was  not  a pleasant  morning ; but  we  started  im- 
mediately after  breakfast  for 

ABBOTSFORD, 

which  is  but  about  three  miles  distant.  The  country  be- 
tween Melrose  and  that  place  is  not  in  the  least  beauti- 
ful, nor  very  noteworthy,  — one  or  two  old  irregular 
villages  ; one  tower  that  looks  principally  domestic,  yet 
partly  warlike,  and  seems  to  be  of  some  antiquity ; and 
an  undulation,  or  rounded  hilly  surface  of  the  landscape, 
sometimes  affording  wide  vistas  between  the  slopes. 
These  hills,  which,  I suppose,  are  some  of  them  on  the 
Abbotsford  estate,  are  partly  covered  with  woods,  but 
of  Scotch  fir,  or  some  tree  of  that  species,  which  creates 
no  softened  undulation,  but  overspreads  the  hill  like  a 
tightly  fitting  wig.  It  is  a cold,  dreary,  disheartening 
neighborhood,  that  of  Abbotsford ; at  least,  it  has  ap- 
peared so  to  me  at  both  of  my  visits,  — one  of  which  was 
on  a bleak  and  windy  May  morning,  and  this  one  on  a 
chill,  showery  morning  of  midsummer. 


294 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

The  entrance-way  to  the  house  is  somewhat  altered 
since  my  last  visit ; and  we  now,  following  the  direction 
of  a painted  finger  on  the  wall,  went  round  to  a side 
door  in  the  basement  story,  where  we  found  an  elder- 
ly man  waiting  as  if  in  expectation  of  visitors.  He 
asked  us  to  write  our  names  in  a book,  and  told  us  that 
the  desk  on  the  leaf  of  which  it  lay  was  the  one  in 
which  Sir  Walter  found  the  forgotten  manuscript  of 
Waverley,  while  looking  for  some  fishing-tackle.  There 
was  another  desk  in  the  room,  which  had  belonged  to  the 
Colonel  Gardiner  who  appears  in  Waverley.  The  first 
apartment  into  which  our  guide  showed  us  was  Sir 
Walter’s  stud}',  where  I again  saw  his  clothes,  and  re- 
marked how  the  sleeve  of  his  old  green  coat  was  worn 
at  the  cuff,  — a minute  circumstance  that  seemed  to  bring 
Sir  Walter  very  near  me.  Thence  into  the  library  ; 
thence  into  the  drawing-room,  whence,  methinks,  we 
should  have  entered  the  dining-room,  the  most  interest- 
ing of  all,  as  being  the  room  where  he  died.  But  this 
room  seems  not  to  be  shown  now.  We  saw  the 
armory,  with  the  gun  of  Rob  Roy,  into  the  muzzle  of 
which  I put  my  finger,  and  found  the  bore  very  large  ; 
the  beautifully  wrought  pistol  of  Claverhouse,  and  a 
pair  of  pistols  that  belonged  to  Napoleon ; the  sword 
of  Montrose,  which  I grasped,  and  drew  half  out  of 
the  scabbard  ; and  Queen  Mary’s  iron  jewel-box,  six  or 
eight  inches  long,  and  two  or  three  high,  with  a lid 
rounded  like  that  of  a trunk,  and  much  corroded  with 
rust.  There  is  no  use  in  making  a catalogue  of  these 
curiosities.  The  feeling  in  visiting  Abbotsford  is  not 
that  of  awe  ; it  is  little  more  *han  going  to  a museum. 
I do  abhor  this  mode  of  making  pilgrimages  to  the 


DURHAM. 


295 


i 857.  j 

shrines  of  departed  great  men.  There  is  certainly 
something  wrong  in  it,  for  it  seldom  or  never  produces 
(in  me,  at  least)  the  right  feeling.  It  is  an  odd  truth, 
too,  that  a house  is  forever  after  spoiled  and  ruined  as  a 
home,  by  having  been  the  abode  of  a great  man.  His 
spirit  haunts  it,  as  it  were,  with  a malevolent  effect,  and 
takes  hearth  and  hall  away  from  the  nominal  possessors, 
giving  all  the  world  the  right  to  enter  there  because  he 
had  such  intimate  relations  with  all  the  world. 

We  had  intended  to  go  to  Dryburgh  Abbey;  but  as 
the  weather  more  than  threatened  rain,  ....  we  gave 
up  the  idea,  and  so  took  the  rail  for  Berwick,  after  one 
o’clock.  On  our  road  we  passed  several  ruins  in  Scot- 
land, and  some  in  England,  — one  old  castle  in  particular, 
beautifully  situated  beside  a deep-banked  stream.  The 
road  lies  for  many  miles  along  the  coast,  affording  a 
fine  view  of  the  German  Ocean,  which  was  now  blue, 
sunny,  and  breezy,  the  day  having  risen  out  of  its  morn- 
ing sulks.  We  waited  an  hour  or  more  at  Berwick, 

and  J and  I took  a hasty  walk  into  the  town.  It 

is  a rough  and  rude  assemblage  of  rather  mean  houses, 
some  of  which  are  thatched.  There  seems  to  have  been 
a wall  about  the  town  at  a former  period,  and  we  passed 
through  one  of  the  gates.  The  view  of  the  river  Tweed 
here  is  very  fine,  both  above  and  below  the  railway 
bridge,  and  especially  where  it  flows,  a broad  tide,  and 
between  high  banks,  into  the  sea.  Thence  we  went 
onward  along  the  coast,  as  I have  said,  pausing  a few 
moments  in  smoky  Newcastle,  and  reaching  Durham 
about  eight  o’clock. 

DURHAM. 

I wandered  out  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  — for  the 


296  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857, 

dusk  comes  on  comparatively  early  as  we  draw  south- 
ward, — and  found  a beautiful  and  shadowy  path  along 
the  river-side,  skirting  its  high  banks,  up  and  adown 
which  grow  noble  elms.  I could  not  well  see,  in  that 
obscurity  of  twilight  boughs,  whither  I was  going,  or 
what  was  around  me;  but  I judged  that  the  castle  or 
cathedral,  or  both,  crowned  the  highest  line  of  the 
shore,  and  that  I was  walking  at  the  base  of  their  walls. 
There  was  a pair  of  lovers  in  front  of  me,  and  I passed 
two  or  three  other  tender  couples.  The  walk  appeared 
to  go  on  interminably  by  the  river-side,  through  the 
same  sweet  shadow ; but  I turned,  and  found  my  way 
into  the  cathedral  close,  beneath  an  ancient  archway, 
whence,  issuing  again,  I inquired  my  way  to  the 
Waterloo  Hotel,  where  we  had  put  up. 

Items.  — We  saw  the  Norham  Castle  of  Marmion,  at 
a short  distance  from  the  station  of  the  same  name. 
Viewed  from  the  railway,  it  has  not  a very  picturesque 
appearance,  — a high,  square  ruin  of  what  I suppose 
was  the  keep.  — At  Abbotsford,  treasured  up  in  a glass 
case  in  the  drawing-room,  were  memorials  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott’s  servants  and  humble  friends,  — for  instance, 
a brass  snuff-box  of  Tom  Purdy,  — there,  too,  among 
precious  relics  of  illustrious  persons.  — In  the  armory,  I 
grasped  with  some  interest  the  sword  of  Sir  Adam 
Ferguson,  which  he  had  worn  in  the  Peninsular  war. 
Our  guide  said,  of  his  own  knowledge,  that  “ he  was  a 
very  funny  old  gentleman.”  He  died  only  a year  or 
two  since. 


July  11  th.  — The  morning  after  our  arrival  in  Dur* 


DURHAM. 


297 


1857.] 

ham  being  Sunday,  we  attended  service  in  the  cathe- 
dral  We  found  a tolerable  audience,  seated  on 

benches,  within  and  in  front  of  the  choir ; and  people 
continually  strayed  in  and  out  of  the  sunny  churchyard 
and  sat  down,  or  walked  softly  and  quietly  up  and  down 
the  side  aisle.  Sometimes,  too,  one  of  the  vergers 
would  come  in  with  a handful  of  little  boys,  whom  he 
had  caught  playing  among  the  tombstones. 

DURHAM  CATHEDRAL 

has  one  advantage  over  the  others  which  I have  seen, 
there  being  no  organ-screen,  nor  any  sort  of  partition 
between  the  choir  and  nave  ; so  that  we  saw  its  entire 
length,  nearly  five  hundred  feet,  in  one  vista.  The 
pillars  of  the  nave  are  immensely  thick,  but  hardly  of 
proportionate  height,  and  they  support  the  round  Nor- 
man arch ; nor  is  there,  as  far  as  I remember,  a single 
pointed  arch  in  the  cathedral.  The  effect  is  to  give  the 
edifice  an  air  of  heavy  grandeur.  It  seems  to  have 
been  built  before  the  best  style  of  church  architecture 
had  established  itself ; so  that  it  weighs  upon  the  soul, 
instead  of  helping  it  to  aspire.  First,  there  are  these 
round  arches,  supported  by  gigantic  columns  ; then,  im- 
mediately above,  another  row  of  round  arches,  behind 
which  is  the  usual  gallery  that  runs,  as  it  were,  in  the 
thickness  of  the  wall,  around  the  nave  of  the  cathedral; 
then,  above  all,  another  row  of  round  arches,  enclosing 
the  windows  of  the  clere-story.  The  great  pillars  are 
ornamented  in  various  ways,  — some  with  a great  spiral 
groove  running  from  bottom  to  top ; others  with  two 
spirals,  ascending  in  different  directions,  so  as  to  cross 
over  one  another ; some  are  fluted  or  channelled  straight 
13* 


298 


ENGLISH  NOTEBOOKS. 


[1857. 

up  and  down  ; some  are  wrought  with  chevrons,  like 
those  on  the  sleeve  of  a police-inspector.  There  are 
zigzag  cuttings  and  carvings,  which  I do  not  know  how 
to  name  scientifically,  round  the  arches  of  the  doors  and 
windows ; but  nothing  that  seems  to  have  flowered  out 
spontaneously,  as  natural  incidents  of  a grand  and  beau- 
tiful design.  In  the  nave,  between  the  columns  of  the 
side  aisles,  I saw  one  or  two  monuments 

The  cathedral  service  is  very  long ; and  though  the 
choral  part  of  it  is  pleasant  enough,  I thought  it  not 
best  to  wait  for  the  sermon,  especially  as  it  would  have 
been  quite  unintelligible,  so  remotely  as  I sat  in  the 
great  space.  So  I left  my  seat,  and  after  strolling  up 
and  down  the  aisle  a few  times,  sallied  forth  into  the 
churchyard.  On  the  cathedral  door  there  is  a curious 
old  knocker,  in  the  form  of  a monstrous  face,  which  was 
placed  there,  centuries  ago,  for  the  benefit  of  fugitives 
from  justice,  who  used  to  be  entitled  to  sanctuary  here. 
The  exterior  of  the  cathedral,  being  huge,  is  therefore 
grand;  it  has  a great  central  tower,  and  two  at  the 
western  end  ; and  reposes  in  vast  and  heavy  length, 
without  the  multitude  of  niches,  and  crumbling  statues, 
and  richness  of  detail,  that  make  the  towers  and  fronts 
of  some  cathedrals  so  endlessly  interesting.  One  piece 
of  sculpture  I remember,  — a carving  of  a cow,  a milk- 
maid, and  a monk,  in  reference  to  the  legend  that  the 
site  of  the  cathedral  was,  in  some  way,  determined  by  a 
woman  bidding  her  cow  go  home  to  Dunholrne.  Cadmus 
was  guided  to  the  site  of  his  destined  city  in  some  such 
way  as  this. 

It  was  a very  beautiful  day,  and  though  the  shadow 
of  the  cathedral  fell  on  this  side,  yet,  it  being  about 


1857.] 


DURHAM. 


299 


noontide,  it  did  not  cover  the  churchyard  entirely,  but 
left  many  of  the  graves  in  sunshine.  There  were  not  a 
great  many  monuments,  and  these  were  chiefly  horizon- 
tal slabs,  some  of  which  looked  aged,  but  on  closer  in- 
spection proved  to  be  mostly  of  the  present  century.  I 
observed  an  old  stone  figure,  however,  half  worn  away, 
which  seemed  to  have  something  like  a bishop’s  mitre 
on  its  head,  and  may  perhaps  have  lain  in  the  proudest 
chapel  of  the  cathedral  before  occupying  its  present 
bed  among  the  grass.  About  fifteen  paces  from  the 
central  tower,  and  within  its  shadow,  I found  a weather- 
worn slab  of  marble,  seven  or  eight  feet  long,  the  in- 
scription on  which  interested  me  somewhat.  It  was  to 
the  memory  of  Robert  Dodsley,  the  bookseller,  Johnson’s 
acquaintance,  who,  as  his  tombstone  rather  superciliously 
avers,  had  made  a much  better  figure  as  an  author  than 
u could  have  been  expected  in  his  rank  of  life.”  But, 
after  all,  it  is  inevitable  that  a man’s  tombstone  should 
look  down  on  him,  or,  at  all  events,  comport  itself  to- 
wards him  “ de  haut  en  bas.”  I love  to  find  the  graves 
of  men  connected  with  literature.  They  interest  me 
more,  even  though  of  no  great  eminence,  than  those  of 
persons  far  more  illustrious  in  other  walks  of  life. 
I know  not  whether  this  is  because  I happen  to  be  one 
of  the  literary  kindred,  or  because  all  men  feel  them- 
selves akin,  and  on  terms  of  intimacy,  with  those  whom 
they  know,  or  might  have  known,  in  books.  I rather 
believe  that  the  latter  is  the  case. 

My  wife  had  stayed  in  the  cathedral,  but  she  came 
out  at  the  end  of  the  sermon,  and  told  me  of  two  little 
birds,  who  had  got  into  the  vast  interior,  and  were  in 
great  trouble  at  not  being  able  to  find  their  way  out 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


300 


[1857. 


again.  Thus,  two  winged  souls  may  often  have  been 
imprisoned  within  a faith  of  heavy  ceremonials. 

We  went  round  the  edifice,  and,  passing  into  the  close, 
penetrated  through  an  arched  passage  into  the  crypt, 
which,  methought,  was  in  a better  style  of  architecture 
than  the  nave  and  choir.  At  one  end  stood  a crowd  of 
venerable  figures  leaning  against  the  wall,  being  stone 
images  of  bearded  saints,  apostles,  patriarchs,  kings,  — 
personages  of  great  dignity,  at  all  events,  who  had  doubt- 
less occupied  conspicuous  niches  in  and  about  the  cathe- 
dral till  finally  imprisoned  in  this  cellar.  I looked  at 
every  one,  and  found  not  an  entire  nose  among  them, 
nor  quite  so  many  heads  as  they  once  had. 

Thence  we  went  into  the  cloisters,  which  are  entire, 
but  not  particularly  interesting.  Indeed,  this  cathe- 
dral has  not  taken  hold  of  my  affections,  except  in  one 
aspect,  when  it  was  exceedingly  grand  and  beautiful. 

After  looking  at  the  crypt  and  the  cloisters,  we  re- 
turned through  the  close  and  the  churchyard,  and  went 
back  to  the  hotel  through  a path  by  the  river-side. 
This  is  the  same  dim  and  dusky  path  through  which  I 
wandered  the  night  before,  and  in  the  sunshine  it 
looked  quite  as  beautiful  as  I knew  it  must,  — a shadow 
of  elm-trees  clothing  the  high  bank,  and  overarching 
the  paths  above  and  below  ; some  of  the  elms  growing 
close  to  the  water-side,  and  flinging  up  their  topmost 
boughs  not  nearly  so  high  as  where  we  stood,  and  others 
climbing  upward  and  upward,  till  our  way  wound  among 
their  roots  ; while  through  the  foliage  the  quiet  river 
loitered  along,  with  this  lovely  shade  on  both  its  banks, 
to  pass  through  the  centre  of  the  town.  The  stately 
cathedral  rose  high  above  us,  and  farther  onward,  in  a 


DURHAM. 


301 


1857.] 

line  with  it,  the  battlemented  walls  of  the  old  Norman 
castle,  gray  and  warlike,  though  now  it  has  become  a 
University.  This  delightful  walk  terminates  at  an  old 
bridge  in  the  heart  of  the  town  ; and  the  castle  hangs 
immediately  over  its  busiest  street.  On  this  bridge, 
last  night,  in  the  embrasure,  or  just  over  the  pier,  where 
there  is  a stone  seat,  I saw  some  old  men  seated,  smoking 
their  pipes  and  chatting.  In  my  judgment,  a river 
flowing  through  the  centre  of  a town,  and  not  too  broad 
to  make  itself  familiar,  nor  too  swift,  but  idling  along, 
as  if  it  loved  better  to  stay  there  than  to  go,  is  the 
pleasantest  imaginable  piece  of  scenery ; so  transient 
as  it  is,  and  yet  enduring,  — just  the  same  from  life’s 
end  to  life’s  end  ; and  this  river  Wear,  with  its  sylvan 
wildness,  and  yet  so  sweet  and  placable,  is  the  best  of 
all  little  rivers,  — not  that  h is  so  very  small,  but  with 
a bosom  broad  enough  to  be  crossed  by  a three-arched 
bridge.  Just  above  the  cathedral  there  is  a mill  upon 
its  shore,  as  ancient  as  the  times  of  the  Abbey. 

We  went  homeward  through  the  market-place  and 
one  or  two  narrow  streets ; for  the  town  has  the  irregu- 
larity of  all  ancient  settlements,  and,  moreover,  undu- 
lates upward  and  downward,  and  is  also  made  more 
unintelligible  to  a stranger,  in  its  points  and  bearings, 
by  the  tortuous  course  of  the  river. 

After  dinner  J and  I walked  along  the  bank 

opposite  to  that  on  which  the  cathedral  stands,  and 
found  the  paths  there  equally  delightful  with  those 
which  I have  attempted  to  describe.  We  went  onward 
while  the  river  gleamed  through  the  foliage  beneath 
us,  and  passed  so  far  beyond  the  cathedral  that  we 
began  to  think  we  were  getting  into  the  country,  and 


302 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

that  it  was  time  to  return  ; when  all  at  once  we  saw  a 
bridge  before  us,  and  beyond  that,  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  Wear,  the  cathedral  itself!  The  stream  had 
made  a circuit  without  our  knowing  it.  We  paused 
upon  the  bridge,  and  admired  and  wondered  at  the 
beauty  and  glory  of  the  scene,  with  those  vast,  ancient 
towers  rising  out  of  the  green  shade,  and  looking  as  if 
they  were  based  upon  it.  The  situation  of  Durham 
Cathedral  is  certainly  a noble  one,  finer  even  than  that 
of  Lincoln,  though  the  latter  stands  even  at  a more 
lordly  height  above  the  town.  But  as  I saw  it  then, 
it  was  grand,  venerable,  and  sweet,  all  at  once ; and  I 
never  saw  so  lovely  and  magnificent  a scene,  nor,  being 
content  with  this,  do  I care  to  see  a better.  The 
castle  beyond  came  also  into  the  view,  and  the  whole 
picture  was  mirrored  in  the  tranquil  stream  below. 
And  so,  crossing  the  bridge,  the  path  led  us  back 
through  many  a bower  of  hollow  shade ; and  we  then 
quitted  the  hotel,  and  took  the  rail  for 

YORK, 

where  we  arrived  at  about  half  past  nine.  We  put  up 
at  the  Black  Swan,  with  which  we  had  already  made 
acquaintance  at  our  previous  visit  to  York.  It  is  a 
very  ancient  hotel ; for  in  the  coffee-room  I saw  on  the 
wall  an  old  printed  advertisement,  announcing  that  a 
stage-coach  would  leave  the  Black  Swan  in  London, 
and  arrive  at  the  Black  Swan  in  York,  with  God’s  per- 
mission, in  four  days.  The  date  was  1706  ; and  still, 
after  a hundred  and  fifty  years,  the  Black  Swan  re- 
ceives travellers  in  Coney  Street.  It  is  a very  good 
hotel,  and  was  much  thronged  with  guests  when  we 


1857.] 


YORK. 


303 


arrived,  as  the  Sessions  come  on  this  week.  We  found 
a very  smart  waiter,  whose  English  faculties  have  been 
brightened  by  a residence  of  several  years  in  America. 

In  the  morning,  before  breakfast,  I strolled  out,  and 
walked  round  the  cathedral,  passing  on  my  way  the 
sheriffs  javelin-men,  in  long  gowns  of  faded  purple 
embroidered  with  gold,  carrying  halberds  in  their 
hands ; also  a gentleman  in  a cocked  hat,  gold  lace, 
and  breeches,  who,  no  doubt,  had  something  to  do  with 
the  ceremonial  of  the  Sessions.  I saw,  too,  a procession 
of  a good  many  old  cabs  and  other  carriages,  filled 
with  people,  and  a banner  flaunting  above  each  vehicle. 
These  were  the  piano-forte  makers  of  York,  who  were 
going  out  of  town  to  have  a jollification  together. 

After  breakfast  we  all  went  to  the  cathedral,  and  no 
sooner  were  we  within  it  than  we  found  how  much  our 
eyes  had  recently  been  educated,  by  our  greater  power 
of  appreciating  this  magnificent  interior ; for  it  im- 
pressed us  both  with  a joy  that  we  never  felt  before. 

J felt  it  too,  and  insisted  that  the  cathedral  must 

have  been  altered  and  improved  since  we  were  last 
here.  But  it  is  only  that  we  have  seen  much  splendid 
architecture  since  then,  and  so  have  grown  in  some 
degree  fitted  to  enjoy  it.  York  Cathedral  (I  say  it 
now,  for  it  is  my  present  feeling)  is  the  most  wonderful 
work  that  ever  came  from  the  hands  of  man.  Indeed,  it 
seems  like  ua  house  not  made  with  hands,”  but  rather 
to  have  come  down  from  above,  bringing  an  awful 
majesty  and  sweetness  with  it ; and  it  is  so  light  and 
aspiring,  with  all  its  vast  columns  and  pointed  arches, 
that  one  would  hardly  wonder  if  it  should  ascend  back 
to  heaven  again  by  its  mere  spirituality.  Positively 


304  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

the  pillars  and  arches  of  the  choir  are  so  very  beauti- 
ful that  they  give  the  impression  of  being  exquisitely 
polished,  though  such  is  not  the  fact ; but  their  beauty 
throws  a gleam  around  them.  I thank  God  that  I saw 
this  cathedral  again,  and  I thank  him  that  he  inspired 
the  builder  to  make  it,  and  that  mankind  has  so  long 
enjoyed  it,  and  will  continue  to  enjoy  it. 

July  Wth . - — We  left  York  at  twelve  o’clock,  and 
were  delayed  an  hour  or  two  at  Leeds,  waiting  for  a 
train.  I strolled  up  into  the  town,  and  saw  a fair,  with 
puppet-shows,  booths  of  penny  actors,  merry-go-rounds, 
clowns,  boxers,  and  other  such  things  as  I saw,  above 
a year  ago,  at  Greenwich  fair,  and  likewise  at  Tran- 
mere,  during  the  Whitsuntide  holidays. 

We  resumed  our  journey,  and  reached  Southport  in 
pretty  good  trim  at  about  nine  o’clock.  It  has  been  a 
very  interesting  tour.  We  find  Southport  just  as  we 
left  it,  with  its  regular  streets  of  little  and  big  lodging- 
houses,  where  the  visitors  perambulate  to  and  fro  with- 
out any  imaginable  object.  The  tide,  too,  seems  not  to 
have  been  up  over  the  waste  of  sands  since  we  went 
away  ; and  far  seaward  stands  the  same  row  of  bathing- 
machines,  and  just  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon  a gleam 
of  water,  — even  this  being  not  the  sea,  but  the  mouth 
of  the  river  Ribble,  seeking  the  sea  amid  the  sandy 
desert.  But  we  shall  soon  say  good  by  to  Southport. 

OLD  TRAFFORD,  MANCHESTER. 

July  22 d.  — We  left  Southport  for  good  on  the  20th, 
and  have  established  ourselves  in  this  place,  in  lodgings 
that  had  been  provided  for  us  by  Mr.  Swain ; our  prin- 


MANCHESTER. 


305 


1857.] 

cipal  object  being  to  spend  a few  weeks  in  the  proximity 
of  the  Arts’  Exhibition.  We  are  here,  about  three 
miles  from  the  Victoria  Railway  station  in  Manchester 
on  one  side,  and  nearly  a mile  from  the  Exhibition  on 
the  other.  This  is  a suburb  of  Manchester,  and  con- 
sists of  a long  street,  called  the  Stratford  Road,  bordered 
with  brick  houses  two  stories  high,  such  as  are  usually 
the  dwellings  of  tradesmen  or  respectable  mechanics, 
but  which  are  now  in  demand  for  lodgings,  at  high 
prices,  on  account  of  the  Exhibition.  It  seems  to  be 
rather  a new  precinct  of  the  city,  and  the  houses,  though 
ranged  along  a continuous  street,  are  but  a brick  border 
of  the  green  fields  in  the  rear.  Occasionally  you  get 
a glimpse  of  this  country  aspect  between  two  houses ; 
but  the  street  itself,  even  with  its  little  grass-plots  and 
bits  of  shrubbery  under  the  front  windows,  is  as  ugly 
as  it  can  be  made.  Some  of  the  houses  are  better 
than  I have  described ; but  the  brick  used  here  in 
building  is  very  unsightly  in  hue  and  surface. 

Betimes  in  the  morning  the  Exhibition  omnibuses 
begin  to  trundle  along,  and  pass  at  intervals  of  two  and 
a half  minutes  through  the  day,  — immense  vehicles 
constructed  to  carry  thirty-nine  passengers,  and  gen- 
erally with  a good  part  of  that  number  inside  and  out. 
The  omnibuses  are  painted  scarlet,  bordered  with  white, 
have  three  horses  abreast,  and  a conductor  in  a red 
coat.  They  perform  the  journey  from  this  point  into 
town  in  about  half  an  hour;  and  yesterday  morning, 
being  in  a hurry  to  get  to  the  railway  station,  I found 
that  I could  outwalk  them,  taking  into  account  their 
frequent  stoppages. 

We  have  taken  the  whole  house  (except  some  in* 

T 


306  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

* 

scrutable  holes,  into  which  the  family  creeps),  of  respec- 
table people,  who  never  took  lodgers  until  this  juncture. 
Their  furniture,  however,  is  of  the  true  lodging-house 
pattern,  — sofas  and  chairs  which  have  no  possibility 
of  repose  in  them  ; rickety  tables ; an  old  piano  and 
old  music,  with  “ Lady  Helen  Elizabeth  ” somebody’s 
name  written  on  it.  It  is  very  strange  how  nothing 
but  a genuine  home  can  ever  look  homelike.  They 
appear  to  be  good  people;  a little  girl  of  twelve,  a 
daughter,  waits  on  table ; and  there  is  an  elder  daugh- 
ter, who  yesterday  answered  the  door-bell,  looking  very 
like  a young  lady,  besides  five  or  six  smaller  children, 
who  make  less  uproar  of  grief  or  merriment  than  could 
possibly  be  expected.  The  husband  is  not  apparent, 
though  I see  his  hat  in  the  hall.  The  house  is  new, 
and  has  a trim,  light-colored  interior  of  half-gentility. 
I suppose  the  rent,  in  ordinary  times,  might  be  £ 25  per 
annum;  but  we  pay  at  the  rate  of  £338  for  the  part 
which  we  occupy.  This,  like  all  the  other  houses  in 
the  neighborhood,  was  evidently  built  to  be  sold  or 
let ; the  builder  never  thought  of  living  in  it  himself, 
and  so  that  subtile  element,  which  would  have  enabled 
him  to  create  a home,  was  entirely  left  out. 

This  morning,  J and  I set  forth  on  a walk,  first 

towards  the  palace  of  the  Arts’  Exhibition,  which  looked 
small  compared  with  my  idea  of  it,  and  seems  to  be  of 
the  Crystal  Palace  order  of  architecture,  only  with  more 
iron  to  its  glass.  Its  front  is  composed  of  three  round 

arches  in  a row.  We  did  not  go  in Turning 

to  the  right,  we  walked  onward  two  or  three  miles, 
passing  the  Botanic  Garden,  and  thence  along  by  sub- 
urban villas,  Belgrave  terraces,  and  other  such  pretti- 


MANCHESTER. 


307 


(857.] 

nesses  in  the  modern  Gothic  or  Elizabethan  style,  with 
fancifully  ornamented  flower-plats  before  them  ; thence 
by  hedgerows  and  fields,  and  through  two  or  three 
villages,  with  here  and  there  an  old  plaster  and  timber- 
built  thatched  house,  among  a street  full  of  modern 
brick-fronts,  — the  ale-house,  or  rural  inn,  being  gen- 
erally the  most  ancient  house  in  the  village.  It  was  a 
sultry,  heavy  day,  and  I walked  without  much  enjoy- 
ment of  the  air  and  exercise.  We  crossed  a narrow 
and  swift  river,  flowing  between  deep  banks.  It  must 
have  been  either  the  Mersey,  still  an  infant  stream,  and 
little  dreaming  of  the  thousand  mighty  ships  that  float 
on  its  farther  tide,  or  else  the  Irwell,  which  empties  into 
the  Mersey.  We  passed  through  the  village  beyond 
this  stream,  and  went  to  the  railway  station,  and  then 
were  brought  back  to  Old  Trafford,  and  deposited  close 
by  the  Exhibition. 

It  has  showered  this  afternoon  ; and  I beguiled  my 
time  for  half  an  hour  by  setting  down  the  vehicles  that 
went  past;  not  that  they  were  particularly  numerous, 
but  for  the  sake  of  knowing  the  character  of  the  travel 
along  the  road. 


July  2 6tk.  — Day  before  yesterday  we  went  to  the 
Arts’  Exhibition,  of  which  I do  not  think  that  I have  a 
great  deal  to  say.  The  edifice,  being  built  more  for 
convenience  than  show,  appears  better  in  the  interior 
than  from  without,  — long  vaulted  vistas,  lighted  from 
above,  extending  far  away,  all  hung  with  pictures;  and, 
on  the  floor  below,  statues,  knights  in  armor,  cabinets, 
vases,  and  all  manner  of  curious  and  beautiful  things, 


308  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

in  a regular  arrangement.  Scatter  five  thousand  peo- 
ple through  the  scene,  and  I do  not  know  how  to  make 
a better  outline  sketch.  I was  unquiet,  from  a hope- 
lessness of  being  able  to  enjoy  it  fully.  Nothing  is 
more  depressing  to  me  than  the  sight  of  a great  many 
pictures  together ; it  is  like  having  innumerable  books 
open  before  you  at  once,  and  being  able  to  read  only  a 
sentence  or  two  in  each.  They  bedazzle  one  another 
with  cross  lights.  There  never  should  be  more  than 
one  picture  in  a room,  nor  more  than  one  picture  to  be 
studied  in  one  day.  Galleries  of  pictures  are  surely 
the  greatest  absurdities  that  ever  were  contrived,  there 
being  no  excuse  for  them,  except  that  it  is  the  only 
way  in  which  pictures  can  be  made  generally  available 
and  accessible. 

We  went  first  into  the  Gallery  of  British  Painters, 
where  there  were  hundreds  of  pictures,  every  one  of 
which  would  have  interested  me  by  itself ; but  I could 
not  fix  my  mind  on  one  more  than  another,  so  I wan- 
dered about,  to  get  a general  idea  of  the  Exhibition. 
Truly  it  is  very  fine ; truly,  also,  every  great  show  is  a 
kind  of  humbug.  I doubt  whether  there  were  half  a 
dozen  people  there  who  got  the  kind  of  enjoyment  that 
it  was  intended  to  create,  — very  respectable  people  they 
seemed  to  be,  and  very  well  behaved,  but  all  skimming 
the  surface,  as  I did,  and  none  of  them  so  feeding  on 
what  was  beautiful  as  to  digest  it,  and  make  it  a part 
of  themselves.  Such  a quantity  of  objects  must  be  ut- 
terly rejected  before  you  can  get  any  real  profit  from 
one ! It  seemed  like  throwing  away  time  to  look  twice 
even  at  whatever  was  most  precious ; and  it  was  dreary 
to  think  of  not  fully  enjoying  this  collection,  the  very 


MANCHESTER. 


309 


1857.] 

flower  of  Time,  which  never  bloomed  before,  and  never, 
by  any  possibility,  can  bloom  again.  Viewed  hastily, 
moreover,  it  is  somewhat  sad  to  think  that  mankind, 
after  centuries  of  cultivation  of  the  beautiful  arts,  can 
produce  no  more  splendid  spectacle  than  this.  It  is 
not  so  very  grand,  although,  poor  as  it  is,  I lack  capacity 
to  take  in  even  the  whole  of  it. 

What  gave  me  most  pleasure  (because  it  required  no 
trouble  nor  study  to  come  at  the  heart  of  it)  were  the 
individual  relics  of  antiquity,  of  which  there  are  some 
very  curious  ones  in  the  cases  ranged  along  the  princi- 
pal saloon  or  nave  of  the  building.  For  example,  the 
dagger  with  which  Felton  killed  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham,— a knife  with  a bone  handle  and  a curved  blade, 
not  more  than  three  inches  long;  sharp-pointed,  mur- 
derous-looking, but  of  very  coarse  manufacture.  Also, 
the  Duke  of  Alva’s  leading  staff  of  iron  ; and  the  target 
of  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  which  seemed  to  be  made 
of  hardened  leather,  with  designs  artistically  engraved 
upon  it,  and  gilt.  I saw  Wolsey’s  portrait,  and,  in  close 
proximity  to  it,  his  veritable  cardinal’s  hat  in  a richly 
ornamented  glass  case,  on  which  was  an  inscription  to 
the  effect  that  it  had  been  bought  by  Charles  Kean  at 
the  sale  of  Horace  Walpole’s  collection.  It  is  a felt 
hat  with  a brim  about  six  inches  wide  all  round,  and  a 
rather  high  crown  ; the  color  was,  doubtless,  a bright 
red  originally,  but  now  it  is  mottled  with  a grayish  hue, 
and  there  are  cracks  in  the  brim,  as  if  the  hat  had  seen 
a good  deal  of  wear.  I suppose  a far  greater  curiosity 
than  this  is  the  signet-ring  of  one  of  the  Pharaohs,  who 
reigned  over  Egypt  during  Joseph’s  prime  ministry,  — a 
large  ring  to  be  worn  on  the  thumb,  if  at  all,  — of  mas* 


310 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857* 


sive  gold,  seal  part  and  all,  and  inscribed  with  some 
characters  that  looked  like  Hebrew.  I had  seen  this 
before  in  Mr.  Mayer’s  collection  in  Liverpool.  The 
mediaeval  and  English  relics^  however,  interested  me 
more*  — such  as  the  golden  and  enamelled  George  worn 
by  Sir  Thomas  More;  or  the  embroidered  shirt  of 
Charles  I.,  — the  very  one,  I presume,  which  he  wore 
at  his  execution.  There  are  no  blood  marks  on  it,  it 
being  very  nicely  washed  and  folded.  The  texture  of 
the  linen  cloth  — if  linen  it  be  — is  coarser  than  any 
peasant  would  wear  at  this  day,  but  the  needle-work  is 
exceedingly  fine  and  elaborate.  Another  relic  of  the 
same  period,  — the  Cavalier  General  Sir  Jacob  Astley’s 
buff  coat,  with  his  belt  and  sword ; the  leather  of  the 
buff  coat,  for  I took  it  between  my  fingers,  is  about  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  thick,  of  the  same  material  as  a 
wash-leather  glove,  and  by  no  means  smoothly  dressed, 
though  the  sleeves  are  covered  with  silver  lace.  Of 
old  armor,  there  are  admirable  specimens ; and  it 
makes  one’s  head  ache  to  look  at  the  iron  pots  which 
men  used  to  thrust  their  heads  into.  Indeed,  at  one 
period  they  seem  to  have  worn  an  inner  iron  cap  un- 
derneath the  helmet.  I doubt  whether  there  ever  was 

any  age  of  chivalry It  certainly  was  no  chivalric 

sentiment  that  made  men  case  themselves  in  impen- 
etrable iron,  and  ride  about  in  iron  prisons,,  fearfully 
peeping  at  their  enemies  through  little  slits  and  gimlet- 
holes.  The  unprotected  breast  of  a private  soldier 
must  have  shamed  his  leaders  in  those  days.  The 
point  of  honor  is  very  different  now. 

I mean  to  go  again  and  again,  many  times  more,  and 
will  take  each  day  some  one  department,  and  so  en- 


MANCHESTER. 


311 


I8K7-] 

deavor  to  get  some  real  use  and  improvement  out  of 
what  I see.  Much  that  is  most  valuable  must  be 
immitigably  rejected  ; but  something,  according  to  the 
measure  of  my  poor  capacity,  will  really  be  taken  into 
my  mind.  After  all,  it  was  an  agreeable  day,  and  I* 
think  the  next  one  will  be  more  so. 

July  28th.  — Day  before  yesterday  I paid  a second 
visit  to  the  Exhibition,  and  devoted  the  day  mainly  to 
seeing  the  works  of  British  painters,  which  fill  a very 
large  space,  — two  or  three  great  saloons  at  the  right 
side  of  the  nave.  Among  the  earliest  are  Hogarth’s 
pictures,  including  the  Sigismunda,  which  I remember 
to  have  seen  before,  with  her  lover’s  heart  in  her  hand, 
looking  like  a monstrous  strawberry  ; and  the  March 
to  Finchley,  than  which,  nothing  truer  to  Pmglish  life 
and  character  was  ever  painted,  nor  ever  can  be  ; and 
a large  stately  portrait  of  Captain  Coram,  and  others, 
all  excellent  in  proportion  as  they  come  near  to  ordi- 
nary life,  and  are  wrought  out  through  its  forms.  All 
English  painters  resemble  Hogarth  in  this  respect. 
They  cannot  paint  anything  high,  heroic,  and  ideal,  and 
their  attempts  in  that  direction  are  wearisome  to  look 
at ; but  they  sometimes  produce  good  effects  by  means 
of  awkward  figures  in  ill-made  coats  and  small-clothes, 
and  hard,  coarse-complexioned  faces,  such  as  they 
might  see  anywhere  in  the  street.  They  are  strong 
in  homeliness  and  ugliness,  weak  in  their  efforts  at  the 
beautiful.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  attains  a sort  of 
grace,  which  you  feel  to  be  a trick,  and  therefore  get 
disgusted  with  it.  Reynolds  is  not  quite  genuine, 
though  certainly  he  has  produced  some  noble  and 


312 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


'[1857. 


beautiful  heads.  But  Hogarth  is  the  only  English 
painter,  except  in  the  landscape  department ; there  are 
no  others  who  interpret  life  to  me  at  all,  unless  it  be 
some  of  the  modern  Pre-Raphaelites.  Pretty  village 
scenes  of  common  life,  — pleasant  domestic  passages, 
with  a touch  of  easy  humor  in  them,  — little  pathoses 
and  fancynesses,  are  abundant  enough  ; and  Wilkie,  to 
be  sure,  has  done  more  than  this,  though  not  a great 
deal  more.  His  merit  lies,  not  in  a high  aim,  but  in 
accomplishing  his  aim  so  perfectly.  It  is  unaccountable 
that  the  English  painters’  achievements  should  be  so 
much  inferior  to  those  of  the  English  poets,  who  have 
really  elevated  the  human  mind;  but,  to  be  sure, 
painting  has  only  become  an  English  art  subsequently 
to  the  epochs  of  the  greatest  poets,  and  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  last  century,  during  which  England  had 
no  poets.  I respect  Haydon  more  than  I once  did, 
not  for  his  pictures,  they  being  detestable  to  see,  but 
for  his  heroic  rejection  of  whatever  his  countrymen 
and  he  himself  could  really  do,  and  his  bitter  resolve 
to  achieve  something  higher,  — failing  in  which,  he 
died. 

No  doubt  I am  doing  vast  injustice  to  a great  many 
gifted  men  in  what  I have  here  written,  — as,  for  in- 
stance, Copley,  who  certainly  has  painted  a slain  man 
to  the  life  ; and  to  a crowd  of  landscape  painters,  who 
have  made  wonderful  reproductions  of  little  English 
streams  and  shrubbery,  and  cottage  doors  and  country 
lanes.  And  there  is  a picture  called  “ The  Evening 
Gun  ” by  Danby,  — a ship  of  war  on  a calm,  glassy  tide, 
at  sunset,  with  the  cannon-smoke  puffing  from  her  port- 
hole ; it  is  very  beautiful,  and  so  effective  that  you  can 


MANCHESTER. 


313 


I8o7.] 

even  heai  the  report  breaking  upon  the  stillness,  with 
so  grand  a roar  that  it  is  almost  like  stillness  too.  As 
for  Turner,  I care  no  more  for  his  light-colored  pictures 
than  for  so  much  lacquered  ware  or  painted  ginger- 
bread. Doubtless  this  is  my  fault,  my  own  defi- 
ciency; but  I cannot  help  it,  — not,  at  least,  without 
sophisticating  myself  by  the  effort.  The  only  modern 
pictures  that  accomplish  a higher  end  than  that  of 
pleasing  the  eye  — the  only  ones  that  really  take  hold 
of  my  mind,  and  with  a kind  of  acerbity,  like  unripe 
fruit  — are  the  works  of  Hunt,  and  one  or  two  other 
painters  of  the  Pre-Raphaelite  school.  They  seem 
wilfully  to  abjure  all  beauty,  and  to  make  their  pictures 
disagreeable  out  of  mere  malice  ; but  at  any  rate,  for 
the  thought  and  feeling  which  are  ground  up  with  the 
paint,  they  will  bear  looking  at,  and  disclose  a deeper 
value  the  longer  you  look.  Never  was  anything  so 
stiff  and  unnatural  as  they  appear ; although  every 
single  thing  represented  seems  to  be  taken  directly  out 
of  life  and  reality,  and,  as  it  were,  pasted  down  upon 
the  canvas.  They  almost  paint  even  separate  hairs* 
Accomplishing  so  much,  and  so  perfectly,  it  seems  un- 
accountable that  the  picture  does  not  live  ; but  Nature 
has  an  art  beyond  these  painters,  and  they  leave  out 
some  medium,  — some  enchantment  that  should  inter- 
vene, and  keep  the  object  from  pressing  so  baldly  and 
harshly  upon  the  spectator’s  eyeballs.  With  the  most 
lifelike  reproduction,  there  is  no  illusion.  I think  if  a 
semi-obscurity  were  thrown  over  the  picture  after  finish- 
ing it  to  this  nicety,  it  might  bring  it  nearer  to  Nature. 
I remember  a heap  of  autumn  leaves,  every  one  of 
which  seems  to  have  been  stiffened  with  gum  and 
14 


VOL.  II. 


314 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857, 

varnish,  and  then  put  carefully  down  into  the  stiffly 
disordered  heap.  Perhaps  these  artists  may  hereafter 
succeed  in  combining  the  truth  of  detail  with  a broader 
and  higher  truth.  Coming  from  such  a depth  as  their 
pictures  do,  and  having  really  an  idea  as  the  seed  of 
them,  it  is  strange  that  they  should  look  like  the  most 
made-up  things  imaginable.  One  picture  by  Hunt  that 
greatly  interested  me  was  of  some  sheep  that  had  gone 
astray  among  heights  and  precipices,  and  I could  have 
looked  all  day  at  these  poor,  lost  creatures,  — so  true 
was  their  meek  alarm  and  hopeless  bewilderment,  their 
huddling  together,  without  the  slightest  confidence  of 
mutual  help ; all  that  the  courage  and  wisdom  of  the 
bravest  and  wisest  of  them  could  do  being  to  bleat,  and 
only  a few  having  spirits  enough  even  for  this. 

After  going  through  these  modern  masters,  among 
whom  were  some  French  painters  who  do  not  interest 
me  at  all,  I did  a miscellaneous  business,  chiefly 
among  the  water-colors  and  photographs,  and  after- 
wards among  the  antiquities  and  works  of  ornamental 
art.  I have  forgotten  what  I saw,  except  the  breast- 
plate and  helmet  of  Henry  of  Navarre,  of  steel,  en- 
graved with  designs  that  have  been  half  obliterated  by 
scrubbing.  I remember^  too,  a breastplate  of  an  Elector 
of  Saxony,  with  a bullet-hole  through  it.  He  received 
his  mortal  wound  through  that  hole,  and  died  of  it  two 
days  afterwards,  three  hundred  years  ago. 

There  was  a crowd  of  visitors,  insomuch  that  it  was 
difficult  to  get  a satisfactory  view  of  the  most  interesting 
objects.  They  were  nearly  all  middling-class  people  ; 
the  Exhibition,  I think,  does  not  reach  the  lower  classes 
at  all ; in  fact,  it  could  not  reach  them,  nor  their  betters 


J857.‘ 


MANCHESTER. 


315 


either,  without  a good  deal  of  study  to  help  it  out.  I 
shall  go  to-day  y and  do  my  best  to  get  profit  out  of  it. 

July  30 th.  — We  all,  with  R and  Fanny,  went  to 

the  Exhibition  yesterday,  and  spent  the  day  there ; not 

J , however,  for  he  went  to  the  Botanical  Gardens. 

After  some  little  skirmishing  with  other  things,  I de- 
voted myself  to  the  historical  portraits,  which  hang  on 
both  sides  of  the  great  nave,  and  went  through  them  pret- 
ty faithfully.  The  oldest  are  pictures  of  Richard  II.  and 
Henry  IV.  and  Edward  IV.  and  Jane  Shore,  and  seem 
to  have  little  or  no  merit  as  works  of  art,  being  cold 
and  stiff,  the  life  having,  perhaps,  faded  out  of  them  ; 
but  these  older  painters  were  trustworthy,  inasmuch  as 
they  had  no  idea  of  making  a picture,  but  only  of 
getting  the  face  before  them  on  canvas  as  accurately 
as  they  could.  AH  English  history  scarcely  supplies 
half  a dozen  portraits  before  the  time  of  Henry  VIII. ; 
after  that  period,  and  through  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth 
and  James,  there  are  many  ugly  pictures  by  Dutchmen 
and  Italians ; and  the  collection  is  wonderfully  rich  in- 
portraits  of  the  time  of  Charles'  I.  and  the  Common- 
wealth. Vandyke  seems  to  have  brought  portrait- 
painting into  fashion  ; and  very  likely  the  king’s  love 
of  art  diffused  a taste  for  it  throughout  the  nation,  and 
remotely  suggested,  even  to  his  enemies,  to  get  their 
pictures  painted.  Elizabeth  has  perpetrated  her  cold, 
thin  visage  on  many  canvases,  and  generally  with  some 
fantasy  of  costume  that  makes  her  ridiculous  to  all 
time.  There  are  several  of  Mary  of  Scotland,  none 
of  which  have  a gleam  of  beauty ; but  the  stiff  old 
brushes  of  these  painters  could  not  catch  the  beautiful. 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


31  r, 


[185?. 


Of  all  the  older  pictures,  the  only  one  that  I took 
pleasure  in  looking  at  was  a portrait  of  Lord  Deputy 
Falkland,  by  Vansorner,  in  James  IJs  time,  — a very 
stately,  full-length  figure  in  white,  looking  out  of  the 
picture  as  if  he  saw  you.  The  catalogue  says  that  this 
portrait  suggested  an  incident  in  Horace  Walpole’s  Cas- 
tle of  Otranto  ; but  I do  not  remember  it. 

I have  a haunting  doubt  of  the  value  of  portrait- 
painting ; that  is  to  say,  whether  it  gives  you  a genuine 
idea  of  the  person  purporting  to  be  represented.  I do 
not  remember  ever  to  have  recognized  a man  by  having 
previously  seen  his  portrait.  Vandyke’s  pictures  are  full 
of  grace  and  nobleness,  but  they  do  not  look  like  Eng- 
lishmen, — the  burly,  rough,  wine-flushed  and  weather- 
reddened  faces,  and  sturdy  flesh  and  blood,  which  we 
see  even  at  the  present  day,  when  they  must  naturally 
have  become  a good  deal  refined  from  either  the_ coun- 
try gentleman  or  the  courtier  of  the  Stuarts’  age. 
There  is  an  old,  fat  portrait  of  Gervoyse  Holies,  in  a 
buff  coat,  — a coarse,  hoggish,  yet  manly  man.  The 
painter  is  unknown  ; but  I honor  him,  and  Gervoyse 
Holies  too,  — for  one  was  willing  to  be  truly  rendered, 
and  the  other  dared  to  do  it.  It  seems  to  be  the  aim 
of  portrait-painters  generally,  especially  of  those  who 
have  been  most  famous,  to  make  their  pictures  as  beau- 
tiful and  noble  as  can  anywise  consist  with  retaining 
the  very  slightest  resemblance  to  the  person  sitting  to 
them.  They  seldom  attain  even  the  grace  and  beauty 
which  they  aim  at,  but  only  hit  some  temporary  or 
individual  taste.  Vandyke,  however,  achieved  graces 
that  rise  above  time  and  fashion,  and  so  did  Sir  Peter 
Lely,  in  his  female  portraits ; but  the  doubt  is,  whether 


MANCHESTER. 


317 


1857.] 

the  works  of  either  are  genuine  history.  Not  more  so, 
I suspect,  than  the  narrative  of  a historian  who  should 
seek  to  make  poetry  out  of  the  events  which  he  re- 
lates, rejecting  those  which  could  not  possibly  be  thus 
idealized. 

I observe,  furthermore,  that  a full-length  portrait  has 
seldom  face  enough  ; not  that  it  lacks  its  fair  proportion 
by  measurement,  but  the  artist  does  not  often  find  it 
possible  to  make  the  face  so  intellectually  prominent  as 
to  subordinate  the  figure  and  drapery.  Vandyke  does 
this,  however.  In  his  pictures  of  Charles  I.,  for 
instance,  it  is  the  melancholy  grace  of  the  visage  that 
attracts  the  eye,  and  it  passes  to  the  rest  of  the  com- 
position only  by  an  effort.  Earlier  and  later  pictures 
are  but  a few  inches  of  face  to  several  feet  of  figure  and 
costume,  and  more  insignificant  than  the  latter  because 
seldom  so  well  done  ; and  I suspect  the  same  would 
generally  be  the  case  now,  only  that  the  present  sim- 
plicity of  costume  gives  the  face  a chance  to  be 
seen. 

I was  interrupted  here,  and  cannot  resume  the 
thread;  but  considering  how  much  of  his  own  conceit 
the  artist  puts  into  a portrait,  how  much  affectation  the 
sitter  puts  on,  and  then  again  that  no  face  is  the  same 
to  any  two  spectators  ; also,  that  these  portraits  are 
darkened  and  faded  with  age,  and  can  seldom  be  more 
than  half  seen,  being  hung  too  high,  or  somehow  or 
other  inconvenient,  — on  the  whole,  I question  whether 
there  is  much  use  in  looking  at  them.  The  truest  test 
would  be,  for  a man  well  read  in  English  history  and 
biography,  and  himself  an  observer  of  insight,  to  go 
through  the  series  without  knowing  what  personages 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


318 


[1857. 


they  represented,  and  write  beneath  each  the  name 
which  the  portrait  vindicated  for  itself. 

After  getting  through  the  portrait-gallery,  I went 
among  the  engravings  and  photographs,  and  then 
glanced  along  the  old  masters,  but  without  seriously 
looking  at  anything.  While  I was  among  the  Dutch 

painters,  a gentleman  accosted  me.  It  was  Mr.  J 

whom  I once  met  at  dinner  with  Bennoch.  He  told 
me  that  “ the  Poet  Laureate  ” (as  he  called  him)  was 
in  the  Exhibition  rooms  ; and  as  I expressed  great 

interest,  Mr.  J was  kind  enough  to  go  in  quest  of 

him.  Not  for  the  purpose  of  introduction,  however, 
for  he  was  not  acquainted  with  Tennyson.  Soon  Mr. 

J returned,  and  said  that  he  had  found  the  Poet 

Laureate,  — and,  going  into  the  saloon  of  the  old  mas- 
ters, we  saw  him  there,  in  company  with  Mr.  Woolner, 
whose  bust  of  him  is  now  in  the  Exhibition. 


Gazing  at  him  with  all  my  eyes,  I liked  him  well, 
and  rejoiced  more  in  him  than  in  all  the  other  won- 
ders of  the  Exhibition. 


How  strange  that  in  these  two  or  three  pages  I 
cannot  get  one  single  touch  that  may  call  him  up  here- 
after ! 

I would  most  gladly  have  seen  more  of  this  one  poet 
pf  our  day,  but  forbore  to  follow  him ; for  I must  own 
that  it  seemed  mean  to  be  dogging  him  through  the 
saloons,  or  even  to  look  at  him,  since  it  was  to  be  done 
stealthily,  if  at  all. 

He  is  as  un-English  as  possible ; indeed  an  English 


MANCHESTER, 


319 


1857.] 

man  of  genius  usually  lacks  the  national  characteristics, 
and  is  great  abnormally.  Even  the  great  sailor,  Nel 
son,  was  unlike  his  countrymen  in  the  qualities  that 
constituted  him  a hero ; he  was  not  the  perfection  of  an 
Englishman,  but  a creature  of  another  kind,  — sensitive, 
nervous,  excitable,  and  really  more  like  a Frenchman. 

Un-English  as  he  was,  Tennyson  had  not,  however, 
an  American  look.  I cannot  well  describe  the  differ- 
ence ; but  there  was  something  more  mellow  in  him,  — 
softer,  sweeter,  broader,  more  simple  than  we  are  apt 
to  be.  Living  apart  from  men  as  he  does  would  hurt 
any  one  of  us  more  than  it  does  him.  I may  as  well 
leave  him  here,  for  I cannot  touch  the  central  point. 

August  2 d.  — Day  before  yesterday  I went  again  to 
the  Exhibition,  and  began  the  day  with  looking  at  the 
old  masters.  Positively,  I do  begin  to  receive  some 
pleasure  from  looking  at  pictures;  but  as  yet  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  any  technical  merit,  nor  do  I think 
I shall  ever  get  so  far  as  that.  Some  landscapes  by 
Puysdael,  and  some  portraits  by  Murillo,  Velasquez, 
and  Titian,  were  those  which  I was  most  able  to  appre- 
ciate ; and  I see  reason  for  allowing,  contrary  to  my 
opinion,  as  expressed  a few  pages  back,  that  a portrait 
may  preserve  some  valuable  characteristics  of  the  per- 
son represented.  The  pictures  in  the  English  portrait- 
gallery  are  mostly  very  bad,  and  that  may  be  the  reason 
why  I saw  so  little  in  them.  I saw  too,  at  this  last 
visit,  a Virgin  and  Child,  which  appeared  to  me  to  have 
an  expression  more  adequate  to  the  subject  than  most 
of  the  innumerable  virgins  and  children,  in  which  we 
see  only  repetitions  of  simple  maternity ; indeed,  any 


320 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

mother,  with  her  first  child,  would  serve  an  artist  for 
one  of  them.  But  in  this  picture  the  Virgin  had  a 
look  as  if  she  were  loving  the  infant  as  her  own  child, 
and  at  the  same  time  rendering  him  an  awful  worship, 
as  to  her  Creator. 

While  I was  sitting  in  the  central  saloon,  listening  to 
the  music,  a young  man  accosted  me,  presuming  that  I 
was  so-and-so,  the  American  author.  He  himself  was 
a traveller  for  a publishing  firm ; and  he  introduced 
conversation  by  talking  of  Uttoxeter,  and  my  description 
of  it  in  an  annual.  He  said  that  the  account  had  caused 
a good  deal  of  pique  among  the  good  people  of  Uttoxe- 
ter, because  of  the  ignorance  which  I attribute  to  them 
as  to  the  circumstance  which  connects  Johnson  with 
their  town.  The  spot  where  Johnson  stood  can,  it  ap- 
pears, still  be  pointed  out.  It  is  on  one  side  of  the 
market-place,  and  not  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  church. 
1 forget  whether  I recorded,  at  the  time,  that  an  Uttoxe- 
ter newspaper  was  sent  me,  containing  a proposal  that 
a statue  or  memorial  should  be  erected  on  the  spot.  It 
would  gratify  me  exceedingly  if  such  a result  should 
come  from  my  pious  pilgrimage  thither. 

My  new  acquaintance,  who  was  cockneyish,  but  very 
intelligent  and  agreeable,  went  on  to  talk  about  many 
literary  matters  and  characters;  among  others,  about 
Miss  Bronte,  whom  he  had  seen  at  the  Chapter  Coffee- 
House,  when  she  and  her  sister  Anne  first  went  to  Lon- 
don. He  was  at  that  time  connected  with  the  house 
of and , and  he  described  the  surprise  and  in- 
credulity of  Mr.  , when  this  little,  commonplace- 

looking woman  presented  herself  as  the  author  of  Jane 
Eyre.  His  story  brought  out  the  insignificance  of 


MANCHESTER. 


321 


1857.] 

Charlotte  Bronte’s  aspect,  and  the  bluff  rejection  of  her 

by  Mr. , much  more  strongly  than  Mrs.  Gaskell’s 

narrative. 

Chorlton  Road,  August  9th.  — We  have  changed 
our  lodgings  since  my  last  date,  those  at  Old  Trafford 
being  inconvenient,  and  the  landlady  a sharp,  peremptory 
housewife,  better  fitted  to  deal  with  her  own  family 
than  to  be  complaisant  to  guests.  We  are  now  a little 
farther  from  the  Exhibition,  and  not  much  better  off  as 
regards  accommodation,  but  the  housekeeper  is  a pleas- 
ant, civil  sort  of  a woman,  auspiciously  named  Mrs. 
Honey.  The  house  is  a specimen  of  the  poorer  middle- 
class  dwellings  as  built  nowadays,  — narrow  staircase, 
thin  walls,  and,  being  constructed  for  sale,  very  ill  put  to- 
gether indeed,  — the  floors  with  wide  cracks  between  the 
boards,  and  wide  crevices  admitting  both  air  and  light 
over  the  doors,  so  that  the  house  is  full  of  draughts. 
The  outer  walls,  it  seems  to  me,  are  but  of  one  brick  in 
thickness,  and  the  partition  walls  certainly  no  thicker ; 
and  the  movements,  and  sometimes  the  voices,  of  people 
in  the  contiguous  house  are  audible  to  us.  The  Exhi- 
bition has  temporarily  so  raised  the  value  of  lodgings 
here  that  we  have  to  pay  a high  price  for  even  such  a 
house  as  this. 

Mr.  Wilding  having  gone  on  a tour  to  Scotland,  1 
have  had  to  be  at  the  Consulate  every  day  last  week 
till  yesterday ; when  I absented  myself  from  duty,  and 

went  to  the  Exhibition.  U and  I spent  an  hour 

together,  looking  principally  at  the  old  Dutch  masters, 
who  seem  to  me  the  most  wonderful  set  of  men  that 
ever  handled  a brush.  Such  lifelike  representations  of 
14* 


ii 


322  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857, 

cabbages,  onions,  brass  kettles,  and  kitchen  crockery; 
such  blankets,  with  the  woollen  fuzz  upon  them  ; such 
everything  I never  thought  that  the  skill  of  man  could 
produce ! Even  the  photograph  cannot  equal  their 
miracles.  The  closer  you  look,  the  more  minutely  true 
the  picture  is  found  to  be,  and  I doubt  if  even 
the  microscope  could  see  beyond  the  painter’s  touch. 
Gerard  Dow  seems  to  be  the  master  among  these 
queer  magicians.  A straw  mat,  in  one  of  his  pictures, 
is  the  most  miraculous  thing  that  human  art  has  yet 
accomplished ; and  there  is  a metal  vase,  with  a dent 
in  it,  that  is  absolutely  more  real  than  reality.  These 
painters  accomplish  all  they  aim  at,  — a praise,  methinks, 
which  can  be  given  to  no  other  men  since  the  world 
oegan.  They  must  have  laid  down  their  brushes  with 
perfect  satisfaction,  knowing  that  each  one  of  their 
million  touches  had  been  necessary  to  the  effect,  and 
that  there  was  not  one  too  few  nor  too'  many.  And  it 
is  strange  how  spiritual  and  suggestive  the  commonest 
household  article  — an  earthen  pitcher,  for  example  — 
becomes,  when  represented  with  entire  accuracy.  These 
Dutchmen  got  at  the  soul  of  common  things,  and  so 
make  them  types  and  interpreters  of  the  spiritual 
world. 

Afterwards  I looked  at  many  of  the  pictures  of  the 
old  masters,  and  found  myself  gradually  getting  a taste 
for  them ; at  least,  they  give  me  more  and  more  pleas- 
ure the  oftener  I come  to  see  them.  Doubtless  I shall 
be  able  to  pass  for  a man  of  taste  by  the  time  I return 
to  America.  It  is  an  acquired  taste,  like  that  for  wines  ; 
and  I question  whether  a man  is  really  any  truer,  wiser, 
or  better  for  possessing  it.  From  the  old  masters,  T 


1857, 


MANCHESTER. 


323 


went  among  the  English  painters,  and  found  myself  more 
favorably  inclined  towards  some  of  them  than  at  my 
previous  visits ; seeing  something  wonderful  even  in 
Turner’s  lights  and  mists  and  yeasty  waves,  although  I 
should  like  him  still  better  if  his  pictures  looked  in  the 
least  like  what  they  typify.  The  most  disagreeable  of 
English  painters  is  Etty,  who  had  a diseased  appetite 
for  woman’s  flesh,  and  spent  his  whole  life,  apparently, 
in  painting  them  with  enormously  developed  busts.  I 
do  not  miad  nudity  in  a modest  and  natural  way ; but 
Etty’s  women  really  thrust  their  nudity  upon  you  with 
malice  aforethought,  ....  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  they 
are  not  beautiful. 

Among  the  last  pictures  that  I looked  at  wTas  Ho<* 
garth’s  March  to  Finchley  ; and  surely  nothing  can  be 
covered  more  taick  and  deep  with  English  nature  than 
that  piece  of  canvas.  The  face  of  the  tall  grenadier 
in  the  centre,  between  two  women,  both  of  whom  have 
claims  on  him,  wonderfully  expresses  trouble  and  per- 
plexity ; and  every  touch  in  the  picture  meant  some- 
thing and  expresses  what  it  meant. 

The  price  of  admission,  after  two  o’clock,  being  six- 
pence, the  Exhibition  was  thronged  with  a class  of  peor 
pie  who  do  not  usually  come  in  such  large  numbers. 
It  was  both  pleasant  and  touching  to  see  how  earnestly 
some  of  them  sought  to  get  instruction  from  what  they 
beheld.  The  English  are  a good  and  simple  people, 
and  take  life  in  earnest. 

August  1 4 th.  — Passing  by  the  gateway  of  the  Mam 
Chester  Cathedral  the  other  morning,  on  my  way  to  the 
station,  I found  a crowd  collected,  and,  high  overhead* 


324-  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

the  bells  were  chiming  for  a wedding.  These  chimes 
of  bells  are  exceedingly  impressive,  so  broadly  glad- 
some as  they  are,  filling  the  whole  air,  and  every  nook 
of  one’s  heart  with  sympathy.  They  are  good  for  a 
people  to  rejoice  with,  and  good  also  for  a marriage, 
because  through  all  their  joy  there  is  something  solemn, 
— a tone  of  that  voice  which  we  have  heard  so  often 
at  funerals.  It  is  good  to  see  how  everybody,  up  to 
this  old  age  of  the  world,  takes  an  interest  in  wed- 
dings, and  seems  to  have  a faith  that  now,  at  last,  a 
couple  have  come  together  to  make  each  other  happy. 
The  high,  black,  rough  old  cathedral  tower  sent  out  its 
chime  of  bells  as  earnestly  as  for  any  bridegroom  and 
bride  that  came  to  be  married  five  hundred  years  ago. 
I went  into  the  churchyard,  but  there  was  such  a throng 
of  people  on  its  pavement  of  flat  tombstones,  and  es- 
pecially such  a cluster  along  the  pathway  by  which  the 
bride  was  to  depart,  that  I could  only  see  a white  dress 
waving  along,  and  really  do  not  know  whether  she  was 
a beauty  or  a fright.  The  happy  pair  got  into  a post- 
chaise  that  was  waiting  at  the  gate,  and  immediately 
drew  some  crimson  curtains,  and  so  vanished  into  their 
Paradise.  There  were  two  other  post-chaises  and  pairs, 
and  all  three  had  postilions  in  scarlet.  This  is  the 
same  cathedral  where,  last  May,  I saw  a dozen  couples 
married  in  the  lump. 

In  a railway  carriage,  two  or  three  days  ago,  an  old 
merchant  made  rather  a good  point  of  one  of  the  un- 
comfortable results  of  the  electric  telegraph.  He  said 
that  formerly  a man  was  safe  from  bad  news,  such  as 
intelligence  of  failure  of  debtors,  except  at  the  hour  of 


MANCHESTER. 


325 


1857.] 

opening  his  letters  in  the  morning  ; and  then  he  was 
in  some  degree  prepared  for  it,  since,  among  (say)  fifteen 
letters,  he  would  be  pretty  certain  to  find  some  “ queer  ” 
one.  But  since  the  telegraph  has  come  into  play,  he  is 
never  safe,  and  may  be  hit  with  news  of  failure,  ship- 
wreck, fall  of  stocks,  or  whatever  disaster,  at  all  hours 
of  the  day. 

I went  to  the  Exhibition  on  Wednesday  with  U , 

and  looked  at  the  pencil  sketches  of  the  old  masters  ; 
also  at  the  pictures  generally,  old  and  new.  I particu- 
larly remember  a spring  landscape,  by  John  Linnell 
the  younger.  It  is  wonderfully  good  ; so  tender  and 
fresh  that  the  artist  seems  really  to  have  caught  the 
evanescent  April  and  made  her  permanent.  Here,  at 
last,  is  eternal  spring. 

I saw  a little  man,  behind  an  immense  beard,  whom 
I take  to  be  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  ; at  least,  there  was 
a photograph  of  him  in  the  gallery,  with  just  such  a 
beard.  He  was  at  the  Palace  on  that  day. 

August  1 6th.  — I went  again  to  the  Exhibition  day 
before  yesterday,  and  looked  much  at  both  the  modern 
and  ancient  pictures,  as  also  at  the  water-colors.  I am 
making  some  progress  as  a connoisseur,  and  have  got  so 
far  as  to  be  able  to  distinguish  the  broader  differences 
of  style,  — as,  for  example,  between  Rubens  and  Rem- 
brandt. I should  hesitate  to  claim  any  more  for  my- 
self thus  far.  In  fact,  however,  I do  begin  to  have  a 
liking  for  good  things,  and  to  be  sure  that  they  are  good. 
Murillo  seems  to  me  about  the  noblest  and  purest 
painter  that  ever  lived,  and  his  “ Good  Shepherd  ” the 
loveliest  picture  I have  seen.  It  is  a hopeful  symptom, 


326  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

moreover,  ot  improving  taste,  that  I see  more  merit  in 
the  crowd  of  painters  than  I was  at  first  competent  to 
acknowledge.  I could  see  some  of  their  defects  from 
the  very  first ; but  that  is  the  earliest  stage  of  connois^ 
seurship,  after  a formal  and  ignorant  admiration. 
Mounting  a few  steps  higher,  one  sees  beauties.  But 
how  much  study,  how  many  opportunities,  are  requisite 
to  form  and  cultivate  a taste  ! The  Exhibition  must 
be  quite  thrown  away  on  the  mass  of  spectators. 

Both  they  and  I are  better  able  to  appreciate  the 
specimens  of  ornamental  art  contained  in  the  Oriental 
Room,  and  in  the  numerous  cases  that  are  ranged  up 
and  down  the  nave.  The  gewgaws  of  all  Time  are 
here,  in  precious  metals,  glass,  china,  ivory,  and  every 
other  material  that  could  be  wrought  into  curious  and 
beautiful  shapes  ; great  basins  and  dishes  of  embossed 
gold  from  the  Queen’s  sideboard,  or  from  the  beaufets  of 
noblemen  ; vessels  set  with  precious  stones  ; the  pastoral 
staffs  of  prelates,  some  of  them  made  of  silver  or  gold, 
and  enriched  with  gems,  and  what  have  been  found  in 
the  tombs  of  the  bishops ; state  swords,  and  silver 
maces  ; the  rich  plate  of  colleges,  elaborately  wrought,  — 
great  cups,  salvers,  tureens,  that  have  been  presented  by 
loving  sons  to  their  Alma  Mater ; the  heirlooms  of  old 
families,  treasured  from  generation  to  generation,  and 
hitherto  only  to  be  seen  by  favored  friends  ; famous 
historical  jewels,  some  of  which  are  painted  in  the  por- 
traits of  the  historical  men  and  women  that  hang  on 
the  walls ; numerous  specimens  of  the  beautiful  old 
Venetian  glass,  some  of  which  looks  so  fragile  that  it 
is  a wonder  how  it  could  bear  even  the  weight  of  the 
Wine,  that  used  to  be  poured  into  it,  without  breaking. 


185?. 


MANCHESTER. 


327 


These  are  the  glasses  that  tested  poison,  by  being  shat- 
tered into  fragments  at  its  touch.  The  strangest  and 
ugliest  old  crockery,  pictured  over  with  monstrosities, — 
the  Palissy  ware,  embossed  with  vegetables,  fishes,  lob- 
sters, that  look  absolutely  real ; the  delicate  Sevres 
china,  each  piece  made  inestimable  by  pictures  from  a 
master’s  hand  ; — in  short,  it  is  a despair  and  misery  to 
see  so  much  that  is  curious  and  beautiful,  and  to  feel 
that  far  the  greater  portion  of  it  will  slip  out  of  the  mem- 
ory, and  be  as  if  we  had  never  seen  it.  But  I mean 
to  look  again  and  again  at  these  things.  We  soon  per- 
ceive that  the  present  day  does  not  engross  all  the  taste 
and  ingenuity  that  has  ever  existed  in  the  mind  of  man  ; 
that,  in  fact,  we  are  a barren  age  in  that  respect. 

August  20th.  — I went  to  the  Exhibition  on  Mon- 
day, and  again  yesterday,  and  measurably  enjoyed  both 
visits.  I continue  to  think,  however,  that  a picture 
cannot  be  fully  enjoyed  except  by  long  and  intimate 
acquaintance  with  it,  nor  can  I quite  understand  what 
the  enjoyment  of  a connoisseur  is.  He  is  not  usually, 
I think,  a man  of  deep,  poetic  feeling,  and  does  not 
deal  with  the  picture  through  his  heart,  nor  set  it  in 
a poem,  nor  comprehend  it  morally.  If  it  be  a land- 
scape, he  is  not  entitled  to  judge  of  it  by  his  intimacy  with 
Nature ; if  a picture  of  human  action,  he  has  no  expe- 
rience nor  sympathy  of  life’s  deeper  passages.  How- 
ever, as  my  acquaintance  with  pictures  increases,  I find 
myself  recognizing  more  and  more  the  merit  of  the  ac- 
knowledged masters  of  the  art  ; but,  possibly,  it  is  only 
because  I adopt  the  wrong  principles  which  may  have 
been  laid  down  by  the  connoisseurs.  But  there  can  be 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


>28 


[1857. 


no  mistake  about  Murillo,  — not  that  I am  worthy  to 
admire  him  yet,  however. 

Seeing  the  many  pictures  of  Holy  Families,  and  the 
Virgin  and  Child,  which  have  been  painted  for  churches 
and  convents,  the  idea  occurs,  that  it  was  in  this  way 
that  the  poor  monks  and  nuns  gratified,  as  far  as  they 
could,  their  natural  longing  for  earthly  happiness.  It 
was  not  Mary  and  her  heavenly  Child  that  they  really 
beheld,  or  wished  for  ; but  an  earthly  mother  rejoicing 
over  her  baby,  and  displaying  it  probably  to  the  world,  as 
an  object  worthy  to  be  admired  by  kings,  — as  Mary 
does,  in  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi.  Every  mother,  I 
suppose,  feels  as  if  her  first  child  deserved  everybody’s 
worship. 

I left  the  Exhibition  at  three  o’clock,  and  went  to 

Manchester,  where  I sought  out  Mr.  C S in 

his  little  office.  He  greeted  me  warmly,  and  at  five  we 
took  the  omnibus  for  his  house,  about  four  miles  from 
town.  He  seems  to  be  on  pleasant  terms  with  his 
neighbors,  for  almost  everybody  that  got  into  the  om- 
nibus exchanged  kindly  greetings  with  him,  and  indeed 
his  kindly,  simple,  genial  nature  comes  out  so  evidently 
that  it  would  be  difficult  not  to  like  him.  His  house 
stands,  with  others,  in  a green  park, — a small,  pretty, 
semi-detached,  suburban  residence  of  brick,  with  a lawn 
and  garden  round  it.  In  close  vicinity,  there  is  a deep 
dough  or  dell,  as  shaggy  and  wild  as  a poet  could  wish, 
and  with  a little  stream  running  through  it,  as  much  as 
five  miles  long. 


The  interior  of  the  house  is  very  pretty,  and  nicely, 
even  handsomely  and  almost  sumptuously,  furnished  ; 


1857."] 


MANCHESTER. 


329 


and  I was  very  glad  to  find  him  so  comfortable.  His 
recognition  as  a poet  has  been  hearty  enough  to  give 
him  a feeling  of  success,  for  he  showed  me  various 
tokens  of  the  estimation  in  wrhich  he  is  held,  — for  in- 
stance, a presentation  copy  of  Southey’s  works,  in  which 
the  latter  had  written  “ Amicus  amico,  — poeta  poetae.” 
He  said  that  Southey  had  always  been  most  kind  to 

him There  wrere  various  other  testimonials  from 

people  of  note,  American  as  well  as  English.  In  his 
parlor  there  is  a good  oil-painting  of  himself,  and  in 
the  drawing-room  a very  fine  crayon  sketch,  wherein 
his  face,  handsome  and  agreeable,  is  lighted  up  with 
all  a poet’s  ecstasy ; likewise  a large  and  fine  engrav- 
ing from  the  picture.  The  government  has  recognized 
his  poetic  merit  by  a pension  of  fifty  pounds,  — a small 
sum,  it  is  true,  but  enough  to  mark  him  out  as  one  who 


has  deserved  well  of  his  country The  man  him- 
self is  very  good  and  lovable I was  able  to 


gratify  him  by  saying  that  I had  recently  seen  many 
favorable  notices  of  his  poems  in  the  American  news- 
papers ; an  edition  having  been  published  a fewr  months 
since  on  our  side  of  the  ocean.  He  was  much  pleased 
at  this,  and  asked  me  to  send  him  the  notices 

August  30 th.  — I have  been  two  or  three  times  to 
the  Exhibition  since  my  last  date,  and  enjoy  it  more  as 
I become  familiar  with  it.  There  is  supposed  to  be 
about  a third  of  the  good  pictures  here  wrhich  England 
contains  ; and  it  is  said  that  the  Tory  nobility  and 
gentry  have  contributed  to  it  much  more  freely  and 
largely  than  the  Whigs.  The  Duke  of  Devonshire,  for 
instance,  seems  to  have  sent  nothing.  Mr.  Ticknor,  the 


330  * ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

Spanish  historian,  whom  I met  yesterday,  observed  that 
we  should  not  think  quite  so  much  of  this  Exhibition  as 
the  English  do  after  we  have  been  to  Italy,  although  it 
is  a good  school  in  which  to  gain  a preparatory  knowl- 
edge of  the  different  styles  of  art.  I am  glad  to  hear 
that  there  are  better  things  still  to  be  seen.  Never- 
theless, I should  suppose  that  certain  painters  are  better 
represented  here  than  they  ever  have  been  or  will  be 
elsewhere.  Vandyke,  certainly,  can  be  seen  nowhere 
else  so  well ; Rembrandt  and  Rubens  have  satisfactory 
specimens  ; and  the  whole  series  of  English  pictorial 
achievement  is  shown  more  perfectly  than  within  any 
other  walls.  Perhaps  it  would  be  wise  to  devote  my- 
self to  the  study  of  this  latter,  and  leave  the  foreigners 
to  be  studied  on  their  own  soil.  Murillo  can  hardly 
have  done  better  than  in  the  pictures  by  him  which  we 
see  here.  There  is  nothing  of  Raphael’s  here  that  is 
impressive.  Titian  has  some  noble  portraits,  but  little 
else  that  I care  to  see.  In  all  these  old  masters, 
Murillo  only  excepted,  it  is  very  rare,  I must  say,  to 
find  any  trace  of  natural  feeling  and  passion  ; and  I am 
weary  of  naked  goddesses,  who  never  had  any  real 
life  and  warmth  in  the  painter’s  imagination,  — or,  if 
so,  it  was  the  impure  warmth  of  an  unchaste  woman, 
who  sat  for  him. 

Last  week  I dined  at  Mr.  F.  Heywood’s,  to  meet 
Mr.  Adolphus,  the  author  of  a critical  work  on  the 
Waverley  Novels,  published  long  ago,  and  intended  to 
prove,  from  internal  evidence,  that  they  were  written 

by  Sir  Walter  Scott His  wife  was  likewise  of 

the  party,  ....  and  also  a young  Spanish  lady,  their 
niece,  and  daughter  of  a Spaniard  of  literary  note. 


MANCHESTER, 


331 


/S57.] 

She  herself  has  literary  tastes  and  ability,  and  is  well 
known  to  Prescott,  whom,  I believe,  she  has  assisted  in 
his  historical  researches,  and  also  to  Professor  Ticknor  ; 
and  furthermore  she  is  very  handsome  and  unlike  an 
English  damsel,  very  youthful  and  maiden-like  ; and 
her  manners  have  an  ardor  and  enthusiasm  that  were 
pleasant  to  see,  especially  as  she  spoke  warmly  of  my 
writings  ; and  yet  I should  wrong  her  if  I left  the  im- 
pression of  her  being  forthputting  and  obtrusive,  for 
it  was  not  the  fact  in  the  least.  She  speaks  English 
like  a native,  insomuch  that  I should  never  have 
suspected  her  to  be  anything  else. 

My  nerves  recently  have  not  been  in  an  exactly 
quiet  and  normal  state.  I begin  to  weary  of  England 
and  need  another  clime. 

September  6th.  — I think  I paid  my  last  visit  to  the 
Exhibition,  and  feel  as  if  I had  had  enough  of  it,  al- 
though I have  got  but  a small  part  of  the  profit  it 
might  have  afforded  me.  But  pictures  are  certainly 
quite  other  things  to  me  now  from  what  they  were  at 
my  first  visit ; it  seems  even  as  if  there  were  a sort 
of  illumination  within  them,  that  makes  me  see  them 
more  distinctly.  Speaking  of  pictures,  the  miniature  of 
Anne  of  Cleves  is  here,  on  the  faith  of  which  Henry 
VIII.  married  her;  also,  the  picture  of  the  Infanta  of 
Spain,  which  Buckingham  brought  over  to  Charles  I. 
while  Prince  of  Wales.  This  has  a delicate,  rosy  pret- 
tiness. 

One  rather  interesting  portion  of  the  Exhibition  is 


332  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

the  Refreshment-room,  or  rather  rooms  ; for  very  much 
space  is  allowed  both  to  the  first  and  second  classes. 
I have  looked  most  at  the  latter,  because  there  John 
Bull  and  his  wife  may  be  seen  in  full  gulp  and  guzzle, 
swallowing  vast  quantities  of  cold  boiled  beef,  thoroughly 
moistened  with  porter  or  bitter  ale ; and  very  good 
meat  and  drink  it  is. 

At  my  last  visit,  on  Friday,  I met  Judge  Pollock  of 
Liverpool,  who  introduced  me  to  a gentleman  in  a gray 
slouched  hat  as  Mr.  Du  Val,  an  artist,  resident  in 
Manchester  ; and  Mr.  Du  Val  invited  me  to  dine  with 
him  at  six  o’clock.  So  I went  to  Carlton  Grove,  his 
residence,  and  found  it  a very  pretty  house,  with  its 

own  lawn  and  shrubbery  about  it There  was  a 

mellow  fire  in  the  grate,  which  made  the  drawing-room 
very  cosey  and  pleasant,  as  the  dusk  came  on  before 
dinner.  Mr.  Du  Val  looked  like  an  artist,  and  like  a 

remarkable  man We  had  very  good  talk,  chiefly 

about  the  Exhibition,  and  Du  Val  spoke  generously 
and  intelligently  of  his  brother-artists.  He  says  that 
England  might  furnish  five  exhibitions,  each  one  as 
rich  as  the  present.  I find  that  the  most  famous  pic- 
ture here  is  one  jthat  I have  hardly  looked  at,  “ The 
Three  Marys,”  by  Annibal  Caracci.  In  the  drawing- 
room there  were  several  pictures  and  sketches  by  Du 
Val,  one  of  which  I especially  liked  — a misty,  moon- 
light picture  of  the  Mersey,  near  Seacombe.  I never 
saw  painted  such  genuine  moonlight 

I took  my  leave  at  half  past  ten,  and  found  my  cab 
at  the  door,  and  my  cabman  snugly  asleep  inside  of  it ; 
and  when  Mr.  Du  Val  awoke  him,  he  proved  to  be 
quite  drunk,  insomuch  that  I hesitated  whether  to  let 


MANCHESTER. 


333 


1857.  J 

him  clamber  upon  the  box,  or  to  take  post  myself,  and 
drive  the  cabman  home.  However,  I propounded  two 
questions  to  him : first,  whether  his  horse  would  go  of 
his  own  accord ; and,  secondly,  whether  he  himself  was 
invariably  drunk  at  that  time  of  night,  because,  if  it 
were  his  normal  state,  I should  be  safer  with  him  drunk 
than  sober.  Being  satisfied  on  these  points,  I got  in, 
and  was  driven  home  without  accident  or  adventure; 
except,  indeed,  that  the  cabman  drew  up  and  opened 
the  door  for  me  to  alight  at  a vacant  lot  on  Stratford 
Road,  just  as  if  there  had  been  a house  and  home  and 
cheerful  lighted  windows  in  that  vacancy.  On  my  re- 
monstrance he  resumed  the  whip  and  reins,  and  reached 
Boston  Terrace  at  last ; and,  thanking  me  for  an  extra 
sixpence  as  well  as  he  could  speak,  he  begged  me  to 
inquire  for  “ Little  John  ” whenever  I next  wanted  a cab. 
Cabmen  are,  as  a body,  the  most  ill-natured  and  un- 
gen ial  men  in  the  world  ; but  this  poor  little  man  was 
excellently  good-humored. 

Speaking  of  the  former  rudeness  of  manners,  now 
gradually  refining  away,  of  the  Manchester  people, 

Judge said  that,  when  he  first  knew  Manchester, 

women,  meeting  his  wife  in  the  street,  would  take  hold 
of  her  dress  and  say,  “ Ah,  three  and  sixpence  a yard  ! ” 
The  men  were  very  rough,  after  the  old  Lancashire 
fashion.  They  have  always,  however,  been  a musical 
people,  and  this  may  have  been  a germ  of  refinement 
in  them.  They  are  still  much  more  simple  and  natural 
than  the  Liverpool  people,  who  love  the  aristocracy  and 
whom  they  heartily  despise  It  is  singular  that  the 
great  Art-Exhibition  should  have  come  to  pass  in  the 
rudest  great  town  in  England. 


334 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


LEAMINGTON. 

Lansdowne  Circus , September  10^. — We  have  be- 
come quite  weary  of\  our  small,  mean,  uncomfortable, 
and  unbeautiful  lodgings  at  Chorlton  Road,  with  poor 
and  scanty  furniture  within  doors,  and  no  better  prospect 
from  the  parlor  windows  than  a mud-puddle,  larger  than 
most  English  lakes,  on  a vacant  building-lot  opposite 
our  house.  The  Exhibition,  too,  was  fast  becoming  a 
bore ; for  you  must  really  love  a picture,  in  order  to 
tolerate  the  sight  of  it  many  times.  Moreover,  the 
smoky  and  sooty  air  of  that  abominable  Manchester 
affected  my  wife’s  throat  disadvantageously ; so,  on  a 
Tuesday  morning,  we  struck  our  tent  and  set  forth 
again,  regretting  to  leave  nothing  except  the  kind  dis- 
position of  Mrs.  Honey,  our  housekeeper.  I do  not 
remember  meeting  with  any  other  lodging-house  keeper 
who  did  not  grow  hateful  and  fearful  on  short  acquaint- 
ance ; but  I attribute  this,  not  so  much  to  the  people 
themselves,  as,  primarily,  to  the  unfair  and  ungenerous 
conduct  of  some  of  their  English  guests,  who  feel  so 
sure  of  being  cheated  that  they  always  behave  as  if  in 
an  enemy’s  country,  and  therefore  they  find  it  one. 

The  rain  poured  down  upon  us  as  we  drove  away  in 
two  cabs,  laden  with  mountainous  luggage,  to  the  Lon- 
don Road  Station  ; and  the  whole  day  was  grim  with 
cloud  and  moist  with  showers.  We  went  by  way  of 
Birmingham,  and  stayed  three  hours  at  the  great  dreary 
station  there,  waiting  for  the  train  to  Leamington, 
whither  Fanny  had  gone  forward  the  day  before  to  se- 
cure lodgings  for  us  (as  she  is  English,  and  understands 
the  matter) We  all  were  tired  and  dull  by  the 


j 857.]  LEAMINGTON.  — KENILWORTH.  335 

time  we  reached  the  Leamington  station,  where  a note 
from  Fanny  gave  us  the  address  of  our  lodgings. 
Lansdowne  Circus  is  really  delightful,  after  that  ugly 
and  grimy  suburb  of  Manchester.  Indeed,  there  could 
not  possibly  be  a greater  contrast  than  between  Leam- 
ington and  Manchester,  — the  latter  built  only  for  dirty 
uses,  and  scarcely  intended  as  a habitation  for  man  ; 
the  former  so  cleanly,  so  set  out  with  shade-trees,  so 
regular  in  its  streets,  so  neatly  paved,  its  houses  so 
prettily  contrived  and  nicely  stuccoed,  that  it  does  not 
look  like  a portion  of  the  work-a-day  world. 

. • . • • 

KENILWORTH. 

September  13th.  — The  weather  was  very  uncertain 
through  the  last  week,  and  yesterday  morning,  too,  was 
misty  and  sunless  ; notwithstanding  which  we  took  the 
rail  for  Kenilworth  before  eleven.  The  distance  from 
Leamington  is  less  than  five  miles,  and  at  the  Kenil- 
worth station  we  found  a little  bit  of  an  omnibus,  into 
which  we  packed  ourselves,  together  with  two  ladies, 
one  of  whom,  at  least,  was  an  American.  I begin  to 
agree  partly  with  the  English,  that  we  are  not  a people 
of  elegant  manners.  At  all  events  there  is  sometimes 
a bare,  hard,  meagre  sort  of  deportment,  especially  in  our 
women,  that  has  not  its  parallel  elsewhere.  But  per- 
haps what  sets  off  this  kind  of  behavior,  and  brings  it 
into  alto  relievo , is  the  fact  of  such  uncultivated  persons 
travelling  abroad,  and  going  to  see  sights  that  would 
not  be  interesting  except  to  people  of  some  education 
find  refinement. 

We  saw  but  little  of  the  village  of  Kenilworth,  pass- 


336  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

ing  through  it  sidelong  fashion,  in  the  omnibus  ; but  1 
learn  that  it  has  between  three  and  four  thousand  in- 
habitants, and  is  of  immemorial  antiquity.  We  saw  a 
few,  old,  gabled,  and  timber-framed  houses  ; but  gene* 
rally  the  town  was  of  modern  aspect,  although  less  so 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  castle  gate,  across  the 
road  from  which  there  was  an  inn,  with  bowling-greens, 
and  a little  bunch  of  houses  and  shops.  Apart  from  the 
high  road  there  is  a gate-house,  ancient,  but  in  excellent 
repair,  towered,  turreted,  and  battlemented,  and  look- 
ing like  a castle  in  itself.  Until  Cromwell’s  time,  the 
entrance  to  the  castle  used  to  be  beneath  an  arch  that 
passed  through  this  structure  ; but  the  gate-house  be- 
ing granted  to  one  of  the  Parliament  officers,  he  con- 
verted it  into  a residence,  and  apparently  added  on  a 
couple  of  gables,  which  now  look  quite  as  venerable  as 
the  rest  of  the  edifice.  Admission  within  the  outer 
grounds  of  the  castle  is  now  obtained  through  a little 
wicket  close  beside  the  gate-house,  at  which  sat  one  or 
two  old  men,  who  touched  their  hats  to  us  in  humble 
willingness  to  accept  a fee.  One  of  them  had  guide- 
books for  sale  ; and,  finding  that  we  were  not  to  be 
bothered  by  a cicerone,  we  bought  one  of  his  books. 

The  ruins  are  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
gate-house  and  the  road,  and  the  space  between  is  a 
pasture  for  sheep,  which  also  browse  in  the  inner  court, 
and  shelter  themselves  in  the  dungeons  and  state  apart- 
ments of  the  castle.  Goats  would  be  fitter  occupants, 
because  they  would  climb  to  the  tops  of  the  crumbling 
towers,  and  nibble  the  weeds  and  shrubbery  that  grow 
there.  The  first  part  of  the  castle  which  we  reach  is 
called  Caesar’s  Tower,  being  the  oldest  portion  of  the 


1857.' 


KENILWORTH. 


337 


ruins,  and  still  very  stalwart  and  massive,  and  built  of 
red  freestone,  like  all  the  rest.  Caesar’s  Tower  being  on 
the  right,  Leicester’s  Buildings,  erected  by  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  Queen  Elizabeth’s  favorite,  are  on  the  left; 
and  between  these  two  formerly  stood  other  structures 
which  have  now  as  entirely  disappeared  as  if  they  had 
never  existed  ; and  through  the  wide  gap,  thus  opened, 
appears  the  grassy  inner  court,  surrounded  on  three 
sides  by  half-fallen  towers  and  shattered  walls.  Some 
of  these  were  erected  by  John  of  Gaunt ; and  among 
these  ruins  is  the  Banqueting-Hall,  — or  rather  was, 
— for  it  has  now  neither  floor  nor  roof,  but  only  the 
broken  stonework  of  some  tall,  arched  windows,  and  the 
beautiful,  old  ivied  arch  of  the  entrance-way,  now  in- 
accessible from  the  ground.  The  ivy  is  very  abundant 
about  the  ruins,  and  hangs  its  green  curtains  quite  from 
top  to  bottom  of  some  of  the  windows.  There  are  like- 
wise very  large  and  aged  trees  within  the  castle,  there 
being  no  roof  nor  pavement  anywhere,  except  in  some 
dungeon-like  nooks ; so  that  the  trees  having  soil  and 
air  enough,  and  being  sheltered  from  unfriendly  blasts, 
can  grow  as  if  in  a nursery.  Hawthorn,  however,  next 
to  ivy,  is  the  great  ornament  and  comforter  of  these 
desolate  ruins.  I have  not  seen  so  much  nor  such 
thriving  hawthorn  anywhere  else,  — in  the  court,  high  up 
on  crumbly  heights,  on  the  sod  that  carpets  roofless 
rooms,  — everywhere,  indeed,  and  now  rejoicing  in  plen- 
tiful crops  of  red  berries.  The  ivy  is  even  more  won- 
derfully luxuriant ; its  trunks  being,  in  some  places,  two 
or  three  feet  in  diameter,  and  forming  real  buttresses 
against  the  walls,  which  are  actually  supported  and 
vastly  strengthened  by  this  parasite,  that  clung  to  them 
vox.,  ii.  15  ▼ 


338  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

at  first  only  for  its  own  convenience,  and  now  holds 
them  up,  lest  it  should  be  ruined  by  their  fall.  Thus  an 
abuse  has  strangely  grown  into  a use,  and  I think  we 
may  sometimes  see  the  same  fact,  morally,  in  English 
matters.  There  is  something  very  curious  in  the  close, 
firm  grip  which  the  ivy  fixes  upon  the  wall,  closer  and 
closer  for  centuries.  Neither  is  it  at  all  nice  as  to  what 
it  clutches,  in  its  necessity  for  support.  I saw  in  the 
outer  court  an  old  hawthorn-tree,  to  which  a plant  of 
ivy  had  married  itself,  and  the  ivy  trunk  and  the  haw- 
thorn trunk  were  now  absolutely  incorporated,  and  in 
their  close  embrace  you  could  not  tell  which  was 
which. 

At  one  end  of  the  Banqueting-Hall,  there  are  two 
large  bay-windows,  one  of  which  looks  into  the  inner 
court,  and  the  other  affords  a view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  The  former  is  called  Queen  Elizabeth’s  Dress- 
ing-room. Beyond  the  Banqueting-Hall  is  what  is 
called  the  Strong  Tower,  up  to  the  top  of  which  we 
climbed  principally  by  the  aid  of  the  stones  that  have 
tumbled  down  from  it.  A lady  sat  half-way  down  the 
crumbly  descent,  within  the  castle,  on  a camp-stool,  and 
before  an  easel,  sketching  this  tower,  on  the  summit  of 
which  we  sat.  She  said  it  was  Amy  Robsart’s  Tower ; 
and  within  it,  open  to  the  day,  and  quite  accessible,  we 
saw  a room  that  we  were  free  to  imagine  had  been  oc- 
cupied by  her.  I do  not  find  that  these  associations  of 
real  scenes  with  fictitious  events  greatly  heighten  the 
charm  of  them. 

By  this  time  the  sun  had  come  out  brightly,  and 
with  such  warmth  that  we  were  glad  to  sit  down  in 
the  shadow.  Several  sight-seers  were  now  rambling 


KENILWORTH. 


339 


I8b7.] 

about,  and  among  them  some  school-boys,  who  kept 
scrambling  up  to  points  whither  no  other  animal,  ex- 
cept a goat,  would  have  ventured.  Their  shouts  and 
the  sunshine  made  the  old  castle  cheerful ; and  what 
with  the  ivy  and  the  hawthorn,  and  the  other  old  trees, 
it  was  very  beautiful  and  picturesque.  But  a castle 
does  not  make  nearly  so  interesting  and  impressive  a 
ruin  as  an  abbey,  because  the  latter  was  built  for  beauty, 
and  on  a plan  in  which  deep  thought  and  feeling  were 
involved  ; and  having  once  been  a grand  and  beautiful 
work,  it  continues  grand  and  beautiful  through  all  the 
successive  stages  of  its  decay.  But  a castle  is  rudely 
piled  together  for  strength  and  other  material  conven- 
iences; and,  having  served  these  ends,  it  has  nothing 
left  to  fall  back  upon,  but  crumbles  into  shapeless 
masses,  which  are  often  as  little  picturesque  as  a pile 
of  bricks.  Without  the  ivy  and  the  shrubbery,  this 
huge  Kenilworth  would  not  be  a pleasant  object,  except 
for  one  or  two  window-frames,  with  broken  tracery,  in 

the  Banqueting-Hall 

We  stayed  from  eleven  till  two,  and  identified  the 
various  parts  of  the  castle  as  well  as  we  could  by  the 
guide-book.  The  ruins  are  very  extensive,  though 
less  so  than  I should  have  imagined,  considering  that 
seven  acres  were  included  within  the  castle  wall.  But 
a large  part  of  the  structures  have  been  taken  away  to 
build  houses  in  Kenilworth  village  and  elsewhere,  and 
much,  too,  to  make  roads  with,  and  a good  deal  lies 
under  the  green  turf  in  the  court-yards,  inner  and 

outer.  As  we  returned  to  the  gate,  my  wife  and  U 

went  into  the  gate-house  to  see  an  old  chimney-piece, 
and  other  antiquities,  and  J and  I proceeded  a 


340 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

little  way  round  the  outer  wall,  and  saw  the  remains 
of  the  moat,  and  Lin’s  Tower,  — a real  and  shattered 
fabric  of  John  of  Gaunt. 

The  omnibus  now  drove  up,  and  one  of  the  old  men 
at  the  gate  came  hobbling  up  to  open  the  door,  and  was 
rewarded  with  a sixpence,  and  we  drove  down  to  the 

King’s  Head We  then  walked  out  and  bought 

prints  of  the  castle,  and  inquired  our  way  to  the  church, 
and  to  the  ruins  of  the  Priory.  The  latter,  so  far  as 
we  could  discover  them,  are  very  few  and  uninteresting, 
and  the  church,  though  it  has  a venerable  exterior,  and 
an  aged  spire,  has  been  so  modernized  within,  and  in  so 
plain  a fashion,  as  to  have  lost  what  beauty  it  may  once 
have  had.  There  were  a few  brasses  and  mural  mon- 
uments, one  of  which  was  a marble  group  of  a dying 
woman  and  her  family  by  Westmacott.  The  sexton 
was  a cheerful  little  man,  but  knew  very  little  about 
his  church,  and  nothing  of  the  remains  of  the  Priory. 
The  day  was  spent  very  pleasantly  amid  this  beautiful 
green  English  scenery,  these  fine  old  Warwickshire 
trees,  and  broad,  gently  swelling  fields. 

LIVERPOOL. 

September  17 th.  — I took  the  train  for  Rugby,  and 
thence  to  Liverpool.  The  most  noticeable  character  at 

Mrs.  Blodgett’s  now  is  Mr.  T , a Yankee,  who  has 

seen  the  world,  and  gathered  much  information  and 
experience  already,  though  still  a young  man,  — a hand- 
some man,  with  black  curly  hair,  a dark,  intelligent, 
bright  face,  and  rather  cold  blue  eyes,  but  a very 
pleasant  air  and  address.  His  observing  faculties  are 
very  strongly  developed  in  his  forehead,  and  his  re- 


LIVERPOOL, 


341 


1857.] 

flective  ones  seem  to  be  adequate  to  making  some,  if 
not  the  deepest,  use  of  what  he  sees.  He  has  voyaged 
and  travelled  almost  all  over  the  world,  and  has  re- 
cently published  a book  of  his  peregrinations,  which 
has  been  well  received.  He  is  of  exceeding  fluent 
talk,  though  rather  too  much  inclined  to  unfold  the 
secret  springs  of  action  in  Louis  Napoleon,  and  other 
potentates,  and  to  tell  of  revolutions  that  are  coming  at 
some  unlooked-for  moment,  but  soon.  Still  I believe 
in  his  wisdom  and  foresight  about  as  much  as  in  any 
other  man’s.  There  are  no  such  things.  He  is  a 
merchant,  and  meditates  settling  in  London,  and  making 
a colossal  fortune  there  during  the  next  ten  or  twenty 
years  ; that  being  the  period  during  which  London  is 
to  hold  the  exchanges  of  the  world,  and  to  continue  its 
metropolis.  After  that,  New  York  is  to  be  the  world’s 
queen  city. 

There  is  likewise  here  a young  American,  named 

A , who  has  been  at  a German  University,  and 

favors  us  with  descriptions  of  his  student  life  there, 
which  seem  chiefly  to  have  consisted  in  drinking  beer 
and  fighting  duels.  He  shows  a cut  on  his  nose  as  a 
trophy  of  these  combats.  He  has  with  him  a dog  of 
St.  Bernard,  who  is  a much  more  remarkable  character 
than  himself,  — an  immense  dog,  a noble  and  gentle 
creature ; and  really  it  touches  my  heart  that  his  master 
is  going  to  take  him  from  his  native  snow-mountain  to 

a southern  plantation  to  die.  Mr.  A says  that 

there  are  now  but  five  of  these  dogs  extant  at  the 
convent ; there  having,  within  two  or  three  years, 
been  a disease  among  them,  with  which  this  dog  also 
has  suffered.  His  master  has  a certificate  of  his  gen- 


I 


342 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[185?. 


uineness,  and  of  himself  being  the  rightful  purchaser ; 
and  he  says  that  as  he  descended  the  mountain,  every 
peasant  along  the  road  stopped  him,  and  would  have 
compelled  him  to  give  up  the  dog  had  he  not  produced 
this  proof  of  property.  The  neighboring  mountaineers 
are  very  jealous  of  the  breed  being  taken  away,  con- 
sidering them  of  such  importance  to  their  own  safety. 
This  huge  animal,  the  very  biggest  dog  I ever  saw, 
though  only  eleven  months  old,  and  not  so  high  by  two 

or  three  inches  as  he  will  be,  allows  Mr. — to  play 

with  him,  and  take  him  on  his  shoulders  (he  weighs, 
at  least,  a hundred  pounds)  like  any  lap-dog. 


LEAMINGTON. 

Lansdowne  Circus , October  1(M. — I returned  hither 
from  Liverpool  last  week,  and  have  spent  the  time  idly 
since  then,  reposing  myself  after  the  four  years  of  un- 
natural restraint  in  the  Consulate.  Being  already 
pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  neighborhood  of  Leam- 
ington, I have  little  or  nothing  to  record  about  the 
prettiest,  cheerfullest,  cleanest  of  English  towns. 

On  Saturday  we  took  the  rail  for  Coventry,  about  a 
half-hour’s  travel  distant.  I had  been  there  before, 
more  than  two  years  ago No  doubt  I de- 

scribed it  on  my  first  visit ; and  it  is  not  remarkable 
enough  to  be  worth  two  descriptions,  — a large  town  of 
crooked  and  irregular  streets  and  lanes,  not  looking 
nearly  so  ancient  as  it  is,  because  of  new  brick  and 
stuccoed  fronts  which  have  been  plastered  over  its 
antiquity;  although  still  there  are  interspersed  the 
peaked  gables  of  old-fashioned,  timber-built  houses  ; or 


1857.] 


COVENTRY. 


343 


an  archway  of  worn  stone,  which,  if  you  pass  through 
it,  shows  like  an  avenue  from  the  present  to  the  past; 
for  just  in  the  rear  of  the  new-fangled  aspect  lurks 
the  old  arrangement  of  court-yards,  and  rustiness,  and 
grimness,  that  would  not  be  suspected  from  the  exterior. 

Right  across  the  narrow  street  stands  St.  Michael’s 
Church  with  its  tall,  tall  tower  and  spire.  The  body 
of  the  church  has  been  almost  entirely  recased  with 
stone  since  I was  here  before ; but  the  tower  still 
retains  its  antiquity,  and  is  decorated  with  statues  that 
look  down  from  their  lofty  niches  seemingly  in  good 
preservation.  The  tower  and  spire  are  most  stately 
and  beautiful,  the  whole  church  very  noble.  We  went 
in,  and  found  that  the  vulgar  plaster  of  Cromwell’s 
time  has  been  scraped  from  the  pillars  and  arches, 
leaving  them  all  as  fresh  and  splendid  as  if  just  made. 

We  looked  also  into  Trinity  Church,  which  stands 
close  by  St.  Michael’s,  separated  only,  I think,  by  the 
churchyard.  We  also  visited  St.  John’s  Church,  which 
is  very  venerable  as  regards  its  exterior,  the  stone  being 
worn  and  smoothed  — if  not  roughened,  rather  — by  cen- 
turies of  storm  and  fitful  weather.  This  wear  and 
tear,  however,  has  almost  ceased  to  be  a charm  to  my 
mind,  comparatively  to  what  it  was  when  I first  began 
to  see  old  buildings.  Within,  the  church  is  spoiled 
by  wooden  galleries,  built  across  the  beautiful  pointed 
arches. 

We  saw  nothing  else  particularly  worthy  of  remark 
except  Ford’s  Hospital,  in  Grey  Friars’  Street.  It  has 
an  Elizabethan  front  of  timber  and  plaster,  facing  on 
the  street,  with  two  or  three  peaked  gables  in  a row, 


344  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857* 

beneath  which  is  a low,  arched  entrance,  giving  admis- 
sion into  a small  paved  quadrangle,  open  to  the  sky 
above,  but  surrounded  by  the  walls,  lozenge-paned  win- 
dows, and  gables  of  the  Hospital.  The  quadrangle  is 
but  a few  paces  in  width,  and  perhaps  twenty  in  length  ; 
and,  through  a half-closed  doorway,  at  the  farther  end, 
there  was  a glimpse  into  a garden.  Just  within  the 
entrance,  through  an  open  door,  we  saw  the  neat  and 
comfortable  apartment  of  the  Matron  of  the  Hospital ; 
and,  along  the  quadrangle,  on  each  side,  there  were 
three  or  four  doors,  through  which  we  glanced  into  little 
rooms,  each  containing  a fireplace,  a bed,  a chair  or 
two,  — a little,  homely,  domestic  scene,  with  one  old 
woman  in  the  midst  of  it ; one  old  woman  in  each  room. 
They  are  destitute  widows,  who  have  their  lodging  and 
home  here,  — a small  room  for  each  one  to  sleep,  cook, 
and  be  at  home  in,  — and  three  and  sixpence  a week 
to  feed  and  clothe  themselves  with,  — a cloak  being  the 
only  garment  bestowed  on  them.  When  one  of  the 
sisterhood  dies,  each  old  woman  has  to  pay  twopence 
towards  the  funeral ; and  so  they  slowly  starve  and 
wither  out  of  life,  and  claim  each  their  twopence  con- 
tribution in  turn.  I am  afraid  they  have  a very  dismal 
time. 

There  is  an  old  man’s  hospital  in  another  part  of  the 
town,  on  a similar  plan.  A collection  of  sombre  and 
lifelike  tales  might  be  written  on  the  idea  of  giving  the 
experiences  of  these  Hospitallers,  male  and  female  ; and 
they  might  be  supposed  to  be  written  by  the  Matron 
of  one,  who  had  acquired  literary  taste  and  practice  as 
a governess,  — and  by  the  Master  of  the  other,  a re- 
tired school-usher. 


LEAMINGTON. 


345 


1857.] 

It  was  market-day  in  Coventry,  and  far  adown  the 
street  leading  from  it  there  were  booths  and  stalls,  and 
apples,  pears,  toys,  books,  — among  which  I saw  my 
Twice-Told  Tales,  with  an  awful  portrait  of  myself  as 
frontispiece,  — and  various  country  produce,  offered  for 
sale  by  men,  women,  and  girls.  The  scene  looked  lively, 
but  had  not  much  vivacity  in  it. 


October  21th.  — The  autumn  has  advanced  progres- 
sively, and  is  now  fairly  established,  though  still  there 
is  much  green  foliage,  in  spite  of  many  brown  trees, 
and  an  enormous  quantity  of  withered  leaves,  too  damp 
to  rustle,  strewing  the  paths,  — whence,  however,  they 
are  continually  swept  up  and  carried  off  in  wheelbar- 
rows, either  for  neatness  or  for  the  agricultural  worth, 
as  manure,  of  even  a withered  leaf.  The  pastures  look 
just  as  green  as  ever,  — a deep,  bright  verdure,  that 
seems  almost  sunshine  in  itself,  however  sombre  the  sky 
may  be.  The  little  plats  of  grass  and  flowers,  in  front 
of  our  circle  of  houses,  might  still  do  credit  to  an  Amer- 
ican midsummer ; for  I have  seen  beautiful  roses  here 
within  a day  or  two  ; and  dahlias,  asters,  and  such 
autumnal  flowers,  are  plentiful ; and  I have  no  doubt 
that  the  old  year’s  flowers  will  bloom  till  those  of  the 
new  year  appear.  Really,  the  English  winter  is  not  so 
terrible  as  ours. 

• • • • * 

October  30 th.  — Wednesday  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  days,  and  gilded  almost  throughout  with 
the  precious  English  sunshine,  — the  most  delightful  sum 
15  * 


346 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

shine  ever  made,  both  for  its  positive  fine  qualities  and 
because  we  seldom  get  it  without  too  great  an  admix- 
ture of  water.  We  made  no  use  of  this  lovely  day,  ex- 
cept to  walk  to  an  Arboretum  and  Pinetum  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  U- and  Mrs.  Shepard  made  an 

excursion  to  Guy’s  Cliff. 

[Here  comes  in  the  visit  to  Leicester’s  Hospital  and 
Redfern’s  Shop,  and  St.  Mary’s  Church,  printed  in  Our 
Old  Home.  — Ed.] 

From  Redfern’s  we  went  back  to  the  market-place, 

expecting  to  find  J at  the  Museum,  but  the  keeper 

said  he  had  gone  away.  We  went  into  this  museum, 
which  contains  the  collections  in  Natural  History,  &c. 
of  a county  society.  It  is  very  well  arranged,  and  is 
rich  in  specimens  of  ornithology,  among  which  was  an 
albatross,  huge  beyond  imagination.  I do  not  think 
that  Coleridge  could  have  known  the  size  of  the  fowl 
when  he  caused  it  to  be  hung  round  the  neck  of  his 
Ancient  Mariner.  There  were  a great  many  humming- 
birds from  various  parts  of  the  world,  and  some  of  their 
breasts  actually  gleamed  and  shone  as  with  the  brightest 
lustre  of  sunset.  Also,  many  strange  fishes,  and  a huge 
pike  taken  from  the  river  Avon,  and  so  long  that  I 
wonder  how  he  could  turn  himself  about  in  such  a little 
river  as  the  Avon  is  near  Warwick.  A great  curiosity 
was  a bunch  of  skeleton  leaves  and  flowers,  prepared  by 
a young  lady,  and  preserving  all  the  most  delicate  fibres 
of  the  plant,  looking  like  inconceivably  fine  lace-work, 
white  as  snow,  while  the  substance  was  quite  taken 
away.  In  another  room  there  were  minerals,  shells, 
and  a splendid  collection  of  fossils,  among  which  were 
remains  of  antediluvian  creatures,  several  feet  long. 


Warwick.  — London. 


347 


f857.] 

In  still  another  room,  we  saw  some  historical  curiosities, 
— the  most  interesting  of  which  were  two  locks  of  red- 
dish-brown hair,  one  from  the  head  and  one  from  the 
beard  of  Edward  IV.  They  were  fastened  to  a manu- 
script letter  which  authenticates  the  hair  as  having 
been  taken  from  King  Edward’s  tomb  in  1789.  Near 
these  relics  was  a seal  of  the  great  Earl  of  Warwick, 
the  mighty  king-maker ; also  a sword  from#  Bosworth 
Field,  smaller  and  shorter  than  those  now  in  use ; for, 
indeed,  swords  seem  to  have  increased  in  length,  weight, 
and  formidable  aspect,  now  that  the  weapon  has  almost 
ceased  to  be  used  in  actual  warfare.  The  short  Roman 
sword  was  probably  more  murderous  than  any  weapon 
of  the  same  species,  except  the  bowie-knife.  Here,  too, 
were  Parliamentary  cannon-balls,  &c 

[The  visit  to  Whitnash  intervenes  here.  — Ed.] 

LONDON. 

24  Great  Russell  Street , November  1(M.  — We  have 
been  thinking  and  negotiating  about  taking  lodgings  in 
London  lately,  and  this  morning  we  left  Leamington 
and  reached  London  with  no  other  misadventure  than 
that  of  leaving  the  great  bulk  of  our  luggage  behind  us,  — 
the  van  which  we  hired  to  take  it  to  the  railway  station 
having  broken  down  under  its  prodigious  weight,  in  the 
middle  of  the  street.  On  our  journey  we  saw  nothing 
particularly  worthy  of  note,  — but  everywhere  the  im- 
mortal verdure  of  England,  scarcely  less  perfect  than 
in  June,  so  far  as  the  fields  are  concerned,  though  the 
foliage  of  the  trees  presents  pretty  much  the  same  hues 
as  those  of  our  own  foreste,  after  the  gayety  and  gor- 
geousness  have  departed  from  them. 


348 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


Our  lodgings  are  in  close  vicinity  to  the  British  Mu- 
seum, which  is  the  great  advantage  we  took  them  for. 

I felt  restless  and  uncomfortable,  and  soon  strolled 
forth,  without  any  definite  object,  and  walked  as  far  as 
Charing  Cross.  Very  dull  and  dreary  the  city  looked, 
and  not  in  the  least  lively,  even  where  the  throng  was 
thickest  and  most  brisk.  As  I trudged  along,  my  re- 
flection was,  that  never  was  there  a dingier,  uglier,  less 
picturesque  city  than  London  ; and  that  it  is  really 
\vonderful  that  so  much  brick  and  stone,  for  centuries 
together,  should  have  been  built  up  with  so  poor  a re- 
sult. Yet  these  old  names  of  the  city  — Fleet  Street, 
Ludgate  Hill,  the  Strand  — used  to  throw  a glory  over 
these  homely  precincts  when  I first  saw  them,  and  still 
do  so  in  a less  degree.  Where  Farrington  Street  opens 
upon  Fleet  Street,  moreover,  I had  a glimpse  of  St. 
Paul’s,  along  Ludgate  Street,  in  the  gathering  dimness, 
and  felt  as  if  I saw  an  old  friend.  In  that  neighbor- 
hood — speaking  of  old  friends  — I met  Mr.  Parker 
of  Boston,  who  told  me  sad  news  of  a friend  whom  I 
love  as  much  as  if  I had  known  him  for  a lifetime,  though 
he  is,  indeed,  but  of  two  or  three  years’  standing.  He 
said  that  my  friend’s  bankruptcy  is  in  to-day’s  Gazette. 
Of  all  men  on  earth,  I had  rather  this  misfortune  should 
have  happened  to  any  other  ; but  I hope  and  think  he 
has  sturdiness  and  buoyancy  enough  to  rise  up  beneath 
it.  I cannot  conceive  of  his  face  otherwise  than  with  a 
glow  on  it,  like  that  of  the  sun  at  noonday. 

Before  I reached  our  lodgings,  the  dusk  settled  into 
the  streets,  and  a mist  bedewed  and  bedamped  me,  and 
I went  astray,  as  is  usual  with  me,  and  had  to  inquire 
my  way ; indeed,  except  in  the  principal  thoroughfares, 


LONDON. 


349 


X857.] 

London  is  so  miserably  lighted  that  it  is  impossible  to 
recognize  one's  whereabouts.  On  my  arrival  I found 
our  parlor  looking  cheerful  with  a brisk  fire;  . . . . 
but  the  first  day  or  two  in  new  lodgings  is  at  best  an 
uncomfortable  time.  Fanny  has  just  come  in  with  more 

unhappy  news  about — . Pray  Heaven  it  may  not 

be  true ! . . . . Troubles  are  a sociable  brotherhood ; 
they  love  to  come  hand  in  hand,  or  sometimes,  even,  to 
come  side  by  side,  with  long  looked-for  and  hoped-for 
good  fortune 

November  11  th. — This  morning  we  all  went  to  the 
British  Museum,  always  a most  wearisome  and  depress- 
ing task  to  me.  I strolled  through  the  lower  rooms 
with  a good  degree  of  interest,  looking  at  the  antique 
sculptures,  some  of  which  were  doubtless  grand  and 

beautiful  in  their  day The  Egyptian  remains 

are,  on  the  whole,  the  more  satisfactory ; for,  though 
inconceivably  ugly,  they  are  at  least  miracles  of  size 
and  ponderosity,  — for  example,  a hand  and  arm  of 
polished  granite,  as  much  as  ten  feet  in  length.  The 
upper  rooms,  containing  millions  of  specimens  of  Natu- 
ral History,  in  all  departments,  really  made  my  heart 
ache  with  a pain  and  woe  that  I have  never  felt 
anywhere  but  in  the  British  Museum,  and  I hurried 

through  them  as  rapidly  as  I could  persuade  J to 

follow  me.  W/e  had  left  the  rest  of  the  party  still 

intent  on  the  Grecian  sculptures ; and  though  J - 

was  much  interested  in  the  vast  collection  of  shells,  he 
chose  to  quit  the  Museum  with  me  in  the  prospect  of 
a stroll  about  London.  He  seems  to  have  my  own 
passion  for  thronged  streets,  and  the  utmost  bustle  of 
humaw  lixe. 


350  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857 

We  went  first  to  the  railway  station,  in  quest  of  out 
luggage,  which  we  found.  Then  we  made  a pretty 
straight  course  down  to  Holborn,  and  through  Newgate 
Street,  stopping  a few  moments  to  look  through  the 
iron  fence  at  the  Christ’s  Hospital  boys,  in  their  long 
blue  coats  and  yellow  petticoats  and  stockings.  It 
was  between  twelve  and  one  o’clock  ; and  I suppose  this 
was  their  hour  of  play,  for  they  were  running  about 
the  enclosed  space,  chasing  and  overthrowing  one  another, 
without  their  caps,  with  their  yellow  petticoats  tucked 
up,  and  all  in  immense  activity  and  enjoyment.  They 
were  eminently  a healthy  and  handsome  set  of  boys. 

Then  we  went  into  Cheapside,  where  I called  at  Mr. 
Bennett’s  shop,  to  inquire  what  are  the  facts  about 

— . When  I mentioned  his  name,  Mr.  Bennett 

shook  his  head  and  expressed  great  sorrow;  but,  on 
further  talk,  I found  that  he  referred  only  to  the  failure, 
and  had  heard  nothing  about  the  other  rumor.  It  can- 
not, therefore,  be  true ; for  Bennett  lives  in  his  neighbor* 
hood,  and  could  not  have  remained  ignorant  of  such  a 
calamity.  There  must  be  some  mistake ; none,  how* 
ever,  in  regard  to  the  failure,  it  having  been  announced 
in  the  Times. 

From  Bennett’s  shop, — which  is  so  near  the  steeple 
of  Bow  Church  that  it  would  tumble  upon  it  if  it  fell 
over,  — we  strolled  still  eastward,  aiming  at  London 
Bridge ; but  missed  it,  and  bewildered  ourselves  among 
many  dingy  and  frowzy  streets  and  ianes.  1 bore 
towards  the  right,  however,  knowing  that  that  course 
must  ultimately  bring  me  to  the  Thames ; and  at  last  I 
saw  before  me  ramparts,  cowers,  circular  and  square, 
with  battlemented  isw-g*  sweeps  and  curves  of 


LONDON. 


351 


1857.] 

fortification,  as  well  as  straight  and  massive  walls  and 
chimneys  behind  them  (all  a great  confusion  — to  my 
eye),  of  ancient  and  more  modern  structure,  and  four 
loftier  turrets  rising  in  the  midst ; the  whole  great  space 
surrounded  by  a broad,  dry  moat,  which  now  seemed  to 
be  used  as  an  ornamental  walk,  bordered  partly  with 
trees.  This  was  the  Tower ; .but  seen  from  a different 
and  more  picturesque  point  of  view  than  I have  hereto- 
fore gained  of  it.  Being  so  convenient  for  a visit,  I 
determined  to  go  in.  At  the  outer  gate,  which  is  not 
a part  of  the  fortification,  a sentinel  walks  to  and  fro, 
besides  whom  there  was  a warder,  in  the  rich  old  cos- 
tume of  Henry  YIII.’s  time,  looking  very  gorgeous 
indeed,  — as  much  so  as  scarlet  and  gold  can  make 
him. 


As  J and  I were  not  going  to  look  at  the  Jewel- 

room,  we  loitered  about  in  the  open  space,  before  the 
White  Tower,  while  the  tall,  slender,  white-haired,  gen- 
tlemanly warder  led  the  rest  of  the  party  into  that 
apartment.  We  found  what  one  might  take  for  a 
square  in  a town,  with  gabled  houses  lifting  their  peaks 
on  one  side,  and  various  edifices  enclosing  the  other 
sides,  and  the  great  White  Tower,  — now  more  black 
than  white,  — rising  venerable,  and  rather  picturesque 
than  otherwjse,  the  most  prominent  object  in  the  scene. 
I have  no  plan  nor  available  idea  of  it  whatever  in  my 
mind,  but  it  seems  really  to  be  a town  within  itself, 
with  streets,  avenues,  and  all  that  pertains  to  human 
life.  There  were  soldiers  going  through  their  exercise 
in  the  open  space,  and  along  at  the  base  of  the  White 
Tower  lay  a great  many  cannon  and  mortars,  some  of 


352 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


which  were  of  Turkish  manufacture,  and  immensely 
long  and  ponderous.  Others,  likewise  of  mighty  size, 
had  once  belonged  to  the  famous  ship  Great  Harry, 
and  had  lain  for  ages  under  the  sea.  Others  were 
East-Indian.  Several  were  beautiful  specimens  of 
workmanship.  The  mortars  — some  so  large  that  a 
fair-sized  man  might  easily  be  rammed  into  them  — 
held  their  great  mouths  slanting  upward  to  the  sky, 
and  mostly  contained  a quantity  of  rain-water.  While 
wre  were  looking  at  these  warlike  toys,  — for  I suppose 
not  one  of  them  will  ever  thunder  in  earnest  again,  — 
the  warden  reappeared  with  his  ladies,  and,  leading  us 
all  to  a certain  part  of  the  open  space,  he  struck  his 
foot  on  the  small  stones  with  which  it  is  paved,  and 
told  us  that  we  were  standing  on  the  spot  where  Anne 
Boleyn  and  Catharine  Parr  were  beheaded.  It  is  not 
exactly  in  the  centre  of  the  square,  but  on  a line  with 
one  of  the  angles  of  the  White  Tower.  I forgot  to 
mention  that  the  middle  of  the  open  space  is  occupied 
by  a marble  statue  of  Wellington,  which  appeared  to 
me  very  poor  and  laboriously  spirited. 

Lastly,  the  warder  led  us  under  the  Bloody  Tower, 
and  by  the  side  of  the  Wakefield  Tower,  and  showed 
us  the  Traitor’s  Gate,  which  is  now  closed  up,  so  as 
to  afford  no  access  to  the  Thames.  No ; we  first  visited 
the  Beauchamp  Tower,  famous  as  the  prison  of  many 
historical  personages.  Some  of  its  former  occupants 
have  left  their  initials  or  names,  and  inscriptions  of 
piety  and  patience,  cut  deep  into  the  freestone  of  the 
walls,  together  with  devices  — as  a crucifix,  for  instance 
— neatly  and  skilfully  done.  This  room  has  a long, 
deep  fireplace ; it  is  chiefly  lighted  by  a large  window, 


LONDON. 


353 


1857.] 

which  I fancy  must  have  been  made  in  modern  times ; 
but  there  are  four  narrow  apertures,  throwing  in  a 
little  light  through  deep  alcoves  in  the  thickness  of  the 
octagon  wall.  One  would  expect  such  a room  to  be 
picturesque ; but  it  is  really  not  of  striking  aspect, 
being  low,  with  a plastered  ceiling,  — the  beams  just 
showing  through  the  plaster,  — a boarded  floor,  and  the 
walls  being  washed  over  with  a buff  color.  A warder 
sat  within  a railing,  by  the  great  window,  with  sixpenny 
books  to  sell,  containing  transcripts  of  the  inscriptions 
on  the  walls. 

We  now  left  the  Tower,  and  made  our  way 
deviously  westward,  passing  St.  Paul’s,  which  looked 
magnificently  and  beautifully,  so  huge  and  dusky  as  it 
was,  with  here  and  there  a space  on  its  vast  form 
where  the  original  whiteness  of  the  marble  came  out 
like  a streak  of  moonshine  amid  the  blackness  with 
which  time  has  made  it  grander  than  it  was  in  its  new- 
ness. It  is  a most  noble  edifice ; and  I delight,  too,  in 
the  statues  that  crown  some  of  its  heights,  and  in  the 
wreaths  of  sculpture  which  are  hung  around  it. 

November  1 2th.  — This  morning  began  with  such  fog, 
that  at  the  window  of  my  chamber,  lighted  only  from 
a small  court-yard,  enclosed  by  high,  dingy  walls,  I could 
hardly  see  to  dress.  It  kept  alternately  darkening,  and 
then  brightening  a little,  and  darkening  again,  so  much 
that  we  could  but  just  discern  the  opposite  houses ; but 
at  eleven  or  thereabouts  it  grew  so  much  clearer  that 
we  resolved  to  venture  out  Our  plan  for  the  day  was 
to  go  in  the  first  place  to  Westminster  Abbey  ; and  to 


354 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


the  National  Gallery,  if  we  should  find  time.  . . , . 
The  fog  darkened  again  as  we  went  down  Regent 
Street,  and  the  Duke  of  York’s  Column  was  but  barely 
visible,  looming  vaguely  before  us  ; nor,  from  Pall  Mall, 
was  Nelson’s  Pillar  much  more  distinct,  though  ine- 
thought  his  statue  stood  aloft  in  a somewhat  clearer 
atmosphere  than  ours.  Passing  Whitehall,  however, 
we  could  scarcely  see  Inigo  Jones’s  Banqueting-House, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street ; and  the  towers  and 
turrets  of  the  new  Houses  of  Parliament  were  all  but 
invisible,  as  was  the  Abbey  itself;  so  that  we  really 
were  in  some  doubt  whither  we  were  going.  We 
found  our  way  to  Poets’  Corner,  however,  and  entered 
those  holy  precincts,  which  looked  very  dusky  and 
grim  in  the  smoky  light I was  strongly  im- 

pressed with  the  perception  that  very  commonplace 
people  compbse  the  great  bulk  of  society  in  the  home 
of  the  illustrious  dead.  It  is  wonderful  how  few  names 
there  are  that  one  cares  anything  about  a hundred 
years  after  their  departure ; but  perhaps  each  genera- 
tion acts  in  good  faith  in  canonizing  its  own  men 

But  the  fame  of  the  buried  person  does  not  make  the 
marble  live,  — the  marble  keeps  merely  a cold  and  sad 
memory  of  a man  who  would  else  be  forgotten.  No 
man  who  needs  a monument  ever  ought  to  have  one. 

The  painted  windows  of  the  Abbey,  though  mostly 
modern,  are  exceedingly  rich  and  beautiful ; and  I do 
think  that  human  art  has  invented  no  other  such  mag- 
nificent method  of  adornment  as  this. 

Our  final  visit  to-day  was  to  the  National  Gallery, 


LONDON. 


355 


1857.] 

where  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  Murillo’s  St.  John 
was  the  most  lovely  picture  I have  ever  seen,  and  that 
there  never  was  a painter  who  has  really  made  the 
world  richer,  except  Murillo, 

November  1 2th,  — This  morning  we  issued  forth,  and 
found  the  atmosphere  chill  and  almost  frosty,  tingling 
upon  our  cheeks.  ....  The  gateway  of  Somerset 
House  attracted  us,  and  we  walked  round  its  spacious 
quadrangle,  encountering  many  government  clerks  hur- 
rying to  their  various  offices.  At  least,  I presumed 
them  to  be  so.  This  is  certainly  a handsome  square  of 
buildings,  with  its  Grecian  facades  and  pillars,  and  its 
sculptured  bas-reliefs,  and  the  group  of  statuary  in  the 
midst  of  the  court.  Besides  the  part  of  the  edifice  that 
rises  above  ground,  there  appear  to  be  two  subterranean 
stories  below  the  surface.  From  Somerset  House  we 
pursued  our  way  through  Temple  Bar,  but  missed  it, 
and  therefore  entered  by  the  passage  from  what  was 
formerly  Alsatia,  but  which  now  seems  to  be  a very 
respectable  and  humdrum  part  of  London.  We  came 
immediately  to  the  Temple  Gardens,  which  we  walked 
quite  round.  The  grass  is  still  green,  but  the  trees  are 
leafless,  and  had  an  aspect  of  not  being  very  robust, 
even  at  more  genial  seasons  of  the  year.  There  were, 
however,  large  quantities  of  brilliant  chrysanthemums, 
golden,  and  of  all  hues,  blooming  gorgeously  all  about 
the  borders  ; and  several  gardeners  were  at  work,  tend- 
ing these  flowers,  and  sheltering  them  from  the  weather. 
I noticed  no  roses,  nor  even  rose-bushes,  in  the  spot 
where  the  factions  of  York  and  Lancaster  plucked  their 
two  hostile  flowers. 


356  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

Leaving  these  grounds,  we  went  to  the  Hall  of  the 
Middle  Temple,  where  we  knocked  at  the  portal,  and, 
finding  it  not  fastened,  thrust  it  open.  A boy  appeared 
within,  and  the  porter  or  keeper,  at  a distance,  along 
the  inner  passage,  called  to  us  to  enter  ; and,  opening 
the  door  of  the  great  hall,  left  us  to  view  it  till  he  should 
be  at  leisure  to  attend  to  us.  Truly  it  is  a most  mag- 
nificent apartment ; very  lofty,  — so  lofty,  indeed,  that 
the  antique  oak-roof  was  quite  hidden,  as  regarded  all 
its  details,  in  the  sombre  gloom  that  brooded  under  its 
rafters.  The  hall  was  lighted  by  four  great  windows,  I 
think,  on  each  of  the  two  sides,  descending  half-way 
from- the  ceiling  to  the  floor,  leaving  all  beneath  en- 
closed by  oaken  panelling,  which,  on  three  sides,  was 
carved  with  escutcheons  of  such  members  of  the  society 
as  have  held  the  office  of  reader.  There  is  likewise,  in 
a large  recess  or  transept,  a great  window,  occupying 
the  full  height  of  the  hall,  and  splendidly  emblazoned 
with  the  arms  of  the  Templars  who  have  attained  to 
the  dignity  of  Chief- Justices.  The  other  windows  are 
pictured,  in  like  manner,  with  coats  of  arms  of  local 
dignities  connected  with  the  Temple ; and  besides  all 
these  there  are  arched  lights,  high  towards  the  roof,  at 
either  end  full  of  richly  and  chastely  colored  glass,  and 
all  the  illumination  that  the  great  hall  had  came  through 
these  glorious  panes,  and  they  seemed  the  richer  for  the 
sombreness  in  which  we  stood.  I cannot  describe,  or 
even  intimate,  the  effect  of  this  transparent  glory,  glow- 
ing down  upon  us  in  that  gloomy  depth  of  the  hall. 
The  screen  at  the  lower  end  was  of  carved  oak,  very 
dark  and  highly  polished,  and  as  old  as  Queen  Eliza- 
beth’s time.  The  keeper  told  us  that  the  story  of  the 


1857.] 


LONDON. 


357 


Armada  was  said  to  be  represented  in  these  carvings, 
but  in  the  imperfect  light  we  could  trace  nothing  of  it 
out.  Along  the  length  of  the  apartment  were  set  two 
oaken  tables  for  the  students  of  law  to  dine  upon ; and 
on  the  dais,  at  the  upper  end,  there  was  a cross-table 
for  the  big-wigs  of  the  society ; the  latter  being  pro- 
vided with  comfortable  chairs,  and  the  former  with  oak- 
en benches.  From  a notification,  posted  near  the  door,  I 
gathered  that  the  cost  of  dinners  is  two  shillings  to  each 
gentleman,  including,  as  the  attendant  told  me,  ale  and 
wine.  I am  reluctant  to  leave  this  hall  without  ex- 
pressing how  grave,  how  grand,  how  sombre,  and  how 
magnificent  I feel  it  to  be.  As  regards  historical  asso- 
ciation, it  was  a favorite  dancing-hall  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, and  Sir  Christopher  Hatton  danced  himself  into 
her  good  graces  there. 

We  next  went  to  the  Temple  Church,  and,  finding 
the  door  ajar,  made  free  to  enter  beneath  its  Norman 
arches,  which  admitted  us  into  a circular  vestibule,  very 
ancient  and  beautiful.  In  the  body  of  the  church  be- 
yond we  saw  a boy  sitting,  but  nobody  either  forbade  or 
invited  our  entrance.  On  the  floor  of  the  vestibule  lay 
about  half  a score  of  Templars,  — the  representatives  of 
the  warlike  priests  who  built  this  church  and  formerly 
held  these  precincts,  — all  in  chain-armor,  grasping  their 
swords,  and  with  their  shields  beside  them.  Except 
two  or  three,  they  lay  cross-legged,  in  token  that  they 
had  really  fought  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  I think  I 
have  seen  nowhere  else  such  well-preserved  monu- 
mental knights  as  these.  We  proceeded  into  the  interior 
of  the  church,  and  were  greatly  impressed  with  its  won- 
derful beauty, — the  roof  springing,  as  it  were,  in  a har- 


358  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

monious  and  accordant  fountain,  out  of  the  clustered 
pillars  that  support  its  groined  arches ; and  these  pil- 
lars, immense  as  they  are,  are  polished  like  so  many 
gems.  They  are  of  Purbeck  marble,  and,  if  I mistake 
pob  had  been  covered  with  plaster  for  ages  until  lat- 
terly redeemed  and  beautified  anew.  But  the  glory  of 
the  church  is  its  old  painted  windows;  and,  positively, 
those  great  spaces  over  the  chancel  appeared  to  be  set 
with  all  manner  of  precious  stones,  — or  it  was  as  if 
the  many-colored  radiance  of  heaven  were  breaking 
upon  us,  — or  as  if  we  saw  the  wings  of  angels,  storied 
<<wer  with  richly  tinted  pictures  of  holy  things.  But  it 
is  idle  to  talk  of  this  marvellous  adornment;  it  is  to  be 
seen  and  wondered  at,  not  written  about.  Before  we 
left  the  church,  the  porter  made  his  appearance,  in  time 
to  receive  his  fee,  — which  somebody,  indeed,  is  always 
ready  to  stretch  out  his  hand  for.  And  so  ended  our 
visit  to  the  Temple,  which,  by  the  by,  though  close  to 
'he  midmost  bustle  of  London,  is  as  quiet  as  if  it  were 
always  Sunday  there. 

We  now  went  to  St.  Paul's.  U—  and  Miss  Shep- 
ard ascended  to  the  Whispering  Gallery,  and  we,  sit- 
ting under  the  dome,  at  the  base  of  one  of  the  pillars, 
saw  them  far  above  us,  looking  very  indistinct,  for 
those  misty  upper-depths  seemed  almost  to  be  hung 
with  clouds.  This  cathedral,  I think,  does  not  profit 
by  gloom,  but  requires  cheerful  sunshine  to  show7  it  to 
the  best  advantage.  The  statues  and  sculptures  in 
St.  Paul’s  are  mostly  covered  with  years  of  dust,  and 
look  thereby  very  grim  and  uglv  ; but  there  are  few 
memories  there  from  which  I should  care  to  brush 
away  the  dust,  they  bciog.  in  nine  0as^s  ^ut  ten, 


LONDON. 


359 


185/.] 

naval  and  military  heroes  of  second  or  third  class  merit. 
I really  remember  no  literary  celebrity  admitted  solely 
on  that  account,  except  Dr.  Johnson.  The  Crimean  war 
has  supplied  two  or  three  monuments,  chiefly  mural 
tablets ; and  doubtless  more  of  the  same  excrescences 
will  yet  come  out  upon  the  walls.  One  thing  that  I 
newly  noticed  was  the  beautiful  shape  of  the  great, 
covered  marble  vase  that  serves  for  a font. 

From  St.  Paul’s  we  went  down  Cheapside,  and, 
turning  into  King  Street,  visited  Guildhall,  which  we 
found  in  process  of  decoration  for  a public  ball,  to  take 
place  next  week.  It  looked  rather  gewgawish  thus 
gorgeous,  being  hung  with  flags  of  all  nations,  and 
adorned  with  military  trophies  ; and  the  scene  was  re- 
peated by  a range  of  looking-glasses  at  one  end  of  the 
room.  The  execrably  painted  windows  really  shocked 
us  by  their  vulgar  glare,  after  those  of  the  Temple  Hall 
and  Church  ; yet,  a few  years  ago,  I might  very  likely 
have  thought  them  beautiful.  Our  own  national  ban- 
ner, I must  remember  to  say,  was  hanging  in  Guild- 
hall, but  with  only  ten  stars,  and  an  insufficient  number 
of  stripes. 

November  1 5th, — Yesterday  morning  we  went  to 
London  Bridge  and  along  Lower  Thames  Street,  and 
quickly  found  ourselves  in  Billingsgate  Market,  — a 
dirty,  evil-smelling,  crowded  precinct,  thronged  with 
people  carrying  fish  on  their  heads,  and  lined  with  fish- 
shops  and  fish-stalls,  and  pervaded  with  a fishy  odor. 
The  footwalk  was  narrow,  — as  indeed  was  the  whole 
street,  — and  filthy  to  travel  upon  ; and  we  had  to  elbow 


• 360  ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS.  [1857. 

our  way  among  rough  men  and  slatternly  women,  and  to 
guard  our  heads  from  the  contact  of  fish-trays  ; very 
ugly,  grimy,  and  misty,  moreover,  is  Billingsgate  Market, 
and  though  we  heard  none  of  the  foul  language  of  which 
it  is  supposed  to  be  the  fountain-head,  yet  it  has  its  own 

peculiarities  of  behavior.  For  instance,  U tells 

me  that  one  man,  staring  at  her  and  her  governess  ar 
they  passed,  cried  out,  “ What  beauties!”  — another 
looking  under  her  veil,  greeted  her  with  “ Good  morn- 
ing, my  love!”  We  were  in  advance,  and  heard 
nothing  of  these  civilities.  Struggling  through  this 
fishy  purgatory,  we  caught  sight  of  the  Tower,  as  we 
drew  near  the  end  of  the  street ; and  I put  all  my  party 
under  charge  of  one  of  the  Trump  Cards,  not  being  my 
self  inclined  to  make  the  rounds  of  the  small  part  of  the 
fortress  that  is  shown,  so  soon  after  my  late  visit. 

When  they  departed  with  the  warder,  I set  out  by 
myself  to  wander  about  the  exterior  of  the  Tower,  look- 
ing with  interest  at  what  I suppose  to  be  Tower  Hill,  — a 
slight  elevation  of  the  large  open  space  into  which  Great 
Tower  Street  opens ; though,  perhaps,  what  is  now" 
called  Trinity  Square  may  have  been  a part  of  Tower 
Hill,  and  possibly  the  precise  spot  where  the  executions 
took  place.  Keeping  to  the  right,  round  the  TowTer,  1 
found  the  moat  quite  surrounded  by  a fence  of  iron 
rails,  excluding  me  from  a pleasant  gravel-path,  among 
flowers  and  shrubbery,  on  the  inside,  where  I could  see 
nursery-maids  giving  children  their  airings.  Possibly 
these  may  have  been  the  privileged  inhabitants  of  the 
Tower,  which  certainly  might  contain  the  population  of 
a large  village.  The  aspect  of  the  fortress  has  so  much 
that  is  new  and  modern  about  it  that  it  can  hardly  be 


LONDON. 


1857.] 


36  i 


called  picturesque,  and  yet  it  seems  unfair  to  withhold 
that  epithet  from  such  a collection  of  gray  ramparts.  I 
followed  the  iron  fence  quite  round  the  outer  grounds, 
till  it  approached  the  Thames,  and  in  this  direction  the 
moat  and  the  pleasure-ground  terminate  in  a narrow 
graveyard,  which  extends  beneath  the  walls,  and  looks 
neglected  and  shaggy  with  long  grass.  It  appeared  to 
contain  graves  enough,  but  only  a few  tombstones,  of 
which  I could  read  the  inscription  of  but  one ; it  com- 
memorated a Mr.  George  Gibson,  a person  of  no  note, 
nor  apparently  connected  with  the  place.  St.  Kath- 
arine’s Dock  lies  along  the  Thames,  in  this  vicinity  ; 
and  while  on  one  side  of  me  were  the  Tower,  the 
quiet  gravel-path,  and  the  shaggy  graveyard,  on  the 
other  were  draymen  and  their  horses,  dock-laborers,  sail- 
ors, empty  puncheons,  and  a miscellaneous  spectacle  of 
life,  — including  organ-grinders,  men  roasting  chestnuts 
over  small  ovens  on  the  sidewalk,  boys  and  women 
with  boards  or  wheelbarrows  of  apples,  oyster-stands, 
besides  pedlers  of  small  wares,  dirty  children  at  play, 
and  other  figures  and  things  that  a Dutch  painter  would 
seize  upon. 

I went  a little  way  into  St.  Katharine’s  Dock,  and 
found  it  crowded  with  great  ships  ; then,  returning,  I 
strolled  along  the  range  of  shops  that  front  towards  this 
side  of  the  Tower.  They  have  all  something  to  do  with 
ships,  sailors,  and  commerce  ; being  for  the  sale  of  ships’ 
stores,  nautical  instruments,  arms,  clothing,  together  with 
a tavern  and  grog-shop  at  every  other  door ; book-stalls, 
too,  covered  with  cheap  novels  and  song-books  ; cigar- 
shops  in  great  numbers ; and  everywhere  were  sailors, 
and  here  and  there  a soldier,  and  children  at  the  door- 
16 


VOL.  II. 


362 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857'. 


steps,  and  women  showing  themselves  at  the  doors  or 
windows  of  their  domiciles.  These  latter  figures,  how- 
ever, pertain  rather  to  the  street  up  which  I walked, 
penetrating  into  the  interior  of  this  region,  which,  I 
think,  is  Blackwall  — no,  I forget  what  its  name  is. 
At  all  events,  it  has  an  ancient  and  most  grimy  and 
rough  look,  with  its  old  gabled  houses,  each  of  them  the 
seat  of  some  petty  trade  and  business  in  its  basement 
story.  Among  these  T saw  one  house  with  three  or 
four  peaks  along  its  front,  — a second  story  projecting 
over  the  basement,  and  the  whole  clapboarded  over. 
. . . . There  was  a butcher’s  stall  in  the  lower  story, 
with  a front  open  to  the  street,  in  the  ancient  fashion, 
which  seems  to  be  retained  only  by  butchers’  shops. 
This  part  of  London,  having  escaped  the  Great  Fire,  I 
suppose  there  may  be  many  relics  of  architectural  an- 
tiquity hereabouts. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  I went  back  to  the  Refresh- 
ment-room, within  the  outer  gate  of  the  Tower,  where 
the  rest  of  us  shortly  appeared.  We  now  returned 
westward  by  way  t>f  Great  Tower  Street,  Eastcheap, 
and  Cannon  Street,  and,  entering  St.  Paul’s,  sat  down 
beneath  the  misty  dome  to  rest  ourselves.  The  muffled 
roar  of  the  city,  as  we  heard  it  there,  is  very  soothing, 
and  keeps  one  listening  to  it,  somewhat  as  the  flow  of  a 
river  keeps  us  looking  at  it.  It  is  a grand  and  quiet 
sound  ; and,  ever  and  anon,  a distant  door  slammed 
somewhere  in  the  cathedral,  and  reverberated  long  and 
heavily,  like  the  roll  of  thunder  or  the  boom  of  cannon 
Every  noise  that  is  loud  enough  to  be  heard  in  so  vast 
an  edifice  melts  into  the  great  quietude.  The  intei  for 
looked  very  sombre,  and  the  dome  hung  over  us  like  a 


LONDON. 


363 


1857.] 

cloudy  sky.  I wish  it  were  possible  to  pass  directly 
from  St.  Paul’s  into  York  Minster,  or  from  the  latter 
into  the  former ; that  is,  if  one’s  mind  could  manage  to 
stagger  under  both  in  the  same  day.  There  is  no  other 
way  of  judging  of  their  comparative  effect. 

Under  the  influence  of  that  grand  lullaby,  — the  roar 
of  the  city,  — we  sat  for  some  time  after  we  were  suf- 
ficiently rested  ; but  at  last  plunged  forth  again,  and 
went  up  Newgate  Street,  pausing  to  look  through  the 
iron  railings  of  Christ’s  Hospital.  The  boys,  however, 
were  not  at  play  ; so  we  went  onward,  in  quest  of 
Smithfield,  and  on  our  way  had  a greeting  from  Mr. 
Silsbee,  a gentleman  of  our  own  native  town.  Parting 
with  him,  we  found  Smithfield,  which  is  still  occupied 
with  pens  for  cattle,  though  I believe  it  has  ceased  to 
be  a cattle-market.  Except  it  be  St.  Bartholomew’s 
Hospital  on  one  side,  there  is  nothing  interesting  in 
this  ugly  square  ; though,  no  doubt,  a few  feet  under 
die  pavement  there  are  bones  and  ashes  as  precious  as 
anything  of  the  kind  on  earth.  I wonder  when  men 
will  begin  to  erect  monuments  to  human  error  ; hitherto 
their  pillars  and  statues  have  only  been  for  the  sake  of 
glorification.  But,  after  all,  the  present  fashion  may  be 
the  better  and  wholesomer 

November  1 6th.  — Mr.  Silsbee  called  yesterday,  and 
talked  about  matters  of  art,  in  which  he  is  deeply  in- 
terested, and  which  he  has  had  good  opportunities  of 
becoming  acquainted  with,  during  three  years’  travel  on 
the  Continent.  He  is  a man  of  great  intelligence  and 
true  feeling,  and  absolutely  brims  over  with  ideas,  — his 
conversation  flowing  in  a constant  stream,  which  it  ap* 


364 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


pears  to  be  no  trouble  whatever  to  him  to  keep  up 

He  took  his  leave  after  a long  call,  and  left  with  us  a 
manuscript,  describing  a visit  to  Berlin,  which  I read 
to  my  wife  in  the  evening.  It  was  well  worth  reading. 
He  made  an  engagement  to  go  with  us  to  the  Crystal 
Palace,  and  came  hither  for  that  purpose  this  morning. 

We  drove  to  the  London  Bridge  Station,  where  we 
bought  return  tickets  that  entitled  us  to  admission  to  the 
Palace,  as  well  as  conveyance  thither,  for  half  a crown 
apiece.  On  our  arrival  we  entered  by  the  garden 
front,  thus  gaining  a fine  view  of  the  ornamental 
grounds,  with  their  fountains  and  stately  pathways, 
bordered  with  statues  ; and  of  the  edifice  itself,  so  vast 
and  fairy-like,  looking  as  if  it  were  a bubble,  and 
might  vanish  at  a touch.  There  is  as  little  beauty  in 
the  architecture  of  the  Crystal  Palace,  however,  as  was 
possible  to  be  with  such  gigantic  use  of  such  a material. 
No  doubt,  an  architectural  order  of  which  we  have  as 
yet  little  or  no  idea  is  to  be  developed  from  the  use  of 
glass  as  a building  material,  instead  of  brick  and  stone. 
It  will  have  its  own  rules  and  its  own  results  ; but, 
meanwhile,  even  the  present  palace  is  positively  a very 
beautiful  object.  On  entering  we  found  the  atmosphere 
chill  and  comfortless,  — more  so,  it  seemed  to  me,  than 
the  open  air  itself.  It  was  not  a genial  day  ; though  now 
and  then  the  sun  gleamed  out,  and  once  caused  fine 
effects  in  the  glass-work  of  a crystal  fountain  in  one  of 
the  courts. 

We  were  under  Mr.  Silsbee’s  guidance  for  the  day, 
. . . . and  first  we  looked  at  the  sculpture,  which  is 
composed  chiefly  of  casts  or  copies  of  the  most  famous 
statues  of  all  ages,  and  likewise  of  those  crumbs  and 


1857.] 


CRYSTAL  PALACE. 


365 


little  fragments  which  have  fallen  from  Time’s  jaw,  — 
and  half-picked  bones,  as  it  were,  that  have  been 
gathered  up  from  spots  where  he  has  feasted  full,  — 
torsos,  heads  and  broken  limbs,  some  of  them  half  worn 
away  as  if  they  had  been  rolled  over  and  over  in  the 
sea.  I saw  nothing  in  the  sculptural  way,  either  mod- 
ern or  antique,  that  impressed  me  so  much  as  a statue 
of  a nude  mother  by  a French  artist.  In  a sitting  pos- 
ture, with  one  knee  over  the  other,  she  was  clasping  her 
highest  knee  with  both  hands ; and  in  the  hollow  cradle 
thus  formed  by  her  arms  lay  two  sweet  little  babies,  as 
snug  and  close  to  her  heart  as  if  they  had  not  yet  been 
born,  — two  little  love-blossoms,  — and  the  mother  en- 
circling them  and  pervading  them  with  love.  But  an 
infinite  pathos  and  strange  terror  are  given  to  this 
beautiful  group  by  some  faint  bas-reliefs  on  the  pedes- 
tal, indicating  that  the  happy  mother  is  Eve,  and  Cain 
and  Abel  the  two  innocent  babes. 

Then  we  went  to  the  Alhambra,  which  looks  like  an 
enchanted  palace.  If  it  had  been  a sunny  day,  I should 
have  enjoyed  it  more  ; but  it  was  miserable  to  shiver 
and  shake  in  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  and  in  those 
chambers  which  were  contrived  as  places  of  refuge 
from  a fervid  temperature.  Furthermore,  it  is  not 
quite  agreeable  to  see  such  clever  specimens  of  stage 
decoration  ; they  are  so  very  good  that  it  gets  to  be 
past  a joke,  without  becoming  actual  earnest.  I had 
not  a similar  feeling  in  respect  to  the  reproduction 
of  mediaeval  statues,  arches,  doorways,  all  brilliantly 
colored  as  in  the  days  of  their  first  glory ; yet  I do  not 
know  but  that  the  first  is  as  little  objectionable  as  the 
last.  Certainly,  in  both  cases,  scenes  and  objects  of  a 


366 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[165?. 

past  age  are  here  more  vividly  presented  to  the  dullest 
mind  than  without  such  material  facilities  they  could 
possibly  be  brought  before  the  most  powerful  imagi- 
nation. Truly,  the  Crystal  Palace,  in  all  its  depart- 
ments, offers  wonderful  means  of  education.  I marvel 
what  will  come  of  it.  Among  the  things  that  I ad- 
mired most  was  Benvenuto  Cellini’s  statue  of  Perseus 
holding  the  head  of  Medusa,  and  standing  over  her 
headless  and  still  writhing  body,  out  of  which,  at  the 
severed  neck,  gushed  a vast  exuberance  of  snakes. 
Likewise,  a sitting  statue,  by  Michel  Angelo,  of  one 
of  the  Medici,  full  of  dignity  and  grace  and  reposeful 
might.  Also  the  bronze  gate  of  a baptistery  in  Flor- 
ence, carved  all  over  with  relievos  of  Scripture  subjects, 
executed  in  the  most  lifelike  and  expressive  manner. 
The  cast  itself  was  a miracle  of  art.  I should  have 
taken  it  for  the  genuine  original  bronze. 

We  then  wandered  into  the  House  of  Diomed,  which 
seemed  to  me  a dismal  abode,  affording  no  possibility 
of  comfort.  We  sat  down  in  one  of  the  rooms,  on  an 
iron  bench,  very  cold. 

It  being  by  this  time  two  o’clock,  we  went  to  the 
Refreshment-room  and  lunched ; and  before  we  had 
finished  our  repast,  my  wife  discovered  that  she  had 
lost  her  sable  tippet,  which  she  had  been  carrying  on 
her  arm.  Mr.  Silsbee  most  kindly  and  obligingly  im- 
mediately went  in  quest  of  it,  . . . . but  to  no  pur- 
pose  

Upon  entering  the  Tropical  Saloon,  we  found  a most 
welcome  and  delightful  change  of  temperature  among 
those  gigantic  leaves  of  banyan-trees,  and  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  water-plants,  floating  on  lakes,  and  spacious 


CRYSTAL  PALACE. 


367 


I857.J 

aviaries,  where  birds  of  brilliant  plumage  sported  and 
sang  amid  such  foliage  as  they  knew  at  home.  How- 
beit,  the  atmosphere  was  a little  faint  and  sickish, 
perhaps  owing  to  the  odor  of  the  half-tepid  water. 
The  most  remarkable  object  here  was  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  huge  beyond  imagination,  — a pine-tree  from  Cal- 
ifornia. It  was  only  the  stripped-off  bark,  however, 
which  had  been  conveyed  hither  in  segments,  and  put 
together  again  beyond  the  height  of  the  palace  roof ; 
and  the  hollow  interior  circle  of  the  tree  was  large 
enough  to  contain  fifty  people,  I should  think.  We 
entered  and  sat  down  in  all  the  remoteness  from  one 
another  that  is  attainable  in  a good-sized  drawing-room. 
We  then  ascended  the  gallery  to  get  a view  of  this  vast 
tree  from  a more  elevated  position,  and  found  it  looked 
even  bigger  from  above.  Then  we  loitered  slowly 
along  the  gallery  as  far  as  it  extended,  and  afterwards 
descended  into  the  nave  ; for  it  was  getting  dusk,  and 
a horn  had  sounded,  and  a bell  rung  a warning  to  such 
as  delayed  in  the  remote  regions  of  the  building.  Mr. 
Silsbee  again  most  kindly  went  in  quest  of  the  sables, 
but  still  without  success I have  not  much  en- 

joyed the  Crystal  Palace,  but  think  it  a great  and 
admirable  achievement. 

November  19 th.  — On  Tuesday  evening  Mr.  Silsbee 
came  to  read  some  letters  which  he  has  written  to  his 
friends,  chiefly  giving  his  observations  on  Art,  together 
with  descriptions  of  Venice  and  other  cities  on  the  Con- 
tinent. They  were  very  good,  and  indicate  much  sen- 
sibility and  talent.  After  the  reading  we  had  a little 
oyster-supper  and  wine. 


368 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857 


I had  written  a note  to , and  received  an  answer* 

indicating  that  he  was  much  weighed  down  by  his 

financial  misfortune However,  he  desired  me  to 

come  and  see  him  ; so  yesterday  morning  I wended  my 
way  down  into  the  city,  and  after  various  reluctant 
circumlocutions  arrived  at  his  house.  The  interior 
looked  confused  and  dismal. 

It  seems  to  me  nobody  else  runs  such  risks  as  a man 
of  business,  because  he  risks  everything.  Every  other 
man,  into  whatever  depth  of  poverty  he  may  sink,  has 
still  something  left,  be  he  author,  scholar,  handicraft- 
man,  or  what  not ; the  merchant  has  nothing. 

We  parted  with  a long  and  strong  grasp  of  the  hand, 
and promised  to  come  and  see  us  soon 

On  my  way  home  I called  at  Triibner’s  in  Pater- 
noster Row.  ....  I waited  a few  minutes,  he  being 
busy  with  a tall,  muscular,  English-built  man,  who, 
after  he  had  taken  leave,  Triibner  told  me  was  Charles 
Reade.  I once  met  him  at  an  evening-party,  but 
should  have  been  glad  to  meet  him  again,  now  that  I 
appreciate  him  sp  much  better  after  reading  Never 
too  Late  to  Mend. 

December  6 th.  — All  these  days,  since  my  last  date, 
have  been  marked  by  nothing  very  well  worthy  of  de- 
tail and  description.  I have  walked  the  streets  a great 
deal  in  the  dull  November  days,  and  always  take  a 
certain  pleasure  in  being  in  the  midst  of  human  life,  — ' 
as  closely  encompassed  by  it  as  it  is  possible  to  be  any- 
where in  this  world ; and  in  that  way  of  viewing  it 
there  is  a dull  and  sombre  enjoyment  always  to  be  had 


LONDON. 


369 


1857.] 

in  Holborn,  Fleet  Street,  Cheapside,  and  the  other 
busiest  parts  of  London.  It  is  human  life  ; it  is  this 
material  world  ; it  is  a grim  and  heavy  reality.  I have 
never  had  the  same  sense  of  being  surrounded  by  ma- 
terialisms and  hemmed  in  with  the  grossness  of  this 
earthly  existence  anywhere  else  ; these  broad,  crowded 
streets  are  so  evidently  the  veins  and  arteries  of  an 
enormous  city.  London  is  evidenced  in  every  one  of 
them,  just  as  a megatherium  is  in  each  of  its  separate 
bones,  even  if  they  be  small  ones.  Thus  I never  fail 
of  a sort  of  self-congratulation  in  finding  myself,  for 
instance,  passing  along  Ludgate  Hill ; but,  in  spite  of 
this,  it  is  really  an  ungladdened  life  to  wander  through 
these  huge,  thronged  ways,  over  a pavement  foul  with 
mud,  ground  into  it  by  a million  of  footsteps  ; jostling 
against  people  who  do  not  seem  to  be  individuals,  but 
all  one  mass,  so  homogeneous  is  the  street-walking 
aspect  of  them ; the  roar  of  vehicles  pervading  me,  — 
wearisome  cabs  and  omnibuses ; everywhere  the  dingy 
brick  edifices  heaving  themselves  up,  and  shutting  out 
all  but  a strip  of  sullen  cloud,  that  serves  London  for  a 
sky,  — in  short,  a general  impression  of  grime  and 
sordidness  ; and  at  this  season  always  a fog  scattered 
along  the  vista  of  streets,  sometimes  so  densely  as 
almost  to  spiritualize  the  materialism  and  make  the 
scene  resemble  the  other  world  of  worldly  people,  gross 
even  in  ghostliness.  It  is  strange  how  little  splendor 
and  brilliancy  one  sees  in  London,  — in  the  city  almost 
none,  though  some  in  the  shops  of  Regent  Street.  My 
wife  has  had  a season  of  indisposition  within  the  last 
few  weeks,  so  that  my  rambles  have  generally  been 
solitary,  or  with  J — only  for  a companion.  I think 
16  * x 


370 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

my  only  excursion  with  my  wife  was  a week  ago,  when 
we  went  to  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields,  which  truly  are 
almost  fields  right  in  the  heart  of  London,  and  as  re- 
tired and  secluded  as  if  the  surrounding  city  were  a 
forest,  and  its  heavy  roar  were  the  wind  amono-  the 
branches.  We  gained  admission  into  the  noble  Hall, 
which  is  modern,  but  built  in  antique  style,  and  stately 
and  beautiful  exceedingly.  I have  forgotten  all  but 
the  general  effect,  with  its  lofty  oaken  roof,  its  panelled 
walls,  with  the  windows  high  above,  and  the  great 
arched  window  at  one  end  full  of  painted  cpats  of  arms, 
which  the  light  glorifies  in  passing  through  them,  as  if 
each  were  the  escutcheon  of  some  illustrious  personage. 
Thence  we  went  to  the  chapel  of  Lincoln’s  Inn,  where, 
on  entering,  we  found  a class  of  young  choristers  re- 
ceiving instruction  from  their  music-master,  while  the 
organ  accompanied  their  strains.  These  young,  clear, 
fresh,  elastic  voices  are  wonderfully  beautiful ; they  are 
like  those  of  women,  yet  have  something  more  birdlike 
and  aspiring,  more  like  what  one  conceives  of  the  sing- 
ing of  angels.  As  for  the  singing  of  saints  and  blessed 
spirits  that  have  once  been  human,  it  never  can  resem- 
ble that  of  these  young  voices ; for  no  duration  of 
heavenly  enjoyments  will  ever  quite  take  the  mortal 
sadness  out  of  it. 

In  this  chapel  we  saw  some  painted  windows  of  the 
time  of  James  I.,  a period  much  subsequent  to  the  age 
when  painted  glass  was  in  its  glory  ; but  the  pictures 
of  Scriptural  people  in  these  windows  were  certainly 
very  fine, — the  figures  being  as  large  as  life,  and  the 
faces  having  much  expression.  The  sunshine  came  in 
through  some  of  them,  and  produced  a beautiful  effect, 


LONDON. 


371 


1887.] 

almost  as  if  the  painted  forms  were  the  glorified  spirits 
of  those  holy  personages. 

After  leaving  Lincoln’s  Inn,  we  looked  at  Gray’s 
Inn,  which  is  a great,  quiet  domain,  quadrangle  beyond 
quadrangle,  close  beside  Holborn,  and  a large  space  of 
greensward  enclosed  within  it.  It  is  very  strange  to 
find  so  much  of  ancient  quietude  right  in  the  monster 
city’s  very  jaws,  which  yet  the  monster  shall  not  eat  up, 
— right  in  its  very  belly,  indeed,  which  yet,  in  all  these 
ages,  it  shall  not  digest  and  convert  into  the  same  sub- 
stance as  the  rest  of  its  bustling  streets.  Nothing  else 
in  London  is  so  like  the  effect  of  a spell,  as'  to  pass 
under  one  of  these  archways,  and  find  yourself  trans- 
ported from  the  jumble,  mob,  tumult,  uproar,  as  of  an 
age  of  week-days  condensed  into  the  present  hour,  into 
what  seems  an  eternal  sabbath.  Thence  we  went  into 
Staple  Inn,  I think  it  was, — which  has  a front  upon 
Holborn  of  four  or  five  ancient  gables  in  a row,  and  a 
low  arch  under  the  impending  story,  admitting  you  into 
a paved  quadrangle,  beyond  which  you  have  the  vista 
of  another.  I do  not  understand  that  the  residences 
and  chambers  in  these  Inns  of  Court  are  now  exclusive- 
ly let  to  lawyers ; though  such  inhabitants  certainly 
seem  to  preponderate  there. 

Since  then  J and  I walked  down  into  the  Strand, 

and  found  ourselves  unexpectedly  mixed  up  with  a 
crowd  that  grew  denser  as  we  approached  Charing 
Cross,  and  became  absolutely  impermeable  when  we 
attempted  to  make  our  way  to  Whitehall.  The  wicket 
in  the  gate  of  Northumberland  House,  by  the  by,  was 
open,  and  gave  me  a glimpse  of  the  front  of  the  edifice 
within,  ■ — a very  partial  glimpse,  however,  and  that  ob- 


372 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

structed  by  the  solid  person  of  a footman,  who,  with 
some  women,  were  passing  out  from  within.  The 
crowd  was  a real  English  crowd,  perfectly  undemon- 
strative, and  entirely  decorous,  being  composed  mostly 
of  well-dressed  people,  and  largely  of  women.  The 
cause  of  the  assemblage  was  the  opening  of  Parliament 
by  the  Queen,  but  we  were  too  late  for  any  chance  of 
seeing  her  Majesty.  However,  we  extricated  ourselves 
from  the  multitude,  and,  going  along  Pall  Mall,  got  into 
the  Park  by  the  steps  at  the  foot  of  the  Duke  of  York’s 
Column,  and  thence  went  to  the  Whitehall  Gateway, 
outside  of  which  we  found  the  Horse  Guards  drawn  up, 
— a regiment  of  black  horses  and  burnished  cuirasses. 
On  our  way  thither  an  open  carriage  came  through  the 
gateway  into  the  Park,  conveying  two  ladies  in  court 
dresses ; and  another  splendid  chariot  pressed  out 
through  the  gateway,  — the  coachman  in  a cocked  hat 
and  scarlet  and  gold  embroidery,  and  two  other  scarlet 
and  gold  figures  hanging  behind.  It  was  one  of  the 
Queen’s  carriages,  but  seemed  to  have  nobody  in  it.  I 
have  forgotten  to  mention  what,  I think,  produced  more 
effect  on  me  than  anything  else,  namely,  the  clash  of 
the  bells  from  the  steeple  of  St.  Martin’s  Church  and 
those  of  St.  Margaret.  Really,  London  seemed  to  cry 
out  through  them,  and  bid  welcome  to  the  Queen. 

December  1th.  — This  being  a muddy  and  dismal 
day,  I went  only  to  the 

BRITISH  MUSEUM, 

which  is  but  a short  walk  down  the  street  (Great 
Russell  Street).  I have  now  visited  it  often  enough  to 


1857.] 


LONDON. 


373 


be  on  more  familiar  terms  with  it  than  at  first,  and 
therefore  do  not  feel  myself  so  weighed  down  by  the 
many  things  to  be  seen.  I have  ceased  to  expect  or 
hope  or  wish  to  devour  and  digest  the  whole  enormous 
collection  ; so  I content  myself  with  individual  things, 
and  succeed  in  getting  now  and  then  a little  honey  from 
them.  Unless  I were  studying  some  particular  branch 
of  history  or  science  or  art,  this  is  the  best  that  can  be 
done  with  the  British  Museum. 

I went  first  to-day  into  the  Townley  Gallery,  and  so 
along  through  all  the  ancient  sculpture,  and  was  glad 
to  find  myself  able  to  sympathize  more  than  heretofore 
with  the  forms  of  grace  and  beauty  which  are  preserved 
there,  — poor,  maimed  immortalities  as  they  are,  — 
headless  and  legless  trunks,  godlike  cripples,  faces  beau- 
tiful and  broken-nosed,  — heroic  shapes  which  have  stood 
so  long,  or  lain  prostrate  so  long,  in  the  open  air,  that 
even  the  atmosphere  of  Greece  has  almost  dissolved 
the  external  layer  of  the  marble ; and  yet,  however 
much  they  may  be  worn  away,  or  battered  and  shattered, 
the  grace  and  nobility  seem  as  deep  in  them  as  the 
very  heart  of  the  stone.  It  cannot  be  destroyed,  ex- 
cept by  grinding  them  to  powder.  In  short,  I do 
really  believe  that  there  was  an  excellence  in  ancient 
sculpture,  which  has  yet  a potency  to  educate  and  re- 
fine the  minds  of  those  who  look  at  it  even  so  careless- 
ly and  casually  as  I do.  As  regards  the  frieze  of  the 
Parthenon,  I must  remark  that  the  horses  represented 
on  it,  though  they  show  great  spirit  and  lifelikeness, 
are  rather  of  the  pony  species  than  what  would  be 
considered  fine  horses  now.  Doubtless,  modern  breed- 
ing has  wrought  a difference  in  the  animal.  Flaxman, 


374 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


in  his  outlines,  seems  to  have  imitated  these  classic 
steeds  of  the  Parthenon,  and  thus  has  produced  horses 
that  always  appeared  to  me  affected  and  diminutively 
monstrous. 

From  the  classic  sculpture,  I passed  through  an 
Assyrian  room,  where  the  walls  are  lined  with  great 
slabs  of  marble  sculptured  in  bas-relief  with  scenes  in 
the  life  of  Sennacherib,  I believe  ; very  ugly,  to  be  sure, 
yet  artistically  done  in  their  own  style,  and  in  wonder- 
fully good  preservation.  Indeed,  if  the  chisel  had  cut 
its  last  stroke  in  them  yesterday,  the  work  could  not  be 
more  sharp  and  distinct.  In  glass  cases,  in  this  room, 
are  little  relics  and  scraps  of  utensils,  and  a great  deal 
of  fragmentary  rubbish,  dug  up  by  Layard  in  his  re- 
searches, — things  that  it  is  hard  to  call  anything  but 
trash,  but  which  yet  may  be  of  great  significance  as 
indicating  the  modes  of  life  of  a long-past  race.  I re- 
member nothing  particularly  just  now,  except  some 
pieces  of  broken  glass,  iridescent  with  certainly  the 
most  beautiful  hues  in  the  world,  — indescribably  beau- 
tiful, and  unimaginably,  unless  one  can  conceive  of  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  a thousand  glorious  sunsets, 
and  the  autumnal  forest-leaves  of  America,  all  con- 
densed upon  a little  fragment  of  a glass  cup,  — and  that, 
too,  without  becoming  in  the  least  glaring  or  flagrant, 
but  mildly  glorious,  as  we  may  fancy  the  shifting  hues 
of  an  angel's  wing  may  be.  I think  this  chaste  splendor 
will  glow  in  my  memory  for  years  to  come.  It  is  the 
effect  of  time,  and  cannot  be  imitated  by  any  known 
process  of  art.  I have  seen  it  in  specimens  of  old 
Roman  glass,  which  has  been  famous  here  in  England  ; 
but  never  in  anything  is  there  the  brilliancy  of  these 


v 1857.] 


LONDON. 


375 


Oriental  fragments.  How  strange  that  decay,  in  dark 
places,  and  underground,  and  where  there  are  a bil- 
lion chances  to  one  that  nobody  will  ever  see  its  handi- 
work, should  produce  these  beautiful  effects ! The 
glass  seems  to  become  perfectly  brittle,  so  that  it  would 
vanish,  like  a soap-bubble,  if  touched. 

Ascending  the  stairs,  I went  through  the  halls  of  fos- 
sil remains,  — which  I care  little  for,  though  one  of 
them  is  a human  skeleton  in  limestone,  — and  through 
several  rooms  of  mineralogical  specimens,  including  all 
the  gems  in  the  world,  among  which  is  seen,  not  the 
Koh-i-noor  itself,  but  a fac-simile  of  it  in  crystal.  I 
think  the  aerolites  are  as  interesting  as  anything  in  this 
department,  and  one  piece  of  pure  iron,  laid  against  the 
wall  of  the  room,  weighs  about  fourteen  hundred  pounds. 
Whence  could  it  have  come  ? If  these  aerolites  are  bits 
of  other  planets,  how  happen  they  to  be  always  iron  ? 
But  I know  no  more  of  this  than  if  I were  a philosopher. 

Then  I went  through  rooms  of  shells  and  fishes  and 
reptiles  and  tortoises,  crocodiles  and  alligators  and  in- 
sects, including  all  manner  of  butterflies,  some  of  which 
had  wings  precisely  like  leaves,  a little  withered  and 
faded,  even  the  skeleton  and  fibres  of  the  leaves  repre- 
sented ; and  immense  hairy  spiders,  covering,  with  the 
whole  circumference  of  their  legs,  a space  as  big  as  a 
saucer  ; and  centipedes  little  less  than  a foot  long ; and 
winged  insects  that  look  like  jointed  twigs  of  a tree. 
In  America,  I remember,  when  I lived  in  Lenox,  I found 
an  insect  of  this  species,  and  at  first  really  mistook  it 
for  a twig.  It  was  smaller  than  these  specimens  in  the 
Museum.  I suppose  every  creature,  almost,  that  runs 
or  creeps  or  swims  or  flies,  is  represented  in  this  coll^c- 


376 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 

lion  of  Natural  History  ; and  it  puzzles  me  to  think 
what  they  were  all  made  for,  though  it  is  quite  as  mys- 
terious why  man  himself  was  made. 

By  and  by  I entered  the  room  of  Egyptian  mummies, 
of  which  there  are  a good  many,  one  of  which,  the  body 
of  a priestess, is  unrolled,  except  the  innermost  layer  of 
linen.  The  outline  of  her  face  is  perfectly  visible. 
Mummies  of  cats,  dogs,  snakes,  and  children  are  in  the 
wall-cases,  together  with  a vast  many  articles  of  Egyp- 
tian manufacture  and  use,  — even  children’s  toys  ; 
bread,  too,  in  flat  cakes ; grapes,  that  have  turned  to 
raisins  in  the  grave  ; queerest  of  all,  methinks,  a curly 
wig,  that  is  supposed  to  have  belonged  to  a woman,  — 
together  with  the  wooden  box  that  held  it.  The  hair 
is  brown,  and  the  wig  is  as  perfect  as  if  it  had  been 
made  for  some  now  living  dowager. 

From  Egypt  we  pass  into  rooms  containing  vases 
and  other  articles  of  Grecian  and  Roman  workmanship, 
and  funeral  urns,  and  beads,  and  rings,  none  of  them 
very  beautiful.  I saw  some  splendid  specimens,  how- 
ever, at  a former  visit,  when  I obtained  admission  to  a 
room  not  indiscriminately  shown  to  visitors.  What 
chiefly  interested  me  in  that  room  was  a cast  taken 
from  the  face  of  Cromwell  after  death ; representing  a 
wide-mouthed,  long-chinned,  uncomely  visage,  with  a 
triangular  English  nose  in  the  very  centre.  There 
were  various  other  curiosities,  which  I fancied  were 
safe  in  my  memory,  but  they  do  not  now  come  upper- 
most. 

To  return  to  my  to-day’s  progress  through  the  Mu- 
seum ; — next  to  the  classic  rooms  are  the  collections  of 
Saxon  and  British  and  early  English  antiquities,  the 


LONDON. 


377 


1857.] 

earlier  portions  of  which  are  not  very  interesting  to  me, 
possessing  little  or  no  beauty  in  themselves,  and  indi- 
cating a kind  of  life  too  remote  from  our  own  to  be 
readily  sympathized  with.  Who  cares  for  glass  beads 
and  copper  brooches,  and  knives,  spear-heads,  and 
swords,  all  so  rusty  that  they  look  as  much  like  pieces 
of  old  iron  hoop  as  anything  else?  The  bed  of  the 
Thames  has  been  a rich  treasury  of  antiquities,  from 
the  time  of  the  Roman  Conquest  downwards ; it  seems 
to  preserve  bronze  in  considerable  perfection,  but  not 
iron. 

Among  the  mediaeval  relics,  the  carvings  in  ivory  are 
often  very  exquisite  and  elaborate.  There  are  likewise 
caskets  and  coffers,  and  a thousand  other  Old-World  or- 
namental works  ; but  I si  w so  many  and  such  superior 
specimens  of  them  at  the  Manchester  Exhibition,  that 
I shall  say  nothing  of  them  here.  The  seal-ring  of 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  is  in  one  of  the  cases ; it  must 
have  been  a thumb-ring,  judging  from  its  size,  and  it 
has  a dark  stone,  engraved  with  armorial  bearings.  In 
another  case  is  the  magic  glass  formerly  used  by  Dr. 
Dee,  and  in  which,  if  I rightly  remember,  used  to  be 
seen  prophetic  visions  or  figures  of  persons  and  scenes 
at  a distance.  It  is  a round  ball  of  glass  or  crystal, 
slightly  tinged  with  a pinkish  hue,  and  about  as  big  as  a 
small  apple,  or  a little  bigger  than  an  egg  would  be  if 
perfectly  round.  This  ancient  humbug  kept  me  looking 
at  it  perhaps  ten  minutes  ; and  I saw  my  own  face  dimly 
in  it,  but  no  other  vision.  Lastly,  I passed  through  the 
Ethnographical  Rooms  ; but  I care  little  for  the  varieties 
of  the  human  race,  — all  that  is  really  important  and  in- 
teresting being  found  in  our  own  variety.  Perhaps 


378 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


equally  in  any  other.  This  brought  me  to  the  head  of 
one  of  the  staircases,  descending  which  I entered  the 
library. 

Here  — not  to  speak  of  the  noble  rooms  and  halls  — 
jhere  are  numberless  treasures  beyond  all  price ; too 
raluable  in  their  way  for  me  to  select  any  one  as  more 
curious  and  valuable  than  many  others.  Letters  of 
statesmen  and  warriors  of  all  nations,  and  several  cen- 
turies back,  — among  which,  long  as  it  has  taken  Europe 
to  produce  them,  I saw  none  so  illustrious  as  those  of 
Washington,  nor  more  so  than  Franklin’s,  whom  Amer- 
ica gave  to  the  world  in  her  nonage ; and  epistles  of 
poets  and  artists,  and  of  kings,  too,  whose  chirography 
appears  to  have  been  much  better  than  I should  have 
expected  from  fingers  so  often  cramped  in  iron  gauntlets. 
In  another  case  there  were  the  original  autograph  copies 
of  several  famous  works,  — for  example,  that  of  Pope’s 
Homer,  written  on  the  backs  of  fetters,  the  direction 
and  seals  of  which  appear  in  the  midst  of  “ the  Tale  of 
Troy  divine,”  which  also  is  much  scratched  and  inter- 
lined with  Pope’s  corrections ; a manuscript  of  one  or 
Ben  Jonson’s  masques;  of  the  Sentimental  Journey, 
written  in  much  more  careful  and  formal  style  than 
might  be  expected,  the  book  pretending  to  be  a harum- 
scarum  ; of  Walter  Scott's  Kenilworth,  bearing  such  an 
aspect  of  straightforward  diligence  that  I shall  hardly 
think  of  it  again  as  a romance;  — in  short,  I may  as 
well  drop  the  whole  matter  here. 

All  through  the  long  vista  of  the  king’s  library,  we 
come  to  cases  in  which  — with  their  pages  open  beneath 
the  glass  — we  see  books  worth  their  weight  in  gold, 
either  for  their  uniqueness  or  their  beauty,  or  because 


1857.] 


LONDON. 


379 


they  have  belonged  to  illustrious  men,  and  have  their 
autographs  in  them.  The  copy  of  the  English  transla- 
tion of  Montaigne,  containing  the  strange  scrawl  of 
Shakespeare’s  autograph,  is  here.  Bacons  name  is  in 
another  book ; Queen  Elizabeth’s  in  another ; and  there 
is  a little  devotional  volume,  with  Lady  Jane  Grey’s 
writing  in  it.  She  is  supposed  to  have  taken  it  to  the 
scaffold  with  her.  Here,  too,  I saw  a copy,  which  was 
printed  at  a Venetian  press  at  the  time,  of  the  challenge 
which  the  Admirable  Crichton  caused  to  be  posted  on 
the  church  doors  of  Venice,  defying  all  the  scholars  of 
Italy  to  encounter  him.  But  if  I mention  one  thing,  I 
find  fault  with  myself  for  not  putting  down  fifty  others 
just  as  interesting,  — and,  after  all,  there  is  an  official 
catalogue,  no  doubt,  of  the  whole. 

As  I do  not  mean  to  fill  any  more  pages  with  the 
British  Museum,  I will  just  mention  the  hall  of  Egyp- 
tian antiquities  on  the  ground-floor  of  the  edifice, 
though  I did  not  pass  through  it  to-day.  They  con- 
sist of  things  that  would  be  very  ugly  and  contemptible 
if  they  were  not  so  immensely  magnified ; but  it  is 
impossible  not  to  acknowledge  a certain  grandeur,  re- 
sulting from  the  scale  on  which  those  strange  old 
sculptors  wrought.  For  instance,  there  is  a granite 
fist  of  prodigious  size,  at  least  a yard  across,  and  look- 
ing as  if  it  were  doubled  in  the  face  of  Time,  defying 
him  to  destroy  it.  All  the  rest  of  the  statue  to  which 
it  belonged  seems  to  have  vanished ; but  this  fist  will 
certainly  outlast  the  Museum,  and  whatever  else  it  con- 
tains, unless  it  be  some  similar  Egyptian  ponderosity. 
There  is  a beetle,  wrought  out  of  immensely  hard 
black  stone,  as  big  as  a hogshead.  It  is  satisfactory  to 


380 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS 


[1857. 


see  a thing  so  big  and  heavy.  Then  there  are  huge 
stone  sarcophagi,  engraved  with  hieroglyphics  within 
and  without,  all  as  good  as  new,  though  their  age  is 
reckoned  by  thousands  of  years.  These  great  coffins 
are  of  vast  weight  and  mass,  insomuch  that  when  once 
the  accurately  fitting  lids  were  shut  down,  there  might 
have  seemed  little  chance  of  their  being  lifted  again  till 
the  Resurrection.  I positively  like  these  coffins,  they 
are  so  faithfully  made,  and  so  black  and  stern,  — and 
polished  to  such  a nicety,  only  to  be  buried  forever; 
for  the  workmen,  and  the  kings  who  were  laid  to  sleep 
within,  could  never  have  dreamed  of  the  British  Mu- 
seum. 

There  is  a deity  named  Pasht,  who  sits  in  the  hall, 
very  big,  very  grave,  carved  of  black  stone,  and  very 
ludicrous,  wearing  a dog’s  head.  I will  just  mention 
the  Rosetta  Stone,  with  a Greek  inscription,  and  an- 
other in  Egyptian  characters  which  gave  the  clew  to  a 
whole  field  of  history ; and  shall  pretermit  all  further 
handling  of  this  unwieldly  subject. 

In  all  the  rooms  I saw  people  of  the  poorer  classes, 
some  of  whom  seemed  to  view  the  objects  intelligently, 
and  to  take  a genuine  interest  in  them.  A poor  man 
in  London  has  great  opportunities  of  cultivating  him- 
self if  he  will  only  make  the  best  of  them  ; and  such 
an  institution  as  the  British  Museum  can  hardly  fail  to 
attract,  as  the  magnet  does  steel,  the  minds  that  are 
likeliest  to  be  benefited  by  it  in  its  various  depart- 
ments. I saw  many  children  there,  and  some  ragged 


boys. 

It  deserves  to  be  noticed  that  some  small  figures  of 
Indian  Thugs,  represented  as  engaged  in  their  profession 


LONDON. 


381 


1857.  J 

and  handiwork  of  cajoling  and  strangling  travellers, 
have  been  removed  from  the  place  which  they  formerly 
occupied  in  the  part  of  the  Museum  shown  to  the  gen- 
eral public.  They  are  now  in  the  more  private  room, 
and  the  reason  of  their  withdrawal  is,  that,  according  to 
the  Chaplain  of  Newgate,  the  practice  of  garroting  was 
suggested  to  the  English  thieves  by  this  representation 
of  Indian  Thugs.  It  is  edifying,  after  what  I have 
written  in  the  preceding  paragraph,  to  find  that  the 
only  lesson  known  to  have  been  inculcated  here  is  that 
of  a new  mode  of  outrage. 

December  8th.  — This  morning  when  it  was  time  to 
rise,  there  was  but  a glimmering  of  daylight,  and  we 
had  candles  on  the  breakfast-table  at  nearly  ten  o’clock. 
All  abroad  there  was  a dense  dim  fog  brooding  through 
the  atmosphere,  insomuch  that  we  could  hardly  see 
across  the  street.  At  eleven  o’clock  I went  out  into  the 
midst  of  the  fog-bank,  which  for  the  moment  seemed 
a little  more  interfused  with  daylight ; for  there  seem  to 
be  continual  changes  in  the  density  of  this  dim  medium, 
which  varies  so  much  that  now  you  can  but  just  see 
your  hand  before  you,  and  a moment  afterwards  you 
can  see  the  cabs  dashing  out  of  the  duskiness  a score 
of  yards  off.  It  is  seldom  or  never,  moreover,  an 
unmitigated  gloom,  but  appears  to  be  mixed  up  with 
sunshine  in  different  proportions ; sometimes  only  one 
part  sun  to  a thousand  of  smoke  and  fog,  and  some- 
times sunshine  enough  to  give  the  whole  mass  a cop- 
pery hue.  This  would  have  been  a bright  sunny  day 
but  for  the  interference  of  the  fog ; and  before  I had 
been  out  long,  I actually  saw  the  sun  looking  red  and 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


382 


[1857. 


rayless,  much  like  the  millionth  magnification  of  a new 
halfpenny. 

I was  bound  towards  Bennoch’s  ; for  he  had  written  a 
note  to  apologize  for  not  visiting  us,  and  I had  prom^ 
lsed  to  call  and  see  him  to-day. 


I went  to  Marlborough  House  to  look  at  the  English 
pictures,  which  I care  more  about  seeing,  here  in  Eng- 
land, than  those  of  foreign  artists,  because  the  latter 
will  be  found  more  numerously  and  better  on  the  Conti- 
nent. I saw  many  pictures  that  pleased  me ; nothing 
that  impressed  me  very  strongly.  Pictorial  talent 
seems  to  be  abundant  enough,  up  to  a certain  point ; 
pictorial  genius,  I should  judge,  is  among  the  rarest  of 
gifts.  To  be  sure,  I very  likely  might  not  recognize  it 
where  it  existed ; and  yet  it  ought  to  have  the  power  of 
making  itself  known  even  to  the  uninstructed  mind,  as 
literary  genius  does.  If  it  exist  only  for  connoisseurs, 
it  is  a very  suspicious  matter.  I looked  at  all  Turner’s 
pictures,  and  at  many  of  his  drawings  ; and  must  again 
confess  myself  wholly  unable  to  understand  more  than 
a very  few  of  them.  Even  those  few  are  tantaliz- 
ing. At  a certain  distance  you  discern  what  appears 
to  be  a grand  and  beautiful  picture,  which  you  shall 
admire  and  enjoy  infinitely  if  you  can  get  within  the 
range  of  distinct  vision.  You  come  nearer,  and  find 
only  blotches  of  color  and  dabs  of  the  brush,  meaning 
nothing  when  you  look  closely,  and  meaning  a mystery 
at  the  point  where  the  painter  intended  to  station  you. 
Some  landscapes  there  were,  indeed,  full  of  imaginative 
beauty,  and  of  the  better  truth  etherealized  out  of  the 
prosaic  truth  of  Nature ; only  it  was  still  impossible 


1857.] 


LONDON. 


383 


actually  to  see  it.  There  was  a mist  over  it ; or  it  was 
like  a tract  of  beautiful  dream-land,  seen  dimly  through 
sleep,  and  glimmering  out  of  sight,  if  looked  upon  with 
wide-open  eyes.  These  were  the  more  satisfactory 
specimens.  There  were  many  others  which  I could 
not  comprehend  in  the  remotest  degree  ; not  even  so 
far  as  to  conjecture  whether  they  purported  to  represent 
earth,  sea,  or  sky.  In  fact,  I should  not  have  known 
them  to  be  pictures  at  all,  but  might  have  supposed 
that  the  artist  had  been  trying  his  brush  on  the  canvas, 
mixing  up  all  sorts  of  hues,  but  principally  white  paint, 
and  now  and  then  producing  an  agreeable  harmony 
of  color  without  particularly  intending  it.  Now  that  I 
have  done  my  best  to  understand  them  without  an  inter- 
preter, I mean  to  buy  Ruskin’s  pamphlet  at  my  next 
visit,  and  look  at  them  through  his  eyes.  But  I do  not 
think  that  I can  be  driven  out  of  the  idea  that  a picture 
ought  to  have  something  in  common  with  what  the 
spectator  sees  in  Nature. 

Marlborough  House  may  be  converted,  I think,  into  a 
very  handsome  residence  for  the  young  Prince  of 
Wales.  The  entrance  from  the  court-yard  is  into  a large, 
square  central  hall,  the  painted  ceiling  of  which  is  at 
die  whole  height  of  the  edifice,  and  has  a gallery  on  one 
side,  whence  it  would  be  pleasant  to  look  down  on  a 
festal  scene  below.  The  rooms  are  of  fine  proportions, 
with  vaulted  ceilings,  and  with  fireplaces  and  mantel- 
pieces of  great  beauty,  adorned  with  pillars  and  ter- 
minal figures  of  white  and  of  variegated  marble  ; and 
in  the  centre  of  each  mantel-piece  there  is  a marble 
tablet,  exquisitely  sculptured  with  classical  designs,  done 
in  such  high  relief  that  the  figures  are  sometimes  almost 


384 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857* 


disengaged  from  the  background.  One  of  the  subjects 
was  Androcles,  or  whatever  was  his  name,  taking  the 
thorn  out  of  the  lion’s  foot.  I suppose  these  works  are 
of  the  era  of  the  first  old  Duke  and  Duchess.  After 
all,  however,  for  some  reason  or  other,  the  house  does 
not  at  first  strike  you  as  a noble  and  princely  one,  and 
you  have  to  convince  yourself  of  it  by  examining  it 
more  in  detail. 

On  leaving  Marlborough  House,  I stepped  for  a few 
moments  into  the  National  Gallery,  and  looked,  among 
other  things,  at  the  Turners  and  Claudes  that  hung 
there  side  by  side.  These  pictures,  I think,  are  quite 
the  most  comprehensible  of  Turner’s  productions  ; but 
I must  say  I prefer  the  Claudes.  The  latter  catches 
“ the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  ” without 
taking  you  quite  away  from  Nature  for  it.  Neverthe- 
less, I will  not  be  quite  certain  that  I care  for  any 
painter  except  Murillo,  whose  St.  John  I should  like 
to  own.  As  far  as  my  own  pleasure  is  concerned,  I 
could  not  say  as  much  for  any  other  picture ; for  I have 
always  found  an  infinite  weariness  and  disgust  resulting 
from  a picture  being  too  frequently  before  my  eyes.  I 
had  rather  see  a basilisk,  for  instance,  than  the  very 
best  of  those  old,  familiar  pictures  in  the  Boston  Athe- 
naeum ; and  most  of  those  in  the  National  Gallery 
might  soon  affect  me  in  the  same  way. 

From  the  Gallery  I almost  groped  my  way  towards 
the  city,  for  the  fog  seemed  to  grow  denser  and  denser 
as  I advanced  ; and  when  I reached  St.  Paul’s,  the 
sunny  intermixture  above  spoken  of  was  at  its  mini- 
mum, so  that  the  smoke-cloud  grew  really  black  about 
the  dome  and  pinnacles,  and  the  statues  of  saints  looked 


LONDON. 


385 


185?.] 

down  dimly  from  their  standpoints  on  high.  It  was 
very  grand,  however,  to  see  the  pillars  and  porticos, 
and  the  huge  bulk  of  the  edifice,  heaving  up  its  dome 
from  an  obscure  foundation  into  yet  more  shadowy 
obscurity ; and  by  the  time  I reached  the  corner  of  the 
churchyard  nearest  Cheapside,  the  whole  vast  cathe- 
dral had  utterly  vanished,  leaving  “ not  a wrack  be- 
hind,” unless  those  thick,  dark  vapors  were  the  ele- 
ments of  which  it  had  been  composed,  and  into  which  it 
had  again  dissolved.  It  is  good  to  think,  nevertheless, 
— and  I gladly  accept  the  analogy  and  the  moral,  — 
that  the  cathedral  was  really  there,  and  as  substantial 
as  ever,  though  those  earthly  mists  had  hidden  it  from 
mortal  eyes. 

I found in  better  spirits  than  when  I saw  him 

last,  but  his  misfortune  has  been  too  real  not  to  affect 
him  long  and  deeply.  He  was  cheerful,  however,  and 
his  face  shone  with  almost  its  old  lustre.  It  has  still 
the  cheeriest  glow  that  I ever  saw  in  any  human 
countenance. 

I went  home  by  way  of  Holborn,  and  the  fog  was 
denser  than  ever,  — very  black,  indeed  more  like  a 
distillation  of  mud  than  anything  else ; the  ghost  of 
mud,  — the  spiritualized  medium  of  departed  mud, 
through  \yhich  the  dead  citizens  of  London  probably 
tread  in  the  Hades  whither  they  are  translated.  So 
heavy  was  the  gloom,  that  gas  was  lighted  in  all  the 
shop-windows ; and  the  little  charcoal-furnaces  of  the 
women  and  boys,  roasting  chestnuts,  threw  a ruddy, 
misty  glow  around  them.  And  yet  I liked  it.  This 
fog  seems  an  atmosphere  proper  to  huge,  grimy  Lon- 
17  Y 


VOL.  II. 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


386 


[1857. 


don  ; as  proper  to  London  as  that  light  neither  of  the 
sun  nor  moon  is  to  the  New  Jerusalem. 

On  reaching  home,  I found  the  same  fog  diffused 
through  the  drawing-room,  though  how  it  could  have 
got  in  is  a mystery.  Since  nightfall,  however,  the 
atmosphere  is  clear  again. 


December  20 th.  — Here  we  are  still  in  London,  at 
least  a month  longer  than  we  expected,  and  at  the  very 
dreariest  and  dullest  season  of  the  year.  Had  I thought 
of  it  sooner,  I might  have  found  interesting  people 
enough  to  know,  even  when  all  London  is  said  to  be 
out  of  town  ; but  meditating  a stay  only  of  a week  or  two 
(on  our  way  to  Rome),  it  did  not  seem  worth  while  to 
seek  acquaintances. 

I have  been  out  only  for  one  evening  ; and  that  was 

at  Dr. ’s,  who  had  been  attending  all  the  children 

in  the  measles.  (Their  illness  was  what  detained  us.) 
He  is  a homoeopathist,  and  is  known  in  scientific  or  gen- 
eral literature  ; at  all  events,  a sensible  and  enlightened 
man,  with  an  un-English  freedom  of  mind  on  some  points. 
For  example,  he  is  a Swedenborgian,  and  a believer 
in  modern  spiritualism.  He  showed  me  some  drawings 
that  had  been  made  under  the  spiritual  influence  by  a 
miniature-painter  who  possesses  no  imaginative  power 
of  his  own,  and  is  merely  a good  mechanical  and  literal 
copyist ; but  these  drawings,  representing  angels  and 
allegorical  people,  were  done  by  an  influence  which  di* 
rected  the  artist’s  hand,  he  not  knowing  what  his  next 
touch  would  be,  nor  what  the  final  result.  The  sketches 
certainly  did  show  a high  and  fine  expressiveness,  if 
examined  in  a trustful  mood.  Dr. also  spoke  of 


1857.] 


LONDON. 


387 


Mr.  Harris,  the  American  poet  of  spiritualism,  as  being 
the  best  poet  of  the  day  ; and  he  produced  his  works  in 
several  volumes,  and  showed  me  songs,  and  paragraphs 
of  longer  poems,  in  support  of  his  opinion.  They 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a certain  light  and  splendor,  but 
not  to  possess  much  power,  either  passionate  or  intel- 
lectual. Mr.  Harris  is  the  medium  of  deceased  poets, 
Milton  and  Lord  Byron  among  the  rest ; and  Dr. 
said  that  Lady  Byron  — who  is  a devoted  ad- 
mirer of  her  husband  in  spite  of  their  conjugal  troubles 
— pronounced  some  of  these  posthumous  strains  to  be 
worthy  of  his  living  genius.  Then  the  Doctor  spoke 
of  various  strange  experiences  which  he  himself  has 
had  in  these  spiritual  matters ; for  he  has  witnessed  the 
miraculous  performances  of  Hume,  the  American  me- 
dium, and  he  has  seen  with  his  own  eyes,  and  felt  with 
his  own  touch,  those  ghostly  hands  and  arms  the  reality 
of  which  has  been  certified  to  me  by  other  beholders. 

Dr. tells  me  that  they  are  cold,  and  that  it  is  a 

somewhat  awful  matter  to  see  and  feel  them.  I should 
think  so,  indeed.  Do  I believe  in  these  wonders  ? Of 
course  ; for  how  is  it  possible  to  doubt  either  the  solemn 
word  or  the  sober  observation  of  a learned  and  sensible 

man  like  Dr. ? But  again,  do  I really  believe  it  ? 

Of  course  not ; for  I cannot  consent  to  have  heaven 
^and  earth,  this  world  and  the  next,  beaten  up  together 
like  the  white  and  yolk  of  an  egg,  merely  out  of  respect 
to  Dr.  *s  sanity  and  integrity.  I would  not  be- 

lieve my  own  sight,  nor  touch  of  the  spiritual  hands ; 
and  it  would  take  deeper  and  higher  strains  than  those 
of  Mr.  Harris  to  convince  me.  I think  I might  yield  to 
higher  poetry  or  heavenlier  wisdom  than  mortals  in  the 


388 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1857. 


flesh  have  ever  sung  or  uttered.  Meanwhile,  this  mat- 
ter of  spiritualism  is  surely  the  strangest  that  ever  was 
heard  of ; and  yet  I feel  unaccountably  little  interest  in 
it,  — a sluggish  disgust,  and  repugnance  to  meddle  with 
it,  — insomuch  that  I hardly  feel  as  if  it  were  worth  this 
page  or  two  in  my  not  very  eventful  journal.  One  or 

two  of  the  ladies  present  at  Dr.  ’s  little  party 

seemed  to  be  mediums. 

I have  made  several  visits  to  the  picture-galleries 
since  my  last  date  ; and  I think  it  fair  towards  my  own 
powers  of  appreciation  to  record  that  I begin  to  appre- 
ciate Turner’s  pictures  rather  better  than  at  first.  Not 
that  I have  anything  to  recant  as  respects  those  strange, 
white-grounded  performances  in  the  chambers  at  the 
Marlborough  House  ; but  some  of  his  happier  produc- 
tions (a  large  landscape  illustrative  of  Childe  Harold, 
for  instance)  seem  to  me  to  have  more  magic  in  them 
than  any  other  pictures.  I admire,  too,  that  misty, 
morning  landscape  in  the  National  Gallery  ; and,  no 
doubt,  his  very  monstrosities  are  such  as  only  he  could 
have  painted,  and  may  have  an  infinite  value  for  those 
who  can  appreciate  the  genius  in  them. 

The  shops  in  London  begin  to  show  some  tokens  of 
approaching  Christmas  ; especially  the  toy-shops,  and  the 
confectioners’,  — the  latter  ornamenting  their  windows 
with  a profusion  of  bonbons  and  all  mannner  of  pygmy 
figures  in  sugar  ; the  former  exhibiting  Christmas-trees, 
hung  with  rich  and  gaudy  fruit.  At  the  butchers’  shops, 
there  is  a great  display  of  fat  carcases,  and  an  abun- 
dance of  game  at  the  poulterers’.  We  think  of  going 
to  the  Crystal  Palace  to  spend  the  festival  day,  and  eat 
our  Christmas  dinner ; but,  do  what  we  may,  we  shall 


LONDON. 


389 


1857.] 

have  no  home  feeling  or  fireside  enjoyment.  I am 
weary,  weary  of  London  and  of  England,  and  can 
judge  now  how  the  old  Loyalists  must  have  felt,  con- 
demned to  pine  out  their  lives  here,  when  the  Revolu- 
tion had  robbed  them  of  their  native  country.  And  yet 
there  is  still  a pleasure  in  being  in  this  dingy,  smoky, 
midmost  haunt  of  men  ; and  I trudge  through  Fleet 
Street  and  Ludgate  Street  and  along  Cheapside  with 
an  enjoyment  as  great  as  I ever  felt  in  a wood-path  at 
home ; and  I have  come  to  know  these  streets  as  well,  I 
believe,  as  I ever  knew  Washington  Street  in  Boston, 
or  even  Essex  Street  in  my  stupid  old  native  town. 
For  Piccadilly  or  for  Regent  Street,  though  more  bril- 
liant promenades,  I do  not  care  nearly  so  much. 

December  %lth.  — Still  leading  an  idle  life,  which, 
however,  may  not  be  quite  thrown  away,  as  I see  some 
things,  and  think  many  thoughts. 

The  other  day  we  went  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and 
through  the  chapels  ; and  it  being  as  sunny  a day  as 
could  well  be  in  London,  and  in  December,  we  could 
judge,  in  some  small  degree,  what  must  have  been  the 
splendor  of  those  tombs  and  monuments  when  first 
erected  there. 

I presume  I was  sufficiently  minute  in  describing  my 
first  visit  to  the  chapels,  so  I shall  only  mention  the  stiff 
figure  of  a lady  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  court,  reclining  on 
the  point  of  her  elbow  under  a mural  arch  through  all 
these  dusty  years ; . . . . and  the  old  coronation-chair, 
with  the  stone  of  Scone  beneath  the  seat,  and  the  wood- 
work cut  and  scratched  all  over  with  names  and 
initials 


390 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1858. 


I continue  to  go  to  the  picture-galleries.  I have  an 
idea  that  the  face  of  Murillo's  St.  John  has  a certain 
mischievous  intelligence  in  it.  This  has  impressed  me 
almost  from  the  first.  It  is  a boy's  face,  very  beautiful 
and  very  pleasant  too,  but  with  an  expression  that  one 
might  fairly  suspect  to  be  roguish  if  seen  in  the  face  of 
a living  boy. 

About  equestrian  statues,  as  those  of  various  kings 
at  Charing  Cross,  and  otherwhere  about  London,  and 
of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  opposite  Apsley  House,  and 
in  front  of  the  Exchange,  it  strikes  me  as  absurd,  the 
idea  of  putting  a man  on  horseback  on  a place  where 
one  movement  of  the  steed  forward  or  backward  or 
sideways  would  infallibly  break  his  own  and  his  rider’s 
neck.  The  English  sculptors  generally  seem  to  have 
been  aware  of  this  absurdity,  and  have  endeavored  to 
lessen  it  by  making  the  horse  as  quiet  as  a cab-horse 
on  the  stand,  instead  of  rearing  rampant,  like  the  bronze 
group  of  Jackson  at  Washington.  The  statue  of  Wel- 
lington, at  the  Piccadilly  corner  of  the  Park  has  a 
stately  and  imposing  effect,  seen  from  far  distances,  in 
approaching  either  through  the  Green  Park,  or  from 
the  Oxford  Street  corner  of  Hyde  Park. 


January  3 d,  1858.  — On  Thursday  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  a call  from  Mr.  Coventry  Patmore,  to  whom 
Dr.  Wilkinson  gave  me  a letter  of  introduction,  and  on 
whom  I had  called  twice  at  the  British  Museum  without 
finding  him.  We  had  read  his  Betrothal  and  Angel  in 
the  House  with  unusual  pleasure  and  sympathy,  and 
therefore  were  very  glad  to  make  his  personal  acquaint- 
ance. He  is  a man  of  much  more  .youthful  aspect 


I,  ON  DON. 


39} 


1858.] 

than  I had  expected,  ....  a slender  person  to  be 
^n  Englishman,  though  not  remarkably  so  had  he  been 
an  American ; with  an  intelligent,  pleasant,  and  sensi- 
tive face,  — a man  very  evidently  of  refined  feelings  and 
cultivated  mind.  . . . , He  is  very  simple  and  agree- 
able in  his  manners ; a little  shy,  yet  perfectly  frank, 
and  easy  to  meet  on  real  grounds.  ....  He  said  that 
his  wife  had  proposed  to  come  with  him,  and  had,  in- 
deed, accompanied  him  to  town,  but  was  kept  away.  .... 
We  were  very  sorry  for  this,  because  Mr.  Patmore 
seems  to  acknowledge  her  as  the  real  u Angel  in  the 
House,”  although  he  says  she  herself  ignores  all  con* 
nection  with  the  poem.  It  is  well  for  her  to  do  so,  and 
for  her  Jiusband  to  feel  that  the  character  is  her  real 
portrait ; and  both,  I suppose,  are  right.  It  is  a most 
beautiful  and  original  poem,  — a poem  for  happy 
married  people  to  read  together,  and  to  understand  by 
the  light  of  their  own  past  and  present  life;  but  I 
doubt  whether  the  generality  of  English  people  are 
capable  of  appreciating  it.  i told  Mr.  Patmore  that  I 
thought  his  popularity  in  America  would  be  greater 
than  at  home,  and  he  said  that  it  was  already  so  ; and 
he  appeared  to  estimate  highly  his  American  fame,  and 
also  our  general  gift  of  quicker  and  more  subtle  recog- 
nition of  genius  than  the  English  public,  ....  We 
mutually  gratified  each  other  by  expressing  high  ad- 
miration of  one  another’s  works,  and  Mr.  Patmore 
regretted  that  in  the  few  days  of  our  further  stay  here 
we  should  not  have  time  to  visit  him  at  his  home.  It 
would  really  give  me  pleasure  to  do  so I ex- 

pressed a hope  of  seeing  him  in  Italy  during  our 
residence  there,  and  he  seemed  to  think  it  possible,  as 


392 


ENGLISH  NOTE-BOOKS. 


[1858, 

his  friend,  and  our  countryman,  Thomas  Buchanan  Read, 
had  asked  him  to  come  thither  and  be  his  guest.  He 
took  his  leave,  shaking  hands  with  all  of  us  because  he 
saw  that  we  were  of  his  own  people,  recognizing  him 
as  a true  poet.  He  has  since  given  me  the  new  edition 
of  his  poems,  with  a kind  note. 

We  are  now  making  preparations  for  our  departure, 
which  we  expect  will  take  place  on  Tuesday ; and 
yesterday  I went  to  our  Minister’s  to  arrange  about  the 
passport.  The  very  moment  I rang  at-  his  door,  it 
swung  open,  and  the  porter  ushered  me  with  great 
courtesy  into  the  anteroom  ; not  that  he  knew  me,  or 
anything  about  me,  except  that  I was  an  American 
citizen.  This  is  the  deference  which  an  American  ser- 
vant of  the  public  finds  it  expedient  to  show  to  his 
sovereigns.  Thank  Heaven,  I am  a sovereign  again, 
and  no  longer  a servant ; and  really  it  is  very  singular 
how  I look  down  upon  our  ambassadors  and  dignitaries 
of  all  sorts,  not  excepting  the  President  himself.  I 
doubt  whether  this  is  altogether  a good  influence  of  our 
mode  of  government. 

I did  not  see,  and,  in  fact,  declined  seeing,  the  Min- 
ister himself,  but  only  his  son,  the  Secretary  of  Le- 
gation, and  a Dr.  P , an  American  traveller  just 

from  the  Continent.  He  gave  a fearful  account  of  the 
difficulties  that  beset  a person  landing  with  much  lug- 
gage in  Italy,  and  especially  at  Civita  Yecchia,  the  very 
port  at  which  we  intended  to  debark.  I have  been  so 
long  in  England  that  it  seems  a cold  and  shivery  tiling 
to  go  anywhere  else. 

Bennoch  came  to  take  tea  with  us  on  the  fifth,  it 
being  his  first  visit  since  we  came  to  London,  and 


LONDON. 


393 


1858.] 

likewise  his  farewell  visit  on  our  leaving  for  the  Con- 
tinent. 

On  his  departure,  J and  I walked  a good  way 

down  Oxford  Street  and  Holborn  with  him,  and  I took 
leave  of  him  with  the  kindest  wishes  for  his  welfare. 


THE  END* 


